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dumpywrites · 10 months ago

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Two Days - Jungkook

Summary: He just wants you to give him two days. He'll take you on a few dates and you'll decided if you actually like him? Or not?

Genre/tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, biker jungkook, jungkook is a goofball and a simp! :)

Pairing: Jungkook x she/her reader

a/n: this is my first ever bts/jk fic, I'm just trying this out since i have some days off from work, hope y'all like it <3

“Please?”

“No.”

“You’re missing out.”

“Jungkook, we’re literally in a Burger King.”

You heard the man playfully saying, “Yes, and?” in a singing tone. All you could do was rolling your eyes in reply. Jeon Jungkook, this guy who had been begging you for his so-called masterplan that he called, “trial date” for weeks, was now yet again begging you for a chance.

You could not exactly pinpoint when it actually began. He was shy the first time you met. You had known the rest of the boys ever since you met Yoongi at an art class. The cold looking guy who was surprisingly friendly and soft-hearted, later on introduced you to the rest of the guys. Jungkook was introduced almost a year later into befriending the group. He was a guy who went to the same gym as Namjoon. They became friends ever since he offered Namjoon a ride one time.

Being the youngest amongst the guys and also the latest you got to meet, you would think that his shyness would linger at least a little bit longer. Then again, if you really think about it, he probably only stayed quiet and shy on the first meeting.

The idea of both of you together was never mentioned until recently. Namjoon was the one who started calling out Jungkook’s odd behavior towards you, but the nail on the coffin was when you all got drunk at Jimin’s house that one time.

It was Jimin’s birthday and truthfully, you knew the guy was loaded rich, but you did not know he was rich with capital R. The selection of bottles in his house was pretty much unlimited from the ones you like to the ones you couldn’t even name. It was five hours into all the celebration and you all were blurting nonsense. You were tipsy, but still aware cause for some reason you were winning all the games that night and got to drink less. But Jungkook on the other hand, who was usually winning everything, was getting pissy cause he kept coming second after you.

“This is unbelievable.” Jungkook groaned, casually throwing the boardgame cards on the table.

“You just have a soft spot for her.” Jin shrugged.

“I do not! I just have a crush on her.” Jungkook retorted back, as if his sentence made any sense.

You heard Hoseok voiced a small “oh” with his usual judgy expression, and the rest were silent for a second, including you.

“I mean…” Jungkook tried to correct himself but stopped mid-way, trying to make up words in his already drunk mind. His eyes went back and forth to everyone before he scoffed. “You all act so surprised, as if you didn’t tease me everyday right after the first time I met Y/N.”

When the room was still silent, Jungkook realized he fucked up, his blurry mind completely ignored the fact that you, the subject of this topic, was in fact also in the room.

“Shit.” Was all he muttered before he excused himself to the bathroom, and did not come out for twenty minutes.

When he was done, everyone had decided to wrap it up due to the awkwardness and the absence of Jungkook himself. He found Taehyung and Jin sleeping on both sides of Jimin’s big couch, and a small smile formed on his lips, shaking his head over the dumb expression they had in their sleep. His stomach soon flipped right after he saw you on the kitchen, making yourself a cup of instant noodle.

“Oh, hey.” You greeted awkwardly. “I got hungry from all that drinking.” You shyly mentioned.

Jungkook only nodded and took a seat on one of the dinning chairs.

“You want some?” You offered, trying to break the ice.

“Y/N stop.” His eyes widened once he realized how bad that sounded. “I mean… I didn’t mean it like that?” He chuckled dryly, it was more of a statement rather than a question.

When you kept quiet but sat down next to him regardless, and ate your noodles, he decided you were at least comfortable enough to hear him talk. “This whole huge crush on you thingy… that’s not gonna ruin our friendship or anything, right? If you’re uncomfortable I’ll just stop showing up when you’re around for a—”

“What?! No! Jungkook, I’m not uncomfortable.” You sighed. “I’m just a bit surprised, I guess.”

“Why though?” He asked innocently, his big doe eyes looking straight at you, making you slightly nervous.

“It’s just… you do realize you’re quite popular right?”

“What’s that gotta do with this situation?”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

That was the last civil conversation you had with him until he decided it was a good idea to cling to you almost every single day, pestering on the idea of this whole trial dating. Everyone other than Yoongi, who was neutral (read: don't really care enough to actually voice an opinion at the moment), was pretty much on board with his plan. You being single for a year now definitely did not help your case. They kept saying that you needed to lit up your dating engine again, so it wouldn’t be rusty.

It was not that you did not find Jungkook attractive. Heck, he was one of the most attractive person you had ever laid your eyes on. It was just, weird? He felt like a brother, the same as the rest of the boys. If you didn’t treat any of them different, then you should not with Jungkook either, right?

“Have you maybe considered that maybe she’s tired of your bullshit?” Yoongi blurted with a blank expression, as he continue to munch on his burger.

“It’s only been two weeks.” Jungkook protested. “Besides, you never know 'till you try, right?” He winked at you.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m good, Kookie.” You pinched his cheeks, a little bit too hard.

“H-hey!” He pouted, his cheeks forming even rounder. “Two days! Two days!” He suddenly shouted.

“Oh boy…” Hoseok side-eyed the rest of you, clearly done with the younger one.

“Give me two days, Y/N!” He said with his two fingers right in front of your face. “You don’t have plans this weekend, right?”

“Hey, maybe—“ Namjoon didn’t even get to finish his sentence before the lad interrupted.

“I’ll take you on two dates and then you can decide afterwards.” He grinned, as if that was the most brilliant thing he had ever thought of. “If you still don’t like me after that then I will gracefully back off.” He threw his hands in the air.

“You promise?” You suddenly spoke, after being silent for a while.

“Wait, you’re actually considering—“ Jin stood up from his seat, almost knocking his table.

Jungkook hurriedly covered Jin’s mouth, not letting yet another man finish his sentence again. “I promise!” He saluted, grinning so hard his cheeks almost hurt.

“Are you really sure?” Yoongi whispered to you.

You only shrugged. Truthfully, you were not sure either. But at this point, you just wanted Jungkook to get over his girl hyperfixation of the month. Which was, you.

You just did not buy the story of him being head over heels on you since day one. As if he didn’t look like a Greek god himself? As if you did not know how women and even men would kill just to get a taste of him. You just wanted him to get it over with, so he can realize how weird the whole idea was and went back to being the goofball friend you once knew.

—

Right, so.

Now here you were, basically having a mini dress-up montage moment, picking an outfit for your cinema date. Even after spending almost an hour getting ready you ended up with just wearing your usual crop top and baggy jeans, hoping it will be fine. Clearly you didn’t wanna seem like a try-hard. It was just Jungkook. He had seen you with pajamas and you didn’t hear him complain, so there shouldn’t be a problem. Why did you even go through the trouble to pick an outfit? You wondered yourself.

Ten minutes later and Jungkook was already ringing your phone.

“I’m at your lobby!” He exclaimed loudly over the phone.

“You’re early.”

“Just can’t wait to see you.” You could not see his face, but you knew he was grinning like an idiot. “Hurry down! Oh, and bring your jacket.”

You didn’t expect him to came with a motorbike. A huge one not to mention. Something stirred in your stomach for a millisecond seeing him in a leather jacket.

He took a spare helmet and innocently handed it to you. “Gotta make sure my girl is safe.” He sheepishly said.

You tried your best to ignore the nickname, and spoke. “I didn’t know you ride a motorcycle.” You said, taking the helmet he gave in your hands.

“I’m just too lazy to drive sometimes so I just lift on Hobi’s car.” He shrugged. “Why? Are you scared?” He teased.

“Of course not.” You said and put on the helmet. You did not miss his small snickers when you struggle to hop on his Harley, having to grab him by his shoulders.

“Okay, just wanna let you know, I drive like suuuuuper fast. So, you have to hug me to be safe!” He giggled.

You rolled your eyes, even if he couldn’t see. “I’m just gonna head back upstairs...”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss.” He chuckled. “I’m a good driver, Namjoon approved! But you can grab onto my jacket if you want.”

—

The movie was great.

And that was a lie, cause truth to be told, you could barely focus on the plot. Every time you caught a glimpse of the boy next to you, his eyes were already looking at you. While it was true that you had not been dating for quite some time, you could feel your spidey-sense tingling, as if you were to turn your head towards him, something would happen. Thinking about it was not exactly the best thing for you.

“We’re getting ice cream.” Jungkook cheerfully said, as you both walked out the cinema.

“That’s not a question?” You couldn’t help but to smile at the silliness.

“Not a chance I’m letting you go home yet.”

“Is this a date or a kidnapping?”

“Could be both if you want.” He laughed. “So…” He cutely put his hands in his pockets as you walked.

“So?”

“So… how’s life?”

“You did not just ask me that.” You laughed.

“What? I’m just trying to make actual conversation!” He laughed as well, but later on his expression softened. “You seemed down these past couple of days though?”

You tilted your head slightly. You didn’t think he would notice.

“You… noticed?”

“Of course I did!” He grinned, patting his chest proudly. “You didn’t talk that much at our last movie night at Taehyung’s. You usually love to debate after watching a movie.” He chuckled. "The fact that you're not even starting a discussion right now, is lowkey concerning."

That was because of an entirely different thing, but you chose not to say. “I haven't even told Yoongi.”

“Even if you tell him, he wouldn’t tell anyone either, so what’s your point?”

“That’s fair.” You broke a small smile.

“What happened?” He stopped mid-track, suddenly losing a bit of confidence in his speaking tone. “I mean, only if you’re comfortable enough to tell me…”

Your expression softened. “It’s a bit stupid…”

“It’s okay, I’ll listen!” He nodded towards you. “I’ll just quickly grab those ice cream and we’ll sit down somewhere?”

Minutes later he came back with two ice creams and a big stupid grin plastered on his face as usual. “Here you go, let’s sit down on that bench.”

You nodded and thanked him before following him to the bench.

“Come sit close to me!” He patted right next to him. When you only looked at him blankly. He added, “Please?”

You sat down close to him but left a bit of space enough so that your shoulders wouldn’t touch.

“Are you cold?”

“Uh… no.”

“Okay, good.” He smiled and took a big bite of his ice cream. “So, do you still wanna tell me? Or we could also just sit and talk shit about Jin while we eat ice cream if you don’t want!”

You smiled. Looking into his eyes, you could feel his sincerity. It could be just you, but you felt somewhat… safe.

“I used to date this one guy… We dated for three months before I ended things with him.”

You looked up to Jungkook, expecting to see a negative expression but he remained silent, only nodding to signal you to continue.

“To be fair we haven’t been in touch for almost a year, but he suddenly called me. He was drunk and said a bunch of nonsense. I still replied at first, cause I was worried for his safety. But after I found out he was drunk at home, I bid my goodbye. Then he suddenly said…” You took a deep breath. “He said that I’m a 4.5 with a bitch attitude and being picky won’t help me.” You broke into a sad grin. “It’s stupid, I know—“

“Who is this fucker? Can I beat the shit outta him? How come I’ve never heard about this?!”

“Probably cause this is how you react.” You chuckled. “It had me quite bothered for quite sometime, maybe the fact that I also haven’t dated in a while adds to it, but I guess I feel somewhat better now.”

“So that’s why you said you thought you weren’t my type?”

“Huh?”

“That fucker needs to get his eyes and brain checked.” He shook his head. “You know, it’s fine to not want to settle for less.” He said as he looked at the sun setting in the sky. “He’s just butthurt you don’t want him back.”

You stayed silent but nodded.

“His dick’s probably small anyway.” When you slapped his arm, he laughed. “What? Am I wrong? Why did you even break up with him?”

“He's sexist!”

“And his dick is small.” He followed.

“Jungkook!” You began to laugh as well.

“You know you’re easily a ten, but I’ll give a nine for now.” He said, pretending to be serious with rubbing his chin and squinting his eyes.

“Why? What deduct the one point?”

“Cause you haven’t like me back yet.”

“God, make that at least five points then, I hate you.” You rolled your eyes, but laughed.

He smiled softly. “Feeling better?”

“Well, I guess? But now my ice cream's all melty.” You pouted, trying to lick some that was melting down the cone.

“That’s why you eat fast like me.” He proudly said.

“And have stomach problem? No thanks.”

“Here let me just…” He licked a stripe from your cone and took a big bite. “There.”

You were taken aback. So stunned that you could only blink a few times at him.

“What? Don’t tell me that turned you on?” He smirked.

“You… Jungkook, that’s gross!” You whined, which only resulted in his laughter.

—

The next day Jungkook wanted a full day date. Boy kept saying that he wanted fair chance since it was his last day. He already planned a list of things both of you would do and all, and the first being eating brunch with you.

“Do you really have to come this early?” You complained as you opened your apartment door for the guy.

When the said guy sheepishly didn’t move and enter, you raised one of your eyebrows. His hands were behind his back, clearly holding something, and you can see both of his arms flexed, seemingly grasping something tightly. You were searching for his boyish grin, but his expression seemed worried instead.

“I got you flowers.” He said, sounding discouraged.

“Oh?” You replied, but wondered why he just kept standing and not move.

“I found out last minute that you don’t like flowers…” He frowned. “Yoongi told me in the group chat after I got too excited and sent them a pic of the flowers I got you.”

He looked like a lost puppy, and suddenly you had the urge to hug him to ease all his pain away. You stopped yourself before the impulse got the best of you and you grabbed him by the forearm, dragging him inside and closing the door.

“You can’t stay in that position the whole day, you have to hand me the flowers.” You folded your arms, trying to hold in a chuckle.

“But you don’t like them!”

“I haven’t even seen them.”

He finally moved his hands and revealed a small bouquet of fresh daisies. It was a simple bouquet, nothing too extravagant with a brown wrapping paper. It somehow reminded you of his smile and how radiant he looked when he did so. Yes, you did not like flowers, they were unpractical, it felt like an unnecessary addition, a waste of space. But somehow you like it. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy and it was very pleasant. It made you wanna accept it with open arms. Truthfully, the description did not really feel like it was describing flowers anymore, but you decided to not further ponder on it.

“Thank you.” You took the flowers and sniffed it, before setting it down on your table.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know, I feel so dumb cause everyone knew already and—“

“Hey, we’ve only known each other for three months.” You assured. “Besides, it’s really not much of a big deal, I actually like them.”

“You do???”

“Yeah, they look pretty. I don’t know how long I can keep them looking like that though.”

“Oh my god…” He exhaled deeply. “I was so worried it would be a deal breaker or something. I was literally shaking!”

He laughed and showed his right hand in front of you, it was shaking slightly. You didn’t know why he laughed at it, you didn’t find it funny.

“It happens sometimes when I’m nervous.” He chuckled.

Instead of saying something, you took his hand into yours just by intuitive. It was impulsive, but you let go before he had the chance to intertwine his fingers with yours. He didn’t comment on your behavior, but a smile was still on his face as he waited for you to grab your things to go.

The brunch was on this small cafe near your place. You insisted on paying this time, since he paid for yesterday. The brunch was spent with him trying to sneakily hold your hand, but failed every single time.

Next activity on the list was buying clothes together. As cringey as that sounded, and you even almost opposed the idea, Jungkook said that he needed to buy new outfit and he wanted to hear your feedback. Plus, some of his clothes barely fit him anymore since he decided to become a gym rat.

“You actually look great in those skirt.”

“You’re joking.” You denied, but twirled around in front of the mirror anyway, while trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need the purchase.

“I’ll buy them for you if you won’t.”

“We didn’t have all those money-saving talk with Namjoon only for you to say that.” You folded your arms.

“Oh come on, you look great!” He pointed to you and his lips forming into a small pout. “Besides, we’re on a date today so I think that’s a pretty good excuse.”

“I thought we are here to help you buy some clothes, not buy me skirt that I probably won’t wear that often.”

“Let me spoil you for once… please?” He begged, eyes all sparkly. His lips shined along with his two lip piercings.

“Alright, fine... I’ll get the skirt, but!” You eyed him. “Only if you buy that straight-cut jeans you just tried before.”

“Deal.”

“That’s it? You’re not gonna argue on how those aren’t on trend anymore?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I was gonna buy them anyways. You were practically drooling when I showed you.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows playfully at you. “Kinda was just waiting for you to admit it…”

You only rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t open your lips to deny his words either.

After you changed back into your clothes and Jungkook paid for the purchases, he went back to you with a sly grin on his face and you immediately suspected something. He came back with a pair of matching string bracelet.

“You can just not wear them later if you don’t want to, but let me be delusional for today, okay?”

You both left the store after you let him put the bracelet on your wrist.

Next in line was spending time on a local amusement park. It was nothing too extreme, just a small carnival that has a few rides and snack booths. The guy kept insisting that you both should take a picture when the sun set.

“Cotton candy!” Jungkook sprinted to the booth like a hungry kid, his laughter could be heard even as him getting far from where you were standing.

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you walked to his direction.

“Pink, blue, or green?”

“Blue, maybe?”

“Alright.” He grinned and paid the seller as they handed the blue cotton candy stick. “Why blue though?”

“Dunno, just kinda matches your outfit.”

“Sweetheart, I’m wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt.” He giggled.

Which should be a crime! Cause who even looks that good in a basic white t-shirt??? You thought to yourself. “Your jeans, I guess..?”

“If you say so.” He chuckled. “Wanna ride the ferris wheel?”

“Being in a such small space with you sounds dangerous.”

“I’ll protect you, babe.” He winked.

“The danger is you, babe.” You mocked.

He smirked, clearly amused. “Well, at least I got you to call me babe, that’s a win for me.”

“You’re anno— hmph!” He stuffed a ball of cotton candy in your mouth, laughing continuously at the sight.

After wandering around for a while and finishing the cotton candy, Jungkook dragged you to the shooting game. You refused, saying how you never really win these kind of games, but knowing him, losing was never really his thing. You saw how big the main prize was and you know Jungkook, you knew his ego, you knew damn well that was what he was aiming.

“If you’re aiming for that giant teddy bear, don’t. We can’t carry that thing around...”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He didn’t listen and instead paid for the game tickets.

“We can’t carry that in your motorcycle, that’s like another passenger!”

“Just watch me.” He smirked, already aiming with the toy gun.

You rolled your eyes, there’s really no telling him on this. “Fine, whatever.”

After just two shots, you hear him jump in celebration, fist in the air and the staff rang the bell for him winning the price. You were ready to complain, but the staff handed you a small frog plushie instead. You looked at Jungkook and saw his boyish grin, his eyes almost turned into crescents. You looked back at the plushie in your hands and couldn’t lie to yourself, it was very adorable.

“You didn’t aim for the grand prize?”

“You told me not to.” He shrugged. “Plus, you like frogs, right?”

“Well…”

“I wished I took a picture of your expression when they handed you the plushie.” He laughed, a soft blush decorating his cheeks.

You finally agreed to ride the ferris wheel with him. The park was going to close in an hour anyway, and you thought why not, it wouldn’t hurt anyone to go for one ride.

You sat across him, hugging the frog plushie on your lap. It was silent for the first few minutes, but it was comfortable, not awkward. You were just looking at the view from above and silently admiring it.

“Did you have fun?” He asked. Suddenly your attention went back to him and his smile.

“Well, yeah… I did.” You nodded. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, I had fun too.” He smiled. “Everything’s fun with you though so I may be biased…”

You didn’t really know what to say to counter his words. You just smiled and went back to looking at the window.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

“Uh… sure. Just be careful, you might tilt the cart.”

Jungkook carefully moved to sit next to you. He muttered a small “phew” as he sat down. “Wow, the view’s better here.” He said, looking straight at you.

“What do you mean? How—” And then it clicked to you. “Oh my god… shut up!” You hit his arm, and he laughed.

“Take my compliment for once!”

“Never.” You stuck your tongue out.

The ride soon came to an end. You remembered that you promised Jungkook to take a picture with the sunset, but out of nowhere it started to rain. Although it was just small drizzle, it’s hard to take picture and avoid getting soaked at the same time. You both ran to the nearest sheltered place, with Jungkook’s leather jacket covering both of you.

You said your sorry about his now wet jacket, but the boy did not seem to be bothered, as you can see how bright and happy he was, just from running with you under the rain. You sighed, but an idea came to you as soon as you saw a photo booth machine, not far from where you were standing.

“Do you… maybe wanna do that instead?”

“Photobooth?” He looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe your words.

“Why? You don’t want to?”

“No! I want to!” He said, almost too quickly. “But it’s just weird that you suggest it. But it’s a good weird!” He chuckled.

“I promised you a picture, so we’re getting a picture.”

“Aww.” Jungkook pout his lips in a kissy way, teasing you.

“Let’s go before I regret it.” You dragged him inside the booth.

The first pose you playfully put peace signs behind Jungkook’s head, giving him bunny ears, while he only stuck out his tongue. The second one, Jungkook made a love sign with both of his hands, and you surprised him with a middle finger, which he yelled at you afterwards, but couldn’t really continue to complain as the countdown for the next photo were already starting.

Since Jungkook spent at least three and a half seconds with his protest, you both were panicking for the last picture, running out of ideas. As the countdown stating two, he suddenly pulled you closer and leaned on your shoulder. The shutter flashed and the photo was taken. You were still in awe and couldn’t process what just happened. You only followed when you saw Jungkook making his way out from the booth to collect the picture.

The guy giggled like a highschool boy, taking the printed photos, then giving one copy to you. You stared at the last picture, how genuine Jungkook’s smile when he leaned on your shoulder, while you had your eyes widened in surprise. You felt your face heating in embarrassment.

“Ugh… can we just cut out the last picture?”

“I was thinking the same thing, I’m putting it on my wallet!” He said, eyes still looking up and down on the set of photos.

When you only looked at him in disbelief, he uttered a small “what?”, and laughed.

Both of you ended up eating some cups of ramen in a nearby convenience store, as you wait for the rain to stop pouring. He took you home right after, insisting on waking you to your door.

“Take care of little Kookie for me, yeah?” He said, pointing at your frog plushie, as you stopped at your unit’s front door.

“Why is he named after you?” You chuckled.

“I’m his father!” He pretended to be offended.

“Well, say bye to your papa now, little Kookie.” You waved the plushie’s small hand to him.

Jungkook felt his heart somersault. He turned away for a second, covering his mouth. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh… thank you again, for today…”

“Yeah! Thank you too…” You chewed your inner lips, hugging your plushie close.

“I uh…” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I just wanna let you know that what I said to you… about deciding whether you like me or not after the dates… I was just saying stuff. I don’t wanna pressure you into deciding your feelings for me or anything, I genuinely just wanna spend some time with you, and I’m thankful for your time.”

You nodded, smiling at him. Your eyes locked with each other for a quick second. Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the lamp in front of your door that you recently just got replaced. Either way, you could see the stars in Jungkook’s eyes and his skin glowed, but so did his lips. They were practically sparkling and glossy, you wondered if he had put any lip balm over it. For a moment, your attention stopped at his lips, just wondering how it would feel against yours. Would it be soft? Would you feel the cold metal of his lip piercing against your skin?

The man in front of you seemed to be lost in his thoughts as well. You swore you saw his eyes darted to your lips for a quick glance, before coming back to your eyes. Just when he leaned down a bit to your height level…

You froze. What was that? You felt your stomach turned, you couldn’t exactly point out whether it was due to nervousness, or if you were simply just afraid. You took a step back and your back almost hit the front door.

“You should head back, it could rain again soon…” You said, looking away.

“Oh.” There was disappointment in his voice. “Okay then… bye.” He waved to you awkwardly and walked away.

As you see his figure walking away, you went inside your apartment and closed the door behind you. Sitting down on your sofa, you put your hand over your chest. Funny how your heart was still beating so fast. You were panicking, feeling everything all at once. Nervousness, excitement, curiosity, but mostly fright. The unknown territory was making you scared. The new feelings you were feeling, you didn’t even know if it would be okay to feel it.

Still laying down on your sofa, you took your phone and dialed your best friend.

“You called.” You heard Yoongi’s voice from the other line.

“Why are you saying it like that.”

“You only call when you’re stressing over something, otherwise, you only text.”

You hate how smart and observant your friend was sometimes. “I think I feel something for Jungkook.”

“Isn’t that… I don’t know, good?”

“I don’t know… it just hit me like a truck, okay? One minute I wanna punch that stupid grin out of his face, the next thing I know, his lips looked so shiny and he got me wondering if his piercings would feel cold against my lips.”

“Okay, wow.” Yoongi said in amusement. “Care to elaborate?”

“What if I’m just… super horny or something? I mean I haven’t been with anyone for like god knows how long now, and I could just be desperate and Jungkook is good looking, extremely good looking may I add, and—“

“Okay, okay… Y/N, pause for a second.” Yoongi sighed. “So you think you might be just horny and you feel bad for it?”

“Of course I feel bad! I don’t wanna use Jungkook like that! Just because he has this stupid crush on me, doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want with him. I’m not that kind of person!” You exclaimed, the volume of your voice getting slightly higher.

“Tell me, how do you feel after the dates? Did you enjoy it?”

“Well yeah, I had a great time actually. I didn’t expect Jungkook to be that caring, and he’s actually very good at initiating conversation…” You wondered what else you could point out.

“During that time, did Jungkook mention or do anything sexual?”

“N-no! Of course not! Yoongi, do you take me as the fuck-on-the-first-date kind of person???” You said, slightly offended.

“So you like him.” He stated casually.

“I’m sorry?”

“You caught feelings. Just admit that Jungkook has officially win you over.”

“I… what…”

“I knew it. I shouldn’t have let you go on those dates, now both of you are gonna be so gross when we hang out...” You heard your friend groaned.

“I like him?” You asked, more to yourself rather than to your best friend.

“Maybe you should call Jungkook instead and tell him.”

You widened your eyes in horror. “No way, that guy only has a crush on me, it’s more of a hyperfixation, like I’m his girl of the month or something. I’m sure it’s not like how you think it is.”

“You should ask him yourself instead of making assumptions, just saying. And you know…” Yoongi paused for a second before continuing. “I think that kid is actually a good person, despite how dumb and annoying he looks.” When he got no respond from you, he spoke again. “Alright, I’ll leave you with your thoughts, just make sure you’ll talk with him about this, okay? Take care, Y/N.”

Yoongi hang up the call while you were still sitting down, expression blank, staring at the wall in front of you.

—

Jungkook didn’t text you at all after the date. Not like you text each other regularly, but you lowkey expected him to after. You wanted to call him, or at least text him. You wanted to say how you feel but you were again, scared. You began to think if you were reading it wrong. He was popular, you wondered if he just acted like that to everyone, if you were catching feelings, while he just wanted to hang out and have a bit of fun. After all, he never really explicitly said that he had feelings for you, all you knew that he admitted his giant crush for you while being under the influence of alcohol.

You never hear from Jungkook again until the next week. Hoseok invited you all to game night over his place. You wanted so badly to bail and fake being sick, but Yoongi picked you up, basically forcing you to come and face your problem like an actual adult.

With all these new and mixed emotions that you were still getting used to, the thought of seeing Jungkook in person sounded so overwhelming. He would probably just act like how he usually would, because of course, why wouldn’t he. After all you were the one who suddenly took a weird turn.

“Finally!” Hoseok shouted, as he opened the door for both of you and Yoongi.

“Come on, switch with Namjoon, he sucks!” Jin spoke while his eyes still not leaving the TV screen and his fingers loud against the controller.

They were playing Tekken 8 on Hoseok’s Playstation. You saw how Namjoon was basically getting his ass kicked, playing as a Panda character, while Jin quickly leading himself towards victory using the character that coincidentally has the same name as him.

Jin Kazama wins.

The oldest one screamed happily, while Namjoon’s protests and excuses could be heard very loudly. Everyone laughed at the two, so it was easy to spot the one who didn’t laugh as much, whose expression didn’t hold that much excitement, sitting on the edge of the sofa just playing with his phone instead.

“Y/N, come on!” Jin patted the on the carpet to the now empty seat next to him, since Namjoon already excused himself to get more popsicles from the fridge.

You followed and sat down next to Jin on the carpet, which was directly in front of Jungkook, who was slouching on the couch.

Sitting down quietly, you took the controller and beginning to scroll through the rooster of characters. You chose the character named Lili, while Jin stayed with his current main.

When you beat Jin and the sound of your friends cheering loudly was heard, you began to feel a little bit relaxed, at the very least you could forget for a moment about your situation with Jungkook. That was until, you heard Yoongi spoke.

“Jungkook, your turn.”

You immediately turned your head towards your best friend, eyeing him straight. How could he betray you like this was beyond you.

“Nah, you play I’m not really in the mood.” He rejected politely.

Your eyes went back to the screen because you refused to see Jungkook’s expression. You pretended to busy yourself pressing the dpad button up and down on the character choices.

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard Jungkook refusing a match.” Taehyung said while munching on his potato chips.

“Yeah, that’s so unlike you, man!” Hobi joined. “Come on, we all know you’re good, but Y/N doesn’t know that yet!” He added.

A small groan came out from Jungkook’s mouth before he stood up, and once again everyone cheered. Jin stood to switch seats with him. The man locked his eyes with you once, before sitting down and picking up the controller in his hand. He didn’t take too long picking a character. His choice landed on a boxer character.

The match went quietly with only the sound of the video game from the speaker. Your friends behind you somehow went silent as well, and the atmosphere in the room became very tense.

“Is it just me or it kinda feels like they’re actually fighting with each other…” Jin whispered to Hoseok who was sitting next to him. Hoseok only signaled with his hand shaking next to his neck to cut it out, while the rest only widened their eyes and try their best not to make any comment.

You pretended like you did not hear any of it and kept mashing the controller buttons. The milliseconds of your attention being taken away from the game gave your opponent a leaway to break your combo and finally beating down your character.

Steve Fox wins.

“All right, Yoongi you switch with me, I’m gonna go get some air.” You excused yourself and headed to the balcony, closing the door behind you.

Technically it was not a lie. It just got a bit stuffy with eight people inside an apartment living room. Especially when the guy you suddenly had feelings for was in the equation as well.

You searched your back pocket for your pod and cursed silently when it was nowhere inside your jeans pocket.

“Looking for your vape?” Jungkook entered the balcony uninvited, wiggling your small disposable vape pod in front of you. But when you were about to take it from him, he withdrew his hand. “I thought you’ve stopped.”

“I did. I only do it when I’m nervous. That’s why it’s a disposable.” You said weakly.

“I noticed.” He replied in a monotone, now pocketing the pod inside his pants, refusing to give it to you.

“You smoke, don’t act all high.” You retorted.

“Well, have you seen me smoke these past few weeks?”

“No, actually… yeah, now that I think of it, you didn’t even smoke once when we went out—“ You stopped when the memories of your date went through your head. “Jungkook, about that…” You bit your lips, nervously facing him.

He also turned his body to your direction, looking at you directly. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly said.

“Huh? For what?”

“I feel like I’ve pressured you into something you don’t actually want. I’ve been thinking and re-thinking about it the past few days and it drives me crazy. I may have feelings for you, but that doesn’t give me the right to drag you along to do stuff with me just because you enjoyed spending time with me as a friend.”

“Wait, Jungkook, I don’t feel that way!”

“I know! That’s why I apologize—“

“No! I mean, I didn’t feel like you dragged me along or anything. I genuinely enjoyed our date and…” You looked away, taking a deep breath before continuing. “If I’m not reading it wrong, you’re saying you truly have feelings for me?”

“Isn’t that obvious already?”

“Well, I thought I was just your girl obsession of the week or something… You have celebrity crushes left and right, okay?! Hell, you even had a crush on Namjoon at one point!!!”

“The Namjoon crush was a joke. Man just got some nice thighs and I was just admiring it.” He defended.

You took another deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry as well… the emotions were all just come clashing to me at once and I just told you to go home instead of dealing with it.”

“But, you rejected my kiss...” He said with a weak voice, you almost didn’t catch it.

“Cause I haven’t figured out what I want yet. I thought I was just so touch deprived that your lips looked inviting that day.” You admitted while cursing yourself secretly inside your mind. That was lowkey embarrassing.

“Try being me, your lips look inviting every single day!” He exclaimed, his mood now seemed to be improving.

“Be serious.” You hit his sides. He muttered an “ow” but you doubted it even hurt the slightest bit.

“So now you’ve figured out what you want?” His doe eyes looking at you directly.

“I’m getting there… I guess.” You broke the eye contact, it was a bit too much for you and suddenly you felt a bit sweaty. “But I think I like you too.”

“Say that again while looking at me.”

“Hell no.” You suddenly covered your face with both of your hands.

“Please?” He grabbed your wrists, softly trying to prey open your hands. “I just want to have the visual memory of it captured in my brain.”

When you finally loosened your grip, he took his chance and held both of your hands in his. He grabbed them for a few seconds, intertwining his fingers with yours, before letting them go. He traced his fingers along your right wrist where you wore the bracelet that he got you, the one he got matching with his, and then moved his hands up to cup your face. The entire time he did all that, you could actually feel the shakiness in his hands, and it melted your heart.

“Can I?”

You nodded and he did not waste any second before dipping in and closing the gap between you.

Oh boy you were right, his piercings did feel cold against your lips, but that was only for a quick second before everything felt warm and soft, and your mind became blurry. You were moving your lips against his carefully, afraid to accidentally hurt him by his piercing, but instead earned a small bite on your bottom lip from Jungkook. You gasped and pulled away, hitting his chest. Since when were you in his embrace? That you did not know.

“We gotta head back now or they’ll get suspicious.”

He giggled and kissed your forehead. “They’re already suspicious, babe.”

“Still, we gotta head back…”

“You guys done making out?! We’re hungry!!!” You heard Jimin shouted from inside the apartment.

Jungkook and you looked at each other with widened eyes, before laughing in unison. He pecked you on the lips one more time before running back inside with you, holding hands.

Thank you for reading! 🌸

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #bts imagines

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toyourheartandback · 1 month ago

Text

THOUGHT OF YOU (18+)

luke castellan x reader

even after everything he has done and everything he will be doing you can’t say no to luke

word count: 2.13k

MDNI! warnings: smut, foreplay, p in a v, sweet loving sex (because i’m a romantic sorry), reader has a female anatomy and bad english as always

a/n: don’t judge pls, it took me months to write this between exams and life being shitty. i just hope you like it and i apologize for not being able to be active :(

exam season was finally over. you were just returning home after going out with your classmates, celebrating before everyone separated for the summer. exhausted and slightly tipsy, you fumbled in the dim hallway, desperately searching your apartment keys. as you reached to unlock the door, your halfblood’s instincts flared to warn you that something was wrong. someone had picked the lock of your house.

your heart raced as you slipped the knife hidden from your boot and pushed the door open, stepping inside. the living room was dimly lit, but you knew what to expect. luke castellan was there, leaning casually against the back of your sofa, as though he belonged. without hesitation, you pressed the blade to his neck. he still smelled like woodsmoke and peanut butter, a scent that once smelled like home. "i should kill you right now," he didn’t flinch, instead he chuckled at your words, the low vibration making his skin graze the edge of your weapon.

"i'm going to lay this on the couch" he smirked as you let him slowly unclasp viper from his belt and set it down as promised, his dark brown eyes never leaving yours. they had always been so beautiful, but they didn't even look like luke's anymore. your bodies were as close as they could get without touching and you could feel the cold radiating from his, so unusual for the boy you once used to snuggle with on chilly nights at camp. "It's just me, toots" his words weren't making sense to you.

he resembled the son of hermes you loved with those dark messy curls and tanned skin, but at the same time he looked nothing like him. luke castellan wasn't the sweet boy who helped you bake cookies for young campers anymore, but a traitor to the gods and to camp halfblood. he should have been that to you too, after everything you knew he had done to annabeth, chris, and everyone you loved. "how do I know he isn't also here?", because there was no way those things were actually done by your tender and perfect luke. it must have been the lord of the titans. your luke would never leave you.

his hands moved slowly, wrapping around yours to gently pry the knife from your grasp and setting it down beside viper on the sofa. "not tonight" luke murmured, his voice softer now. he pulled you closer, trailing every inch of your figure with his cold touch until he reached your waist, sending a shiver through you. your arms instinctively went to his shoulders, an old habit you couldn't seem to break. his nose brushed yours, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes locked on you like he was starving.

you knew you should end this. you should take advantage of his vulnerability, strike him down and put an end to the war. but you also longed for the way luke tasted of butter chapstick. you fingers curled into his t-shirt and before you could stop yourself your lips met his. he tangled his hand in your hair, making you moan as he deepened the kiss exactly the same way he knew you liked. "oh, i missed this so much," he murmured softly against your mouth, his mouth breaking slightly, before connecting with you again. he tapped gently on your thigh, a silent request, and you gave in, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried to your bedroom. the way he moved and the way your body fit against his was muscle memory. almost a year had passed since the last time he had been here, but it felt like no time at all.

the moment your back hit the mattress, luke's hands slid under your dress as he hovered over you. "are you sure?" he asked, toying with the strings of your panties, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk as his eyes were searching for any hesitation. your mind was foggy and the guilt buried too deep to surface, so you answered yes. you mostly plead him to touch you. that was all he needed. he tugged your underwear down and kissed his way along your neck, his lips exploring every inch of your skin. his mouth was frantic and desperate like he was trying to memorize you.

luke knelt over the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders as his lips trailed up your inner thighs. his hands pinned you down while his mouth inched closer to your core, your breathing growing heavier with anticipation. "castellan, you better fucking stop being a tease" you squirmed beneath him, your voice thick with need, as he smirked at your words and dragged his tongue along your folds. the boy was taking his sweet time with you, savoring every part of you, knowing full well you would have kicked him out long ago if you didn't want this as much as he did. you groaned and pulled him closer by his soft hair.

he pressed his mouth against your clit, his tongue twisting circles over it that sent waves of pleasure trough you. a loud sigh left your lips and your head fell back against the mattress. your fingers tangled in his messy curls as you gripped tightly as you were pleading him for more. his playful dark eyes met yours as his chin glistened already with your arousal. “what do you want from me, toots?” his voice low and mischievous, while his thumb was playing with you bundle of nerves. he was never going to stop being a fucking tease. “i want you” you whimpered, trying to desperately pull him closer for a kiss as you cupped his flushed cheeks. he obliged with a brief provoking peck before pulling back with a grin on his face. “how?” he asked amused. “inside of me” you breathed, almost a whisper. “please”

you gasped sharply, your breath hitching as you suddenly felt two of his finger slide inside you. “fuck,” you exclaimed when luke started to pump them, hitting the spot that makes you feel your stomach twist. “you know that’s not what i wanted” you managed to protest between breathy moans, your words faltering under the sweet assault of his lips on your neck. he only chuckled softly between kisses, his warm breath fanning against your skin. his free hand roamed over your chest, fingers teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. “patience” he murmured as he tugged down the straps with ease to expose your breasts to the cool air. “i told you,” his lips found one of your nipples and without hesitation he sucked gently, drawing a gasp from you. “we have the whole night for ourselves.”

this time you let his head dip between your legs without protesting. his tongue and fingers were working perfectly together, drawing you closer and closer to your edge. his strong grip was pinning you down on the bed by your stomach as your mind started to feel hazy and your core seemed to be twisting and unraveling at once. by the time you voice was reduced to broken gasps and choked breaths and your hands were grabbing the fresh sheets beneath you to anchor yourself, you let your orgasm hit tearing through you like a storm. luke didn’t seem to be fully satisfied as he continued at his relentless pace, making you come a second time with a choked cry and a guttural, uncontrollable scream.

luke finally let you go, sweeping with his tongue your pleasure off his fingers and face to savor every trace of you. you were still trembling, struggling to steady yourself, when his low laugh broke the silence. “i missed your taste so fucking much” he murmured, his words full with adoration as his gaze locked onto yours. his eyes were so deep and tender, that for a fleeting moment it reminded you of the boy you fell in love back at camp. without thinking, you let yourself collapse into his lap, your knees pressing into cold and hard floor beneath the both of you, holding the sweet head counselor of the hermes’ cabin into your arms. your palm found his cheek as your finger traced his beautiful scar. “i miss you” you breathed, the confession slipping past your lips before you could stop it. the truth that you were trying to hide from everyone, even yourself, for so long made you feel both terrified and liberated.

luke’s brows furrowed in a mix of awe and longing, and his stare deepened, darkened, as though he was memorizing every inch of you. then, without hesitation, he closed the space between you in a raw, desperate and messy kiss. his mouth moved against yours with an open and unrestrained hunger as if he was trying to pour all of his emotions into this very moment. he separated from you not to hesitate, but only to get rid of your annoying dress and you mirrored his urgency to strip him of his equally irritating clothes. you were already out of breath again as his strong hands gripped your hips and pulled you against him, making you gasp at the feeling of his erection humping your core. “luke,” you whispered, your mouth trembling between kisses. “i need you” he didn’t waste a second to reach the condom in your second drawer from the top near your bed that he knew all too well of and roll it on himself without his gaze ever leaving yours.

you steadied yourself with an hand on his shoulders as he gently guided you down and you slowly took every inch of him. a gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of luke filling you completely, as perfect as he always fit like you two were made to be united by the gods themselves. he cupped your face, tangling his fingers into your hair, and pulled your foreheads together. “you mean everything to me” he murmured before kissing you. your chest tightened, for this night you let yourself believe his words, and started to roll your hips against his in search of the perfect rhythm.

each movement sent waves of pleasure coursing trough you, leaving you panting. your knees were bruising and scraping against the floor of your room. luke carefully moved your legs around him and lifted both of you on the bed behind you, pounding into you before your back could even meet the mattress. his soft moans and kind touch were the only thing keeping you grounded to the moment even as your mind was threatening to drift away under the overwhelming gratification of your bodies entwined. a whimper of his name escaped you like a prayer as your nails dug into the firm muscles of his back. his thrust grew faster, more urgent, as he approached his peak and with a groan he buried his head into the curve of your shoulder, his strong arms gripping your waist as if to anchor himself to you.

his hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he held on tightly, grounding himself as he reached his climax. his pushes were becoming sloppier, but were enough to get you through your edge following him as luke tenderly kissed every inch of your skin he could reach. “i love you” he whispered breathless into your lips. “i love you too” your voice was thick with emotions, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. if only he loved you more than his vengeance against the gods.

you gasped softly when he pulled away, leaving behind an hallow ache that mirrored the emptiness you had felt every day since he abandoned you. he discharged the condom carelessly on the floor before collapsing on the bed beside you, pulling you closer against his chest. luke’s warmth was both comforting and cruel. “can you stay until i fall asleep?” you asked, barely above a whisper as though your voice might shatter the fragile moment. your fingers traced aimless patterns on his skin in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. you were trying to keep yourself together, knowing that if you let yourself dwell on why he was here the tears would spill over. “like i always do” he promised, tugging the covers over your bodies, and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, pulling you closer as though he could keep the two of you together only with his bare hands.

but luke already had his mother’s blessing and the only thing left was your goodbye.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut

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jungkoode · 10 days ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

˗ˏˋ that first night (her POV) ˎˊ˗

"There's a theory that says you meet everyone in your life twice—once as strangers, and once when it matters. That first night at 'Pulse', with vodka cranberry on your tongue and his eyes burning into yours, was supposed to be the stranger part. No one warns you that six months later, he'll be standing in your new apartment's doorway, looking at you like he's seen a ghost. But that’s a problem for Future you."

⋆｡°✩ story details ✩°｡⋆

collection: Before It All (FMU)

wordcount: 15k

pairing: fmu!jungkook x fmu!yn (cocky!jkxbratty!reader)

rating: explicit, 18+

playlist: spotify

content: new york city setting, university setting, strangers to roommates (eventually), nightclub setting, hookup, one night stand, drunk hookup (buzzed/tipsy but consensual), explicit sexual content, oral sex (cunnilingus), protected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, wall sex, rough sex, choking/breath play (light), hair pulling, marking/hickeys, size kink, manhandling, dirty talk, praise kink, bickering during sex, snarky banter, grinding, multiple positions, slight pain kink, slight degradation kink, praise kink if you squint, sexual tension, sexual chemistry, mild exhibitionism (making out in uber/club), slight voyeurism (being watched in club), mild dubious condom practices (that one scene), alcohol consumption, bite kink, aftercare (mild), spooning, scent kink, vanilla scented products, enemies to lovers (eventual), size difference (height), strength kink.

✧ author's note ✧

Hi my little demons! (｀∀´)Ψ Welcome to the prequel that started this absolute dumpster fire - AKA the night our emotionally constipated idiots first met.

Let's talk about how THIS happened, because honestly? I've rewritten this scene approximately 47 times (not exaggerating, my Google docs are a MESS). I initially wasn't even going to write it, but then my 3AM brain, fueled by what was probably my 8th espresso, decided we NEEDED to see these two disasters collide for the first time. And boy, did they collide. (￣ω￣;)

First things first: This is pure, unadulterated filth. I literally had to take several walks around my apartment complex while writing this because these two WOULD NOT BEHAVE. Like, I was trying to be somewhat respectable here, but they said "No♥️" and chose violence. So you know what? I just let them do their thing and documented it like the professional disaster that I am.

Now, let's talk about our girl for a second. Writing her at this specific point in her life was FASCINATING because you can really see all the pieces that made her who she is—the family pressure, the small-town suffocation, the desperate need for control while simultaneously wanting to lose it completely... She's such a beautifully complex mess and I love her for it. (Don't worry, she'll grow. Eventually. Maybe. We'll see.)

And Jungkook... Oh boy. There's SO MUCH about him that I've deliberately sprinkled throughout this chapter. Little details, subtle hints, tiny breadcrumbs that'll make sense later. I'm actually really proud of how many easter eggs I managed to hide in here - come back after future chapters and tell me if you caught them! (Though let's be real, you're probably not here for the literary analysis, you thirsty gremlins.)

The biggest challenge was honestly Emma. Like, how do you get the world's most protective best friend to leave her bestie alone in a club? I spent WEEKS trying to make this work in a way that felt authentic to her character. The sister crisis was my 3AM solution and I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out. Realistic character motivation is my kink, okay? (＾▽＾)

Speaking of realism—that's literally why this fic exists. I got so frustrated with how many unrealistic elements I kept seeing in stories that I went "Fine, I'll do it myself" and here we are, 35 pages of smut later???? Huh. You're welcome????

Side note: I have this whole thing narrated in audio (female voice only, because no male voice matches Jungkook’s, my beloved ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) but Tumblr said "file too big bestie" so... might drop it on ko-fi if enough people are interested. Let me know in the comments! Speaking of comments—PLEASE tell me your theories about all the little hints I've dropped about Jungkook's past. I'm dying to see what you guys pick up on! (⌒ω⌒)ﾉ

Until next time, you disaster pandas! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Kiki. 🍓

P.S. Any typos are between you and god because I've stared at this document for so long the words have lost all meaning.

⋆｡°✩ read more ✩°｡⋆

main story: fuck me up

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So here's the thing about nightclubs: you either love them or you hate them.

You? You're more of a 'hate them' kinda girl. The sweat, the noise, the people... not your scene. Not usually, anyway.

But usual went out the window the second Emma suggested this little adventure. Sweet, reliable Emma who you lost touch with after high school but who immediately became your secret accomplice when you reached out about transferring to NYU. Who's been your underground informant for months now—sneaking you tips about the English department, virtually walking you through the campus layout via late-night FaceTime sessions, and helping you plot out the perfect transfer application your parents know nothing about.

Emma, who didn't even blink when you showed up at her door with a weekend bag and a story for your parents about "visiting your responsible friend in the city." (They bought it immediately because, well, it's Emma. Their golden standard of What A Good Influence Should Be.) You'd spent the whole day doing exactly what you came for—touring NYU's campus, sitting in on a couple of English classes Emma snuck you into, and gathering all the transfer information you could get your hands on.

"You can't just transfer here and not know what the nightlife is like," she'd insisted, already rummaging through her closet for something that wasn't your campus tour outfit. "That's like... buying a car without test driving it."

Which, okay, terrible analogy, but you get her point. You've spent months planning this transfer—going over NYU's transfer requirements, crafting the perfect escape from your suffocating small-town university, calculating exactly how to tell your parents once it's too late for them to stop you. The campus visit was supposed to be just that—visiting your responsible friend Emma for a weekend while secretly checking out NYU.

Emma, bless her overprotective heart, had taken one look at your face after that final tour—that specific blend of desperate hope and terrified excitement—and decided you needed to see the whole picture. "The real college experience," as she put it, already pulling out her phone to text her club promoter friend.

"Location sharing on?" she'd asked for the fifth time before you left her apartment, double-checking your phone settings like some kind of Gen-Z mother hen. As if you hadn’t spent the last three months planning this transfer with military-grade precision.

"Yes, mom," you'd rolled your eyes, but something warm had settled in your chest at her fussing. It's... nice, having someone in on the secret. Someone who gets it.

"Emergency contact updated to my number?"

"Check."

"Spare key to my apartment?"

"Emma, I swear to god—"

"Just checking!" She'd grinned, already knowing she was being ridiculous but doing it anyway. "One more thing..."

And that's how you ended up with a literal tracking app on your phone, an emergency SOS button setup, and Emma's solemn promise to "never leave your side, scout's honor." (She was never actually a scout, but whatever.)

Parents really think you're just visiting your studious, sensible friend Emma for a nice, quiet weekend in the city. Having some wholesome catching-up time. Maybe seeing some museums.

Ha. If only they knew you're actually scouting out your future escape route.

If only you knew.

Because let's be real, this isn't exactly in your wheelhouse. But Emma's right there, keeping her scout's honor promise, bouncing between the bar and dance floor like some kind of safety-conscious terror. And maybe it's the way she keeps checking in with subtle thumbs-up signals, or maybe it's just knowing someone's actually got your back in this whole secret college plan thing, but you're... kind of having fun?

Which is how you find yourself here, in this pulsing, thrumming mass of bodies and sound. 'Pulse', the club's called. Fitting, considering how you can feel the bass thumping in your veins, the strobe flashing like lightning in your skull. It's... a lot. But not in a bad way?

Yeah, definitely not bad, you decide as you scan the room. Leather booths, gleaming bar top, and a dance floor packed with the kind of gorgeous twenty-somethings that make you feel simultaneously inadequate and oddly triumphant. Like 'yeah, I might not be that, but at least I'm here.'

And honestly, it's pretty nice here. Clean, classy even. Good lighting over the bar, vigilant security, and Emma vouches for the place. She's your safety net tonight, because God knows you'd never try this solo. But Emma... Emma knows everyone. Gets you both in with a wink and a wave, like some kind of VIP.

The girl's got pull and she's not afraid to use it. You envy that a bit, that confidence. Wish you could borrow just a dash of it, to fortify your nerves as you perch on this barstool, spine too straight and fingers too tight around your glass. But it's fine, it's good, you're good. That’s what you tell yourself, anyways—even if it’s not entirely the truth.

It's just one night. One chance. One small rebellion before you go back home and drown yourself in expectations and demands. Hardly even counts as rebellion, really, in the grand scheme. Not like you're planning on getting blackout drunk and ending up in jail or anything. Just… dipping your toe. Sampling the other side. Just for a night.

What's the worst that could happen?

Famous last words. Or in this case, famous last thought, as you take a too-big sip of your drink and nearly choke on watery vodka cranberry. Good thing no one's paying attention.

Well, except for one guy, apparently. And he's...

Oh. Oh damn.

He's the kind of gorgeous that makes you almost forget how to swallow, even as you scoff internally. Guys who look like that? They're usually bad news. Cringe edgy boys. Like the ones you see on TikTok. The jaw, the eyes, the whole brooding bad-boy package. Not your type. Not even a little.

But he’s hot. Truth be told.

And he's watching you. Not in a creepy way, but… intense. Interested. And wow, okay, maybe there's something to be said for the whole 'still waters' vibe he's giving off, because that gaze is doing things to you. Things you're not entirely sure you're ready for.

But then again... isn't that the whole point? To try something new? To be someone new, just for a night? The girl who holds the stare of a beautiful stranger. The girl who lets the charge build, heart kicking up and skin tingling. The girl who—

"Shit, shit, shit." Emma's suddenly at your elbow, phone clutched to her chest, face twisted with genuine distress. "My sister just called. She's having some kind of breakdown about—god, I don't even know, her boyfriend? Something about him showing up at her dorm? She's hysterical, I can barely understand her—"

You watch Emma's face cycle through about twelve different emotions in three seconds. She keeps glancing between you and her phone, clearly torn. "I should go check on her. But I can't just leave you here alone. Fuck. Maybe we should both—"

"Em, I'm fine," you try to reassure her, even as your stomach sinks a little. Great. Just when things were getting interesting with dark eyes over there. "I can just get an Uber—"

"No, no, wait." Emma's scanning the club like she's looking for something specific. Her face lights up suddenly as she spots someone by the weights machine in the club's weird gym corner. Because apparently some clubs have those now. "Oh thank god—hey!!"

She waves frantically at some guy who's been doing bicep curls between taking selfies for his Instagram story. You vaguely recognize him from Emma's study group—one of those guys who probably knows the protein content of everything in his lunch and considers gym updates a legitimate form of social interaction.

"Perfect timing," Emma says as he approaches, already dabbing his face with a workout towel. She's rapid-fire texting, probably her sister. "You're still doing that safe walk program thing for the student union, right? The volunteer thing they made you do after that frat party incident?"

"Yeah bro, community service hours almost done," he confirms, then looks confused as Emma practically shoves her phone in his face, showing him what you assume is your location-sharing setup.

"Great. This is my best friend from high school. She's got location sharing on with me, SOS button setup, fully charged phone." Emma's talking so fast she's almost tripping over her words. "I have to go deal with my sister but I'll be back in an hour tops. Could you just... keep an eye out? Make sure no creeps bother her?"

Your face heats. "Emma, seriously—"

"I know, I know, you can handle yourself," Emma cuts you off, already shouldering her bag. "But humor me? He’s actually great at this. Always walks girls home after study group. Total golden retriever energy."

You catch the way her eyes flick meaningfully toward where dark eyes is still watching from across the room. Like she's trying to say 'here's your safe but slightly dim option if you want it, but...'

Your phone buzzes with an incoming wall of texts:

Emma: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢!!! 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜 Emma: 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚢𝚖 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚙�� Emma: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜... 👀 Emma: (𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 & 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎!!!)

"Hey there. Emma had to run, but she didn't want to leave you alone. Asked me to keep you company. That okay?"

The voice cuts through your spiral, and you blink up at the interloper. Brent? Brad? Some monosyllabic gym bro who's friends with Emma and apparently your new babysitter.

Great.

You paste on a smile, even as your attention flickers back to him. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a mouth that could probably do very interesting things, you bet your money on it. But no. Don’t get distracted. Eyes on Brett. He's safe, he's known. Boring as a beige wall, but that's better. Smarter.

"Yeah, of course," you say brightly. Too brightly. Even you can hear the false note, and you cringe. "Thanks for keeping me company."

Because that's why you're here. For safety, for company, for sampling the world, but through a protective barrier. Not for tall, dark, and dangerously appealing over there. Definitely not for him.

Even if you kinda wish it was.

"You're pretty."

And like... okay? Thanks? But also, ugh. It's not that you're not flattered—you are, in that vaguely uncomfortable way that makes you want to simultaneously preen and roll your eyes into next week. Because yeah, duh, you know. You own mirrors. You're aware of your assets, thank you very much. But there's something so wonderfully, terribly basic about guys who lead with that.

Still. You give him another once-over, because fair's fair and also because like... why not? He's not bad. Actually pretty decent, if you're being honest (and you are, because what's the point of lying to yourself?). Broad shoulders, nice arms, that whole gym rat aesthetic that apparently some girls go crazy for.

Not that you're necessarily one of those girls. You've always preferred a more... balanced build. Something between "I can bench press you" and "I've never seen the inside of a gym." Like, yeah, muscles are nice and all, but you want to be able to actually cuddle without feeling like you're laying on a marble statue. Give you some softer edges any day. Something to sink into, you know?

But beggars can't be choosers and honestly? You're kind of tired of being a beggar. Or, well, not a beggar exactly, but definitely... selective. Too selective, maybe. Conservative. Careful. All those words that really mean "scared to actually live a little."

Not tonight though. Tonight you're in New York fucking City, three hundred miles from your parents' suffocating expectations and that small-town mindset that makes you want to scream into your pillow sometimes. Tonight you could be anyone.

So when you say, "Thank you, you're not bad yourself," it comes out smoother than expected. Almost flirty. And his laugh? Not terrible. Kind of nice actually, even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They're nice eyes too—warm brown, honest. Safe.

"Would you like to dance?"

The question hangs there, and you consider it. Really consider it. Because this—this whole thing—it's what you came for, isn't it? To try something new. To be someone new. Someone who says yes to dancing with attractive strangers in clubs that pulse with bass-heavy Usher remixes.

"You feeling confident?" you throw back, and okay, maybe that was a little sharp, a little too much of your usual self bleeding through. But he just smiles (no dimples, and why does that matter? Since when do you care about dimples?), and holds out his hand.

His fingers are cold when they wrap around yours. It's... not great. You've always hated cold hands, which is ironic considering yours are perpetually freezing. But you let him lead you onto the dance floor anyway, because what the hell. What the actual hell. You're here, you're young, you're... actually kind of buzzed now that you think about it. That vodka cran hitting different after all.

His hands hover at your hips, eyes asking permission, and you give him a look that you hope translates to "yes, but don't get crazy about it." Must work, because his palms settle, grip light but present. You rest your hands on his shoulders (nice shoulders, you'll give him that), and try to find the rhythm.

It's not terrible. Not amazing either, but definitely not terrible. He can move, keeps a decent beat, doesn't try to grind up on you like some horny teenager. His hands stay respectfully placed, thumbs making small circles that should probably feel more exciting than they do.

Everything about this should feel more exciting than it does.

Maybe you need another drink. Maybe you need to stop overthinking every little thing and just... be. Maybe...

Maybe that's when it happens. Your eyes drift up, over his shoulder, like they're being pulled by some invisible thread. Like something in you just knows where to look. And there he is.

Dark eyes locked on yours, expression unreadable in the strobing lights.

One second. Two. Three.

An eternity compressed into the space between heartbeats. Your skin prickles, heat crawling up your spine that has nothing to do with the crowded dance floor or the alcohol in your system. The weight of his stare is palpable, laden with something unnamed but acutely felt. Something that turns your mouth to the Sahara and your pulse into a kickdrum.

Usher croons about falling in love while Pitbull drops his signature "dale" in the background, and isn't that just fucking hilarious? Because this—this moment, this look, this stranger—this isn't about love. This is about want. Raw and simple and completely uncomplicated by things like names or histories or futures.

This is about the way his jaw clenches slightly as he watches you dance with someone else. About how his fingers drum against his glass in perfect time with the beat. About the little scar on his cheek that catches the light when he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he wants to take apart piece by piece.

Your dance partner's hands feel colder by the second.

It's not that his hands are bad, exactly. They're... nice hands. Big hands. The kind that wrap around your hips like they were made to be there, fingers long enough to span the distance between hipbone and hipbone. And yeah, okay, you have a thing for hands. Who doesn't? It's practically universal at this point—like liking bread or hating people who talk during movies. Just basic human nature.

But something's... off.

Your brain is doing that thing. That stupid, annoying, overthinking thing where it won't shut up long enough to let you enjoy anything. And god, you hate this. Hate how your mind rebels against perfectly good situations, like it's allergic to straightforward pleasure or something. Because objectively? This should be working. Hot guy, good music, decent amount of alcohol in your system. Your body's definitely on board—you can feel the low simmer of attraction, the way your skin warms under his touch. The basic chemistry is there.

But your mind? Your mind's like that one friend who shows up to parties just to list off everything that could possibly go wrong. His hands are cold. His laugh doesn't reach his eyes. No dimples. The way he said "pretty" like he was checking off a box on some "How to Pick Up Girls" checklist.

You sigh, already stepping back. Watch the confusion flicker across his face, quickly masked by what you're sure he thinks is an understanding smile.

"Everything alright?"

And like... no? Yes? Maybe? How do you even answer that when you're not sure what's wrong in the first place? When you're standing here on a dance floor that's vibrating with Usher's voice while your brain short-circuits over the temperature of some guy's hands?

"Yeah, I'm just..." You pause, teeth catching your bottom lip as you reconsider. Fuck it. Might as well go with the classics. "The vodka. Has me feeling buzzy, I think I'm not feeling too good."

It's a cop-out and you know it. But it's also an easy out, the kind that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings or make things weird. Because that's what you do, isn't it? Keep things smooth. Keep things nice. Even when you're lying through your teeth to some guy whose name you can't quite remember.

"Hey, that's okay." His smile stays steady, concerned even. "No hard feelings. You need a ride home?"

And that—that right there—that's actually kind of sweet. In another universe, maybe that offer would seal the deal. Nice guy, worried about your safety, probably has a stable job and calls his mother on Sundays. But in this universe? In this universe, your eyes are already drifting over his shoulder, drawn like a compass needle to true north.

You press your lips together, scanning the crowd like you're actually looking for someone. Like you haven’t known exactly where he is this whole time, haven’t felt his eyes raking you up and down non-stop.

"Actually I know someone just across the way, so honestly, zero worries."

The shock on his face would be comical if it weren’t so irksome. "You positive? Weren’t you visiting from out of town? Emma mentioned you were just in for the weekend."

And okay, what the actual fuck? Why does he need your whole life story? Yeah, sure, he's probably just being nice. Probably just wants to make sure you're not about to wander off and get murdered or something. But still. The irritation rises in your throat like bile, sharp and inexplicable.

"Doesn't mean I don't know anybody in New York," you say, and wow, okay, that came out with more edge than intended. Quick, fix it, smooth it over. You paste on a tight smile, the kind that probably looks more like a grimace but hey, at least you're trying. "See you around, Brent."

You're already moving as you say it, heels clicking against the floor with purpose. You think you hear him call after you—something about his name being Peter?—but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about cold hands and careful smiles and all the safe choices you should be making.

Because your feet know where they're going, even if your brain is screaming about bad decisions. Even if every rational part of you is throwing up warning signs and red flags. Even if—or maybe because—you can feel his eyes following your every move, heat spiraling up your spine with each step closer.

The bass drops, and your heart kicks up to match it.

Dale, indeed.

You don't need to look at him to know he's watching. You can tell. Can perceive it. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire. The kind of heat that makes you want to step closer even as your survival instincts scream danger, danger, danger.

And this? This is definitely dangerous.

You don't do this. Like, ever. There's a whole routine to these things, right? Guy sees girl, guy approaches girl, girl decides if she wants to deal with whatever fumbling attempt at flirtation follows. That's just... how it works. How it's always worked. Because guys? They're usually terrible at being approached. Their fragile little egos can't handle a girl making the first move. Plus, most of them aren't worth the effort anyway.

But.

But your feet are already moving. But your heart is already racing. But something about the way he's been watching you, like he could devour you whole and still be hungry—it makes you reckless. Makes you stupid. Makes you brave.

"Dance with me."

It comes out more command than question, your voice steadier than it has any right to be. He looks up at you from his seat, and fuck. Just... fuck. Because the way he tilts his head? The slow, deliberate motion of it? That should not be as hot as it is. That should be illegal in at least three states.

Then he smiles. Just one side of his mouth lifting, lazy and confident and—oh god. A dimple. One perfect little dimple that makes something in your chest squeeze tight.

"That's bold."

His voice is lower than you expected. Rougher. Like whiskey over gravel, and you want to drink it down until you're drunk on it. Want to find out what other sounds you can pull from that throat.

"You've been looking at me for 10 minutes." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, sharp and challenging. "You gonna come dance or not?"

He chuckles—actually chuckles, who even does that?—and holy shit, there's another one. Two dimples. Two perfect little dents in his cheeks that make heat pool low in your belly, thick and sweet like honey. Your fingers twitch, aching to touch them, to press thumbs to those tiny curves and feel him beam against your flesh.

When he stands, it's one fluid motion that makes it feel like someone replaced your esophagus with a cracked porcelain vase. Because he's tall. Not incredibly, super tall. But yes the kind of tall that means you'd have to stretch up on your toes to reach his mouth, that means his hands could probably span your whole waist, that means—

No. Nope. Not going there. Not yet anyway.

He follows you onto the dance floor, and you can feel the energy shift. Like the air itself is charging up, preparing itself for both of you. His friend—some guy with killer dance moves who's been holding down a corner of the floor all night—catches his eye and shoots him a look. Something passes between them, quick and meaningful, before Mystery Man's attention is back on you. All on you.

And yeah.

Yeah, this is happening.

This is definitely happening.

The bass pounds through your marrow as Usher's voice continues suffusing the air, talking about DJs and falling in love, and honestly. At this point you’re barely listening to the music itself, too focused on finding a more secluded spot.

Your pulse picks up speed. Can’t help it, really. Because this? This is definitely going to be worth breaking all your rules for.

You lead him to some darker corner of the club—might be by a column, might be an alcove, who fucking knows because your brain's too busy short-circuiting to care about architectural details right now. All you know is it's slightly away from the main crush of bodies, slightly more private, slightly more...

Oh.

His hands find your hips the second you turn to face him. No hesitation. No silent question. No careful hovering or polite uncertainty like what's-his-name earlier. Just warm, sure palms sliding over the curve of your hips like they belong there, like he's claiming territory, and—

And you should be annoyed. You should be fucking livid. Because excuse you? The audacity of this man to just assume he can touch you without so much as a "may I?" Some feminist you are, getting weak in the knees over this caveman behavior while poor Brett (Blake? Whatever) at least had the decency to ask permission with those puppy dog eyes of his.

But your brain? Your traitorous, horny, absolutely useless brain? It's sending signals straight between your legs because apparently that's what does it for you now. The confidence. The heat of his hands—and god, they're so warm, burning through the thin fabric of your dress like brands. They're not as broad as the other guy's, but his fingers are longer, elegant almost. Artist's hands, scattered with tiny tattoos that disappear under his sleeve, and that silver ring on his middle finger catching the light as his grip tightens just slightly...

(Middle finger. Not left-hand fourth. So not married then. Good. Last thing you need tonight is adding "homewrecker" to your expanding list of dubious habits.)

Your arms loop around his neck almost on autopilot, and then you're moving. With him. Against him. The bass is a living thing between you, and he matches your rhythm instantly, like your bodies already know the steps to this dance. Like you've done this a hundred times before, in a hundred different lives.

His eyes lock onto yours, heavy-lidded and dark as sin, and every hair on your neck stands at attention. Electricity crackles down your spine, sharp and sweet, as his thumbs press into your hipbones. Just enough pressure to guide you closer, until there's barely room for breath between you.

"Didn't catch your name earlier," he says, voice pitched low enough that you have to lean in to hear him over the music. His breath fans hot against your ear, and you suppress a shiver.

"Didn't throw it," you shoot back, because apparently your mouth is running on autopilot now too. Great. Just great.

But he laughs—a quick, rough sound that you feel more than hear—and his hands flex against your hips. "Feisty. I like that."

"Bet you say that to all the girls who proposition you at clubs."

"Nah." His head dips closer, nose brushing your temple. "Just the ones who stare at me for ten minutes first."

"Excuse you, you were staring at me."

"Maybe we were staring at each other."

And okay, that's... fair actually. But you're not about to admit it. Instead, you roll your eyes, even as your fingers find the soft hair at his nape. "Does this usually work for you? This whole... whatever this is?"

"You tell me." His smile is audible in his voice, and you just know those dimples are making an appearance again. "You're the one who told me to dance."

"Maybe I just felt sorry for you, sitting there all alone."

"Wasn't alone. Had my friend."

"The dancer? Please, he was too busy killing it on the floor to keep you company."

His laugh vibrates through his chest into yours, and when did you get this close? When did your bodies start pressing together with every sway of the music? When did his thigh slip between yours, creating a friction that makes your breath catch?

"You been watching my friend too? Should I be jealous?"

The word sends an unexpected thrill through you, even though his tone is clearly teasing. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah," he says, and suddenly his voice isn't teasing at all. His grip tightens fractionally, pulling your hips more firmly against his. "Yeah, I would."

Goosebumps ripple across your arms, slow and inevitable, like lava carving its path through stone. His eyes burn into yours again, scorching hot, wild, and consuming—a downpour drowning a raging fire, leaving nothing but aftermath. What’s left in their wake is the kind of black that clings. Opaque. Dense. Like ash, settling over a forest stripped to its bare bones.

The sensible part of your brain—the part that usually keeps you from doing stupid, reckless things with beautiful strangers—is suspiciously quiet. Probably because all your blood is currently occupied elsewhere, namely with the way his hands are starting to trace slow patterns on your hips, the way his breath keeps ghosting over your neck, the way his body moves against yours like he's writing sin in cursive.

And maybe it's the vodka, or maybe it's how he's gazing at you like you're tranquility amidst his chaos, but you hear yourself say, "Buy me a drink first."

His smile is slow, dangerous. "That an order too?"

"Consider it a... suggestion."

"Mm." One hand slides to your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer for just a moment. "I'm starting to like your suggestions."

Your skin feels too tight, too hot, too everything. "Starting to?"

"Give me time." His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and this time you can't suppress the shiver. "Night's still young."

He actually does buy you that drink, which is... something. You're not sure what exactly, but definitely something. The way he guides you to the bar with his hand still on your lower back, fingers splayed wide enough to make you notice the imprint of his warmth? Also something.

"Another vodka cran," you tell the bartender, because hey, if it ain't broke. Then you catch his raised eyebrow and can't help adding, "What? Were you expecting something more sophisticated?"

"Nah." That damn dimple makes another appearance. "Just trying to figure you out."

"Good luck with that."

When he pulls out his wallet to pay, you catch a glimpse of multiple cards fanned out in the leather fold. Credit cards, maybe? Must have money then—or at least good credit. Not that it matters, because this is a one-time thing. A never-gonna-see-you-again thing. A what-happens-in-New-York stays-in-New-York thing.

Your fingers find the cocktail napkin beneath your glass, absently creating sharp creases with your thumbnail. It's one of those fancy ones with the bar's logo embossed in gold—pretentious, like everything else about this place.

Still. You notice how he pauses, studying one card for a beat too long before selecting it. Like he's making sure of something. Weird, but whatever.

The napkin disappears into your clutch without conscious thought. A habit you'll question later but can't explain now. You're too buzzed to care about his personal finances or your own questionable souvenir-keeping tendencies.

"Whiskey neat," he orders, and you barely contain your snort. Of fucking course he drinks whiskey. Probably thinks he's Don Draper or something.

"Pretentious much?"

"Says the girl drinking what's basically juice with a splash of alcohol."

"At least I'm not trying to prove anything."

His laugh is rough, genuine. "Who says I'm trying to prove anything?"

"Please. Whiskey at a club? That's like wearing a suit to McDonald's."

"Maybe I just like whiskey." He takes a deliberate sip, throat working in a way that absolutely doesn't make your mouth water. "Maybe I like the burn."

There's something in his voice when he says that, something that feeds the banked flame in your belly. His eyes are on you again, alternating between your eyes and your mouth like he can't quite decide where to focus.

"That line score you points often?" you manage to ask, even as your voice betrays you, emerging breathier than intended.

"I wouldn't know." He's definitely closer now. When did that happen? Did he move, or did you? "Is it scoring points now?"

And god help you, but it is. It really fucking is. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your system properly, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, but you find yourself swaying toward him. Drawn in like a moth to flame, even though you know you're probably going to get burned.

"You're kind of an asshole," you inform him, even as your free hand finds its way to his chest. His very firm chest, holy shit.

"Yeah?" His fingers trace up your spine, feather-light but deliberate. "Seem to like it though."

"Cocky too."

"Haven't heard any complaints."

He's so near now you can smell him—something clean and vicious, like a tempest raging on the coast. His breath fans across your lips, whiskey-warm and promising. One of his hands cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw in a way that makes your skin buzz.

"Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?" you murmur, and that's it—that's all it takes.

His mouth crashes into yours like a wave breaking against rocks, hot and insistent and absolutely fucking flawless. His lips are softer than you expected but he kisses hard, like he's trying to devour you whole. Like he's been thinking about this as much as you have. The hand on your neck tightens, tilting your head to deepen the angle, and holy fuck.

You've been kissed before. You've been kissed a lot, actually. But this? This is something else entirely. This is lightning in a bottle, this is matches in gasoline, this is every hackneyed poetry metaphor about fire and flame and immolation except it actually makes sense now because your entire body is electric with it.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open for him without hesitation, vodka cranberry forgotten in your hand. He tastes like alcohol and dewdrops and something else you can't name but instantly crave more of. The noise he makes when you tug his hair—low and ravenous and almost startled—shoots straight between your legs.

Someone whistles nearby—probably his dancer friend—but you couldn't care less. Not when his other hand is sliding down to your hip, pulling you closer. Not when he's kissing you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your mouth with his tongue. Not when everything in you is screaming more, closer, now.

You're definitely going to hell for this. But with the way he's kissing you?

Might be worth it.

His forehead rests against yours, and you're both breathing like you've run a marathon. Which is... embarrassing, actually. When was the last time a kiss left you this affected? What are you, some freshman at their first house party? Because this is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape, and your lips are tingling, and—

And fuck it. Fuck everything. You want more.

"Let's take this outside," you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds considering your internal chaos. Because yes. Outside. Away from the crowd and the music and all these people who aren't him.

"Your house?" The words are barely out of his mouth before you can finish your suggestion, and okay, that's kind of hot. The eagerness. The way his fingers flex against your hip like he's already imagining it.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. At least you're not alone in this desperate teenage hormone bullshit. At least he's just as affected as you are.

But then reality crashes in like a bucket of ice water. Your house? What house? You're crashing at Emma's place and—oh god, Emma would actually murder you. Like, literal homicide. She's already doing you a solid by covering for you with your parents, and bringing back some random (incredibly hot) guy from a club? Yeah, that would definitely void the best-friend contract.

"Yours?" you counter, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He makes this sound—half hiss, half groan—that shouldn't be as sexy as it is. "Can't."

"What, mommy and daddy don't let you?" The snark is automatic, defense mechanism kicking in to mask your disappointment.

"Nah, but my friend might not like it."

"Mine either."

You stare at each other for a moment, eyes darting back and forth like you're both trying to solve the same puzzle. The absurdity of the situation hits you at the same time—two grown adults, hot and bothered in a club, cockblocked by their respective roommate situations—and suddenly you're both laughing.

His chuckle is deep, rumbling through his chest where you're still pressed against him, and it's... nice. Really nice. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his dimples flash (and seriously, those things should come with a warning label), the way his thumb absently strokes your hip like he's forgotten he's doing it.

"Well, this is..."

"Stupid?" you offer.

"I was gonna say unfortunate, but yeah. Stupid works too."

You're still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, still wound tight with want, still buzzing from that kiss. And now you're both laughing about it, which should probably kill the mood but somehow doesn't. Somehow makes it better, actually. More real. Less like some fantasy hookup and more like...

Nope. Not going there. This is still just a one-night thing. A one-night thing that's currently being cockblocked by your respective living situations, but still. Just one night.

"So what now?" he asks, and his voice has dropped back into that lower register that you really want to hate. "Because I really want to kiss you again."

"Just kiss?" The words slip out before you can stop them, teasing and suggestive and probably way too candid.

His grip tightens, just marginally. Just enough to make your breath catch. "Definitely not just kiss."

"Fuck," you breathe, because eloquence has left the building. Possibly the state.

"That's the idea, yeah." And how he says it—all gruff edges and sinful vow—makes embers spark low in your abdomen. "Just need to sort out the logistics."

Which brings you right back to your current predicament. No Emma's place, no his place, and you're pretty sure having sex in the club bathroom is both tacky and probably illegal. But the way he's looking at you, like he really, really wants to wreck you…

"We could..." you start, then pause. Because what? What brilliant solution are you about to offer here? Your practical brain is absolutely useless right now, short-circuited by the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue and the steady pressure of his hands on your body.

"Could what?" His thumb traces your bottom lip, and your train of thought derails completely.

"I have no idea," you admit, and his laugh is somehow both frustrated and fond.

"This is definitely stupid," he says, but he's still holding you close, still looking at your mouth like he's considering kissing you again anyway, roommate situations be damned.

"So stupid," you agree, already tilting your face up to meet him halfway.

You lick your lips, tasting geosmin and want and really awful decision-making skills.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Emma can kill you tomorrow.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist—god, his hands are so warm—and you're already moving, already pulling up the Uber app with your free hand. Thank fuck for muscle memory because your brain is absolutely useless right now, too busy cataloging the way his pulse jumps under your fingers, the way he follows without hesitation.

"Where we goin'?" His voice is low and hoarse as he trails behind you, wrist a hostage to your grip.

"To my friend's place," you mutter, trying to type Emma's address without typos.

You: 𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠

You don’t mention you’re not heading home alone. She’ll find out herself.

The dude, for his part, just hums in response, like he's fine with whatever as long as it means getting somewhere private. Which, fair. You're kind of operating on the same wavelength here.

You make it to the coat check line first, because priorities. You’re not leaving your jacket behind. And it is moving at a glacial pace, because of course it is. The universe clearly wants to test your self-control by forcing you to stand here, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck.

The way his fingers keep "accidentally" brushing your thigh has you seriously considering saying fuck it and just leaving your jacket behind.

"Could just come back for it tomorrow," he murmurs, like he's reading your mind. His lips brush your ear as he speaks, and you barely sigh in response. Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

"It's January in New York. I'm not getting hypothermia just because you can't keep it in your pants for five minutes."

"Could keep you warm."

And okay, that line should be cringeworthy. That's the kind of shit that would usually make you roll your eyes so hard they'd get stuck. But he has a way with words—or maybe it’s just his fucking voice—and somehow you like it.

"Next," the coat check girl calls, mercifully saving you from having to respond. You practically lunge forward, fumbling with your ticket. Better than letting him feel how that stupid line affected you.

He reaches past you to hand over his own ticket, arm bracketing you against the counter. And really? Really? This is some romance novel bullshit right here. Who does he think he is, Christian Grey? You should be annoyed. You should definitely not be noticing how good he smells, or how the position highlights just how much bigger he is than you, or—

"Here you go!" The coat check girl's voice is way too cheerful for—you check your phone—3:46 AM. She hands over your coats with a knowing smile that makes your face heat. Great. Just great. Even the coat check girl can tell you're about to make terrible life choices.

He helps you into your jacket because apparently he's decided to be a gentleman now, after spending the last hour making you question your life choices with his mouth. His hands linger on your shoulders just a fraction too long, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

"Ready?" he asks, voice still pitched low enough to make your skin tingle. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and let him guide you toward the exit with his hand on your lower back.

The coat check girl calls out "Have fun!" as you leave, and you seriously consider moving to a different city. Maybe a different country. Somewhere people don't immediately clock your questionable decision-making skills.

The Uber arrives embarrassingly fast—some higher power must be looking out for horny idiots tonight—and you both slide into the backseat. You start on opposite sides because you're trying to be decent human beings, trying to remember that your poor driver doesn't deserve a free show.

But then he's moving closer.

And closer.

And suddenly his mouth is on yours again, hot and demanding, and okay, yeah, sorry Mr. Uber driver but this is happening. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head just so, and you're definitely making some kind of noise in the back of your throat but you're beyond caring. Beyond thinking about anything except the way his tongue slides against yours, the way his other hand grips your thigh.

Fifteen minutes. That's all it is from the club to Emma's place. Fifteen minutes that somehow feel like both seconds and eternity, lost in a haze of wandering hands and stolen kisses and trying (failing) to keep things PG-13. You're vaguely aware of streets passing, of turns and stops, of the driver pointedly turning up the radio.

And then your attention shifts. His teeth graze your bottom lip, fingers slowly sliding on your inner thigh. Hisses when your nails find his scalp. Heat. Want. Need. Building higher with each passing minute until you're practically vibrating out of your skin.

By some miracle (or possibly divine intervention), you make it to Emma’s building. You stumble out of the Uber, giving the driver your most apologetic smile-grimace combo. He just shakes his head, probably adding you to his mental list of "drunk hookups I never want to see again."

But then he's pressing you against the building's front door, mouth hot on your neck, and you really can't bring yourself to care about your Uber rating right now. Not when his hands are everywhere, not when he's making these little sounds against your skin that go straight between your legs.

It takes three tries to get the key in the lock—partly because it's 4 AM and you're tipsy, mostly because he won't stop kissing you long enough to focus. When you finally get the door open, you nearly fall through it, saved only by his arm around your waist.

"Smooth," he murmurs against your lips, laughing softly.

"Shut up," you breathe back, already pulling him in for another kiss. His back hits the closing door with a thud that's definitely too loud for 4 AM, but you're past caring. Past thinking about anything except the way his hands feel sliding up your sides, the way he tastes, the way he's eating you up with his eyes.

Emma's definitely going to murder you tomorrow. But with the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way he's kissing you like he's trying to crawl inside your skin?

What-fucking-ever.

He pushes off the door like a man on a mission, and suddenly you're airborne—your legs wrapping around his waist on pure instinct. And okay, that's hot. The way he lifts you like you weigh nothing, the solid press of his body against yours, the little growl he makes when your hips roll against his.

"Room?" His voice is wrecked already, breath hot against your mouth between kisses that make your head spin.

You gesture vaguely toward Emma's guest room, too busy mapping the muscles of his shoulders to form actual words. He exhales sharply against your lips, already moving. Your jackets become casualties somewhere in the hallway, dropped with fumbling hands and zero grace because yeah, the vodka's definitely hitting now. Everything's warm and hazy and electric, your skin buzzing everywhere he touches.

Then you're falling backward onto the bed, and holy fuck. The way he's looking down at you—like he's been lost in the desert and you're a fucking oasis—it makes your breath catch in your throat. Makes heat pool low in your belly, makes your thighs press together in anticipation.

His shirt comes off in one fluid motion and—

Jesus fucking Christ.

You've seen attractive guys before. You've seen gym bros and athletes and the whole spectrum of male bodies. But this? This is like someone took Michelangelo's David and decided to make him real but better. He's all lean muscle and smooth skin, but with just enough softness to make him touchable. Human. Perfect.

And his chest—god, his chest. It's not the rock-hard wall of muscle you'd expect from someone who looks like that. Instead, there's this ideal balance of firm and soft, creating the most magnificent set of man tiddies you've ever laid eyes on. The kind you could actually cuddle up to without feeling like you're resting on concrete. The kind that would make a flawless pillow after—

Your lusty brain stops working as he leans down, pressing his hips deliberately against yours as his mouth finds your neck. His tongue traces patterns on your skin that make you arch up against him, desperate for more contact.

"Fuck," he breathes against your throat, nosing along your pulse point. "You smell so good. Like vanilla and..." He inhales deeply, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. "Like something sweet I wanna taste."

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the play of muscles under warm skin. He's perfectly balanced above you, using just enough of his weight to make you feel deliciously pinned without crushing you. You fucking love it. Don’t know why, don’t know how. Maybe it's just how attractive he is, or the heat of his mouth on your neck, or the press of his body against yours or the way he keeps making these little sounds like he can't help himself.

He's kissing you again before your vodka-soaked brain can process anything beyond rudimentary want, primal need. It's all heat and tongue and teeth, messy and perfect in the way only drunken hookups can be. One of his hands slides up your neck, fingers spreading across your throat. Not squeezing, just...resting.

It's fucking electric.

Your hands map the expanse of his back, nails dragging lightly in a way that makes him groan into your mouth. He's all smooth skin and sinewy muscle, hot to the touch and absolutely unfair. No one should be allowed to feel this good. To make you feel this good, just by existing.

He drags his mouth down your neck, teeth grazing your artery. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tight enough to make him hiss. Which is hot. Way too hot, because that noise? It immediately spirals straight between your thighs.

And fuck, how he grinds down against you in response. It's obscenely filthy, the perfect pressure in just the right spot to make you want to moan aloud. To be shameless.

"Fuck," he breathes against your skin, and you feel it more than hear it. Feel the heat of his breath, the barely restrained want in the way he's touching you. "You feel so fucking good."

Your hips roll up to meet his in a way that's purely instinctual. Because yeah, he feels good too. Better than good. You feel the maddening length of him grinding against you through his jeans; his hand around your neck and—god, you want to claw his back, to wrap your legs around his waist and just take.

The hand on your neck flexes just slightly, thumb brushing your jawline and you think you die just a little because hello? You like that. You really, really fucking like that. New kink unlocked, it seems.

"Want you," he murmurs, voice low and rough with arousal. "Want you so fucking bad, you have no idea."

And oh, you do. You really, really do. Because wanting him is all you can think about right now. All you can focus on beyond the thrumming of your heart, the aching throb between your thighs. You want his hands, his mouth, his—

"Off," you manage, tugging at his jeans with clumsy fingers. "These need to come off like, yesterday."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest into yours. "So fucking bossy."

But he's already leaning back, already working on his fly as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch. And Jesus Christ, the way he looks right now—shirtless and disheveled, dark hair falling into darker eyes, lips red from your kisses—it's unfair. Unreal.

So fucking hot you think you might actually die if he doesn't touch you again in the next ten seconds.

His jeans hit the floor with a soft thud and holy fuck—the sight of him in just black boxer briefs should be illegal in at least forty-eight states. Like, someone call the police because this? This is absolutely criminal. The way the fabric clings to his thighs, the obvious bulge that makes your mouth water—

But then he's on you again, and thinking becomes a foreign concept.

His hands find the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up with an urgency that makes heat pool between your legs. You arch up to help him, already anticipating the slide of fabric over skin, but—

Oh.

The second the dress clears your elbows, he presses down. Uses the fabric to pin your arms above your head, effectively trapping you against the mattress. And that's... that's...

Fuck.

His mouth is suddenly on your breast, hot and wet and absolutely perfect. No hesitation, no teasing—just the wet slide of his tongue over your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, and holy shit.

Thank god you wore this dress. Thank every fucking deity that you chose the tight red one that doesn’t need a bra, because the feeling of his mouth directly on your skin is absolutely devastating.

A moan tears from your throat—embarrassingly loud in the quiet room—as his teeth graze sensitive flesh. His responding groan vibrates through your chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your back arches instinctively, pressing more firmly into his mouth as his tongue swirls around your peaked nipple.

His free hand finds your throat again, and—

Oh god.

His fingers spread wide, applying the slightest pressure. Testing. Exploring. Like he's curious about your reaction, about the way he feels your heartbeat flutter faster in response.

You can't help the soft sound that escapes you—somewhere between a whimper and a moan. His grip tightens fractionally in response, and your cunt clenches around nothing. Because fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is. The way he's controlling your breath, the way he's holding you down, the way his mouth is absolutely ruining you one suck at a time...

"Sensitive," he murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Bastard. His thumb strokes along your jugular, feeling the way your breath hitches. "Wonder what other sounds I can get that pretty throat to make."

You'd have a snappy comeback for that. You know you would. But then he's switching to your other breast, teeth scraping just right, and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. All you can focus on is the wet heat of his mouth, the steady pressure of his hand on your throat, the way he's using his other hand to keep you pinned against the bed.

And maybe it's the situation, or maybe it's just him, but you've never been this turned on in your life. Never been this wet, this desperate, this needy. It should be embarrassing really—the way you're practically writhing beneath him, the way every little touch sends electricity sparking through your veins.

But with the way he's groaning against your skin, the way his hips keep grinding against yours like he needs it? Maybe you're not the only one that’s losing sanity here.

His teeth catch your nipple just as his fingers flex against your throat, and the combination pulls a sound from you that you didn’t even know you could make. High and breathy and absolutely wrecked.

"Fuck," he breathes, hot against your wet skin. "The sounds you make..."

His thumb brushes over your throat again, slower this time, before gliding up. Along the underside of your jaw. Pausing at your bottom lip. He applies the slightest pressure, watching as your mouth falls open on instinct. You're not sure whether you breathe or whimper, but it makes his gaze go impossibly darker, makes his hips roll against yours in response.

And then his thumb is there, pressing against your tongue, and—goddamn him—you're sucking without a second thought. The groan he lets out is a shattered thing, low and guttural, as though he's just as wrecked as you.

For three glorious seconds, he just... freezes. Like his brain's temporarily offline, like you've actually managed to short-circuit whatever smooth operator routine he had going.

And okay, maybe that gives you enough time to yank the dress out the rest of the way, tossing it off your bent elbows in a way that you hope was sexier than it felt. He doesn’t seem to notice—too busy looking at you like he's forgotten how he got here. Or how to breathe.

Either way, it's a little distracting.

But then he's moving, yanking his hand back like you've scorched him. And before you can even process the loss, he's sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses that make your skin come alive.

Your tipsy brain tries to catch up with what's unfolding—manages to register the flex of his shoulders, the heat of his mouth marking a path down your stomach, the way his hands are suddenly gripping your thighs and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He pulls you to the edge of the bed like you weigh nothing, kneeling between your spread legs like he belongs there. And how he looks up at you through his lashes, mouth hovering just inches from where you're absolutely drenched through your panties...

You prop yourself up on your elbows because fuck if you're missing this show. The movement makes your head spin slightly—reminder that you are definitely not sober—but the sight of him between your thighs is worth any potential vertigo.

His breath fans hot against your core, and your hips twitch involuntarily. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, but before you can call him out on it, he's leaning in. Pressing his open mouth against you through the thin fabric of your underwear, and—

"Fuck."

The word tears from your throat unbidden because holy shit, this shouldn't feel this good already. It's barely anything—just the heat of his mouth, the slight pressure of his tongue through fabric—but your body's lighting up like a fucking supernova. Like every nerve ending is suddenly dialed to a hundred.

Your fingers find his hair without conscious thought, tangling in the dark strands as he works you through your panties. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightens in response, and fuck—that's definitely going to leave marks.

And okay, yeah. Maybe you're embarrassingly wet. Maybe you can feel it soaking through the fabric, making everything slick and messy. Maybe you should care about that, about being this affected this quickly.

But you don’t. Not really, with the way he's groaning against you like he's dying for it. Like he can't get enough. Yeah, dignity can take a backseat.

Besides, all thoughts of pride or shame fly right out the window when he finally, finally hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. Your hips lift automatically, helping him slide them down your legs. They catch on your heels because of course you're still wearing your fuck-me pumps, but he doesn't seem to mind. Just lets the fabric dangle from one ankle as he dives back in, and—

"Holy shit."

His tongue drags up your slit in one long, deliberate stroke, and your brain temporarily stops working. Like, full system shutdown. Windows XP error sound and everything. Because fuck—that shouldn't feel as mindbogglingly good as it does.

Then he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you make this absolutely mortifying noise—some choked little "guh" that would humiliate you if you were sober enough to care. His lip ring adds this extra edge of sensation that makes your thighs quake, cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth.

He makes this sound against you—something between a hum and a growl (and okay, yeah, maybe 'growl' isn't the right word because what are you, fucking animals? But you're drunk and getting your pussy eaten properly for the first time in forever, so vocabulary can fuck right off). Whatever it is, it vibrates through you in a way that has your hips jerking up, seeking more.

Then he's doing these small, slow circles around your clit. So. Fucking. Slow. Like he wants to drive you crazy, wants you to fucking writhe against him. You try not to just grind up against his face. Because that would be desperate, right? That would be—

Damn.

The circles suddenly get faster, tighter, more intense. His tongue flicking over your clit with the kind of speed and precision that would put Fast & Furious to shame. And the sounds coming out of your mouth? Yeah, those aren't even words anymore. Just a stream of "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."

If Emma’s home—because it’s probably been an hour already—she’s probably getting one hell of a show through these paper-thin walls. But you know what? She fucking owes you. All those times you covered for her sneaking out to Bobby Martinez's house in high school? Yeah, consider this payback with interest.

He drags his tongue back down, gathering your wetness (and okay, yeah, you're basically flooding at this point but whatever), then slides back up. Adding texture to his movements like some kind of oral sex virtuoso. Because apparently this stranger knows exactly what he's doing with that mouth, and honestly? Good for you. You deserve this. You deserve to have your pussy eaten by someone who treats it like a goddamn art form.

So you lean back, let yourself enjoy it. Let him explore and taste and fuck—the way he's absolutely feasting on you like you're his last meal. His tongue finds your clit again, and this time he sucks it into his mouth, and the sound that rips from your throat probably violates noise ordinances in several states.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you are absolutely obscene. Like, pornographic-level obscene. All sucking and slurping and Jesus fucking Christ, you should not find that as hot as you do. But with your stiletto digging into his back (when did that happen?) and his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints...

Yeah. Yeah, definitely hot.

Then his tongue drags down, down, down—and fuck, you can feel every ridge, every texture against your sensitive flesh. He reaches your entrance and just... circles it. Like he's mapping you out. Like he’s thinking about his next move.

Five blessed seconds where you can actually catch your breath. Where your brain starts to come back online and—

Fuck.

His tongue plunges into you without warning and your hand definitely just yanks out some of his hair but who fucking cares because his nose is nudging your clit while he tongue-fucks you and—and—

And your brain's offline again. Good talk.

He adjusts his arms, somehow pulling you even closer to his face. As if you weren't already basically smothering him. As if he literally wants to drown in your cunt. And that thought shouldn't be as scorching hot as it is but holy shit.

A moan tears from your throat—loud enough that Emma's probably googling noise complaint laws right now. But you can feel it building, that telltale tightening, that electric tension spreading through your core. Your clit's throbbing in time with your racing pulse and—

And he doesn't change a thing.

Because this guy? This absolute genius between your legs? He knows better than to pull that amateur hour bullshit where they speed up right when you're close. No, he maintains the exact same rhythm, the exact same pressure that got you here. Like he's done this before. Like he actually pays attention to what works.

(And okay, maybe you shouldn't be thinking about his past experience right now but your brain's kind of shorting out so whatever.)

Your stiletto digs deeper into his shoulder—might actually be drawing blood at this point but he doesn't seem to care one iota. If anything, he groans against you like he's getting off on it. Like pain turns him on. And that's...that's definitely something to stash away for later.

Or never. Because this is a one-time thing. Right. Focus.

Except focusing is basically impossible when he's eating you out like it's his actual job. When the pressure's building and building and—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your back arches off the bed like you're auditioning for America's Next Top Model: After Dark Edition. The orgasm hits you like a riptide, waves of pleasure so intense your vision actually whites out for a second. Your thighs clamp around his head, heel probably leaving permanent marks on his back, and you're definitely making sounds that would make a porn star blush but—

But holy shit.

His tongue flicks over your oversensitive clit one last time—the absolute bastard—and your whole body jerks as you whimper. Which, okay, definitely earned that one. Because holy fuck.

You slump back against the bed, bones liquified, as he prowls up your body. His hands plant on either side of your face and—wow, okay, up close he's even more unfairly beautiful. All sharp jawline and scorching eyes and lips that are literally glistening with...yeah.

"You taste exactly like you smell," he murmurs, and what kind of weird-ass compliment is that? Like, thanks? Good to know your pussy matches your perfume brand?

Except...it kind of works? Something tingles in your face and no. Absolutely not. You are not getting all swoony just because Hot Stranger is saying vaguely poetic shit during sex. This is just your horny lizard brain going 'hot man say words, neurons go brr.' That's all.

Then his mouth is on your neck and—yeah, okay, thinking is canceled anyway. His hands trace maddening patterns down your stomach, feather-light touches that make your muscles jump. And when he tugs his briefs down, his cock springs free and—

Oh.

Well then.

Your body apparently didn’t get the memo about the standard refractory period because hello, Round Two suddenly seems very appealing. It hasn’t even been five minutes since you came but here you are, already clenching around nothing like some kind of sex-starved teenager.

He leans back slightly, reaching for something and—ah. His jeans. More specifically, his wallet. From which he produces not one but multiple condoms, and honestly? We love a prepared king. Nothing hotter than a guy who practices safe sex without having to be asked.

(And yes, you're literally evaluating his sexual responsibility while naked and still tingling from one of the best orgasms of your life. Sue you.)

He grabs one condom and tosses the others somewhere on the bed. Then—because apparently he's auditioning for some porno-meets-action-movie hybrid—he puts the wrapper between his teeth. Locks eyes with you. Rips it open.

And okay, PSA time: Kids (not that any kids should be reading this, what the fuck brain?)—this is not how you open condoms. Use your fingers like a normal person, not your teeth like some kind of sexual menace. That's literally Condom Safety 101.

But then again, when a guy this stupid hot does literally anything, your brain just kind of... accepts it. Like yeah, sure, demolish that condom wrapper with your teeth while maintaining smoldering eye contact. That's normal. That's fine. You're fine.

He gives the condom a cursory check (okay, at least he's being thorough), pinches the tip between his fingers and you just... watch. Wait.

"You gonna fuck me tomorrow or...?" The words slip out before your self-censor can nab them, biting and teasing.

Bad choice.

His hand—his stupidly large, stupidly warm hand—wraps around your thigh and yanks you down the bed in one fluid motion. And why the fuck is that so hot? Why are you noticing how his fingers practically span your whole thigh? Why is the heat of his palm against your skin making your breath catch?

Your eyes flicker back to his cock and—oh. When did he even get the condom on? You must have missed that while you were having your crisis about his hands. But he's ready now, thick and hard and—

Fuck.

He pushes in with one swift motion and your body just... takes him. Like you're literally eager for it, still slick and open from his mouth. He makes this soft gasping sound like he's actually dying, like your cunt is some kind of religious experience.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, hips flush against yours. "So fucking slippery and warm, feels like silk—"

"That's—ah—what happens when you eat someone out properly," you manage, even as your walls flutter around him. Because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit, even with a dick inside you.

His laugh is rough, breathless.

"I’ll keep that in mind."

And fuck—the way he says it, like a promise, like a threat. Your cunt clenches at the thought and he actually growls.

He pushes your thighs down against the mattress and—ow. Okay, that's definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Future You is probably already plotting Present You's murder, adding your name to some karmic hit list right next to Emma’s (who, let’s be real, is definitely contemplating homicide through these paper-thin walls right now).

But then he starts moving and—oh.

Oh fuck.

Every coherent thought evaporates because he's burying himself so deep you swear he's trying to carve out a permanent place inside you. Like he wants your body to remember exactly how he feels, wants to leave an impression that'll last long after tonight.

You didn’t even get a proper look at his size earlier (too busy fizzing over his hands, his mouth, literally everything else), but holy shit. What you do know is he's thick—like, properly thick. Every inch of him pressed against your walls like he's trying to eliminate any space between you, like he's mapping out your insides for future reference.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, and you actually feel him twitch inside you. "So fucking—"

"Less talking," you manage to gasp out, "more moving."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "As you wish."

He snaps his hips once—testing, exploring—and your breath hitches in your throat. Then again. And again. Quick thrust in, torturously slow pull out, and every single time has you gasping like some Victorian maiden with a too-tight corset.

"Like that?" He sounds way too smug for someone balls-deep in a stranger. "The way you squeeze me every time I—"

"You always this chatty during sex?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. "Or am I just special?"

Another snap of his hips that makes your eyes roll back. "Maybe I just like the sounds you make when I'm inside you."

And fuck—why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You're still so wet from earlier that you can hear it, can feel how smoothly he glides in and out, nice and easy.

"You're certainly—ah—confident," you manage between thrusts, because apparently your mouth doesn’t know when to quit. "Compensating for something?"

His grip on your thighs tightens. "Want me to stop and let you check?"

"Don’t you fucking dare."

His pace quickens and—oh hello, is that a smirk he's biting back? It is. It absolutely fucking is. And your brain, your stupid, traitorous brain, finds that scorching. Because of course it does. You squint your eyes shut because you can’t deal with how cocky he looks right now, can’t process how that cockiness is actually doing it for you.

Congratulations, you've officially lost it. This is your villain origin story. Death by dick-induced insanity. They'll write case studies about you in Psychology Today: "Local Woman's Brain Melts Because Hot Stranger Has Good Dick Game." Your mother would be so proud.

But also? Also shut the fuck up, brain, because you're literally getting the best dick of your life right now so maybe save the self-reproach for later? Like, there's a time and place for your characteristic overthinking and this ain’t it.

He leans forward then, changing the angle as he chases your mouth, and holy fuck. Each thrust goes deeper, harder, faster—like he's trying to reach parts of you no one else has touched. His kiss is messy, all tongue and teeth and desperation, and you're actually whimpering into his mouth like some kind of—

Wait.

Hold the fucking phone.

Since when do you whimper? What is this, some kind of Harlequin romance novel? Are you secretly the protagonist of a Fabio-covered paperback? Because you don’t whimper. You don’t make these soft, needy little sounds into strange men’s mouths. That’s not your brand. That’s not—

But then he rolls his hips in this way that makes you see actual fucking stars, and okay, you know what? Fuck your brand. Fuck everything. Because the way he's moving? The way he's filling you up like you're some kind of horny piñata? Yeah, that takes precedence over your identity crisis.

And speaking of crises—why does this feel so fucking good? Like, mathematically speaking, dick is dick. It's basic anatomy. Tab A into Slot B. So why does every thrust feel like he's rewriting the laws of physics? Why does your body respond to him like he's got some kind of sexual Midas touch?

The worst part? The absolute worst part? You can feel another orgasm building already. Which is ridiculous. Impossible. You literally came like ten minutes ago. This man hasn’t even finished once and here you are, ready to go again like some kind of horny Energizer bunny.

You need to have a serious conversation with your pussy about standards and expectations. Like, what happened to the refractory period? What happened to playing hard to get? Because this? This instant response to everything he does? This eager little flutter every time he hits that spot just right?

This is just embarrassing.

But also really, really fucking good.

"You take my cock so fuckin' well," he groans against your neck, voice rough and slurred. "Like y'were made for it, so perfect—"

And okay, what kind of porn dialogue bullshit is that? Who actually says things like that during sex? More importantly, why is it working? Why does every filthy word from his mouth send electricity shooting straight to your cunt?

"Hnnngh—"

That's it. That's all you can manage because your brain-to-mouth filter is totally fried. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he hits that spot just right, and you're pretty sure you're leaving marks but whatever. Future Him problems.

"F-fuck, how you clench around me when I say shit like that," his words come out breathless, hitching. "Like hearing how good you feel? How tight and wet and fucking flawless—"

"Shut up." But it comes out more like a whine than a command, completely undermining any attempt at snark. Your walls flutter around him traitorously, and his responding groan vibrates through your whole body.

"Make me," he challenges, punctuating it with a particularly vicious thrust that has your eyes rolling back. "Or maybe you don't want me to? Maybe you secretly get off on—fuck—on hearing how amazing you are, how nobody's ever swallowed me this deep before—"

"Nghh—" Your brain's offline. Completely fucking offline. No thoughts, head empty, just the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside you, the heat of his breath against your neck, the absolute filth falling from his lips.

"S'true though," he pants, pace growing erratic. "Never felt anything like this, like your—oh fuck—"

A moan tears from your throat—loud and wanton and utterly mortifying. But you can't help it, not when he's fucking you like he's trying to ruin you for anyone else, not when he keeps saying these things that make your insides turn to molten lava.

"That's it, lemme hear you," he encourages, and you want to punch him for how smug he sounds but you also want him to never stop. "Love the sounds you make when I'm deep in this pussy, when I—shit—"

His voice catches as you deliberately tighten around him, a small victory that makes you smirk despite how your body's on fire.

"Fuck, you're evil."

"You talk too much," you manage to get out between gasps, even as your hips chase his rhythm desperately. You're close—so fucking close—but not quite there.

He laughs against your neck, the sound dark and promising.

“Touch yourself for me."

When you don't immediately comply—because for some reason you still want to challenge him—he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Rub that pretty clit, show me how you like it."

The command in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Make me," you challenge, because apparently your mouth has a death wish.

"Oh?"

His rhythm slows to something torturous, each thrust deep and deliberate. "Do I need to show you where it is? Guide those lovely fingers myself?"

You're about to snark back when his hand slides between your bodies, and—oh. Oh.

"Found it," he says with infuriating smugness, circling your clit with practiced ease. Your whole body jerks at the contact, oversensitive and desperate. "Seems like I know exactly where it is. Don't I?"

"Fuck—" Your voice breaks as he applies just the right amount of pressure, the bastard. "You're so—nghh—"

"I'm so what?" He's grinning now, you can hear it in his voice even as you squeeze your eyes shut. "C'mon, tell me. Use your words."

"Insufferable," you grit out, but your body betrays you, arching into his touch. "Arrogant—ah—asshole—"

"Maybe." His fingers speed up, matching the pace of his thrusts, and holy shit you're going to die. "But I'm an arrogant asshole who's about to make you cum again, aren't I?"

He's right and you hate it. Hate how well he reads your body, hate how he found your clit without hesitation like he's got some kind of carnal GPS, hate how fucking good he is at this.

"That's it," he encourages as your breathing hitches, as your nails dig into his shoulders. "Let me feel you fall apart. Wanna feel this cunt clamp down on my cock when you—"

His hips stutter and you can feel him pulsing inside you, even through the condom. The way his whole body tenses, the broken sound he makes against your throat—it pushes you right over the edge. Yeah. Your second orgasm says hi; has you curling your toes against his back, tensing your thighs around him as if he would ever dream of leaving right now.

"Fuck fuck fuck—" You're not even sure which one of you is saying it anymore. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you're having an out-of-body experience because Jesus Christ.

For a moment, there's just silence. Just breathing. Just the sound of your heart trying to recall its normal cadence. Then he chuckles against your cheek—a low, sated sound that you'll deny remembering tomorrow—and follows it with a quick nip that makes you jolt.

"Fuck, that was good," he breathes, still catching his breath.

"S'alright," you manage, even though your legs are literally jelly and your brain's still rebooting.

He pulls back just enough to quirk an eyebrow at you, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "Just alright?"

"Fishing for compliments?" You raise your own eyebrow, trying to ignore how his hand is still absently stroking your hip. "That's kind of desperate."

"Says the girl who came twice."

And—okay, rude. Accurate, but rude.

He shifts then, carefully pulling out (and at least he's considerate about it, making sure not to hurt you), and starts dealing with the condom. But then he just... stands there. Looking lost. Condom in hand and this adorably bemused expression that makes something in your chest do a weird little flip.

No. Not adorable. Nothing about this guy is adorable. Hot? Yes. Skilled with his tongue? Abso-fucking-lutely. But not adorable. You refuse to find anything about him cute, especially not the way he's glancing around the room like a lost puppy trying to figure out where to—

You can't stifle the snort that escapes you. "Trash can's over there, genius." You gesture with your head toward the small bin by the dresser. "Try not to get lost on the way."

He rolls his eyes but moves across the room, and you definitely don't watch the play of muscles in his back as he walks. Or the way his ass looks in the dim light. Or how his hand rakes through his tousled hair as he leans down to dispose of the condom and—

Fuck.

Because here's the thing: you've had one-night stands before. You know how this goes. Quick fuck, awkward goodbye, never see each other again. That's the routine. That's the protocol. That's what smart, sensible people do.

But.

But you're already thinking about how his mouth felt between your legs. About how he filled you up just right. About how he seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands, his hips, his—

And you know what? Fuck it. Fuck being sensible and sane. Fuck playing it cool. You've got a hot guy with stellar dick game right here, right now. Might as well take advantage while you can.

Before your brain can talk you out of it, you're launching yourself off the bed. Your legs are still a bit wobbly (thanks, Mr. Two Orgasms), but you manage to catch him just as he turns around. Your mouth crashes into his, messy and demanding, as you push him against the wall.

His surprised grunt turns into a pleased hum against your lips, and his hands immediately find your hips like they belong there. Like this is exactly what he was hoping would happen.

Cocky bastard.

He spins you around so fast your head spins—or maybe that's just the lingering vodka. Either way, suddenly your back's hitting the wall and—oh. Okay. This is happening. Again. Because apparently your body doesn't give two shits about being thoroughly fucked already.

His mouth crashes back into yours, hungry and insistent, and it should be gross really—you can taste yourself on his tongue, everything's messy and uncoordinated and frantic. But instead it's just...hot. So fucking hot you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Then his hands slide down to your thighs and he's lifting you like you weigh zilch (and seriously, what is it with this guy and manhandling? More importantly, why do you like it?). Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, and how his cock twitches against your stomach—already getting hard again—should not make you feel this smug.

"Eager?" you manage to gasp between kisses, because apparently your mouth doesn't know when to quit.

He bites your bottom lip in response, just hard enough to make you whimper (and fuck, there's that sound again, what is wrong with you tonight?). "I’m sorry? Weren’t you the one jumping me?”

"Just felt sorry for you." The words come out breathier than intended as his mouth finds that spot behind your ear. "Standing there looking all lost with your used condom—"

His growl cuts you off, vibrating through his chest into yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat, and—fuck. The way he attacks your neck like he's trying to mark you up, like he wants everyone to know exactly what you've been doing...

Then his mouth finds yours again, swallowing whatever protest you might have made. And it's different this time—sloppier, needier. All clashing teeth and warring tongues and his hands everywhere at once. You're pressed so tightly between him and the wall you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every stuttered breath.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, fingertips trailing fire in their wake, and you're already embarrassingly slick again. Already aching for him like you didn't just have him inside you minutes ago. Your hips roll against him craving friction, and the sound he makes—half groan, half snarl—shoots straight between your legs.

"Condom," you gasp against his mouth. "Need a—"

"Yeah," he breathes, but he doesn't move away. Just keeps kissing you like he's suffocating and you're oxygen, like he can't bear to stop even for a heartbeat. "Yeah, just—fuck, you feel so good—"

Your brain's rapidly disintegrating, especially with the way he keeps grinding against you, the way his mouth keeps doing that to your neck. But you manage to remember: "Bed. Other condoms. On the bed."

He makes this sound of acknowledgment but still doesn't budge, just shifts his hips in a way that has his cock sliding against your clit and—jesus fuck.

"If you don't get a condom right now," you warn, voice embarrassingly unsteady, "I'm going to kill you."

His laugh is rough, breathless. "Such violence."

He practically teleports to the bed—like, Olympic-level sprinting for that condom. It'd be comical, the way he fumbles with the wrapper (apparently Mr. Smooth isn't so smooth when he's desperate), except you're too busy being embarrassingly turned on by his urgency.

You're about to suggest moving to the bed—because your legs are already shaking and wall sex seems ambitious after two orgasms—but—

Holy fuck.

He's got you up against the wall again in one fluid motion, hands gripping your thighs as he lines himself up and—oh god. The sound that rips from your throat as he fills you in one swift thrust is utterly shameful. But the broken "fuck" that falls from his lips? How his whole body shudders as he bottoms out?

Yeah, okay. Maybe worth the mortification.

"Jesus fuck," he breathes against your neck, voice wrecked. "You feel—shit, how do you feel even better than before?"

"Hush it," you gasp, even as your walls flutter around him. "And move."

He laughs, breathless and gritty. "Demanding little thing." But he's already moving, setting a pace that has your head lolling back. "God, you’re even wetter than before, taking me so well—”

"That your professional opinion?" Your attempt at snark falls flat when it comes out as more of a moan. "Done extensive research, have you?"

His hips snap up particularly hard at that. "Never—fuck—never felt anything like this."

And that should be a line. That should be the kind of bullshit guys say during hookups to stroke their own egos. Except the way he says it—all breathless wonder and raw honesty—makes something hot unfurl in your chest.

"Yeah?" It comes out embarrassingly breathy, but whatever. Can’t really care when every thrust is melting honey down your spine. "Prove it."

He makes this sound—half growl, half moan—like he fucking loves your audacity. "Already made you come twice."

"Maybe I was faking."

"Sweetheart, nobody's that good an actress."

And honestly? Fair. But you're not about to admit that, not when he's already so smug about how well he plays your body. Instead, you drag him down for a kiss that's more teeth than finesse, swallowing his groans as his pace gets more erratic.

"F-fuck," he pants against your mouth. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna feel you—"

"Big talk for someone who—ah—hasn't delivered yet."

His responding thrust makes your back arch off the wall. "Jus’ wait."

His hips snap up harder at your challenge, making your head thump back against the wall. And fuck—the way he's moving now, all rough desperation and graceless rhythm. Everything's wet and messy and absolutely filthy, the sounds of skin on skin blending with your breathless moans.

"Still—ah—ah—waiting for that delivery," you manage, even as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Fuckin’—" His breathless laugh is menacing. "Always—fuck—gotta have the last word, don’tcha?”

You'd have a comeback for that, you really would, except he chooses that moment to shift his angle and—holy shit. Because now? Now his pubic bone grinds against your clit every time he moves, every time he thrusts deep inside you. And honestly? Fucking unfair that even his bones know where your clit is.

You can feel him twitching inside you, can tell he's close by the way his breath comes in harsh pants against your neck. And you're almost there too, just need a little more—

But then he's groaning, hips stuttering as he cums. His whole body tenses, pressing you flatter against the wall as he empties into the condom.

And okay, great for him, congratulations, but you were so fucking close.

You tap his back urgently. "Keep goin’."

"What?" He's still catching his breath, forehead pressed against your shoulder. "Gimme a second, ah—I just—"

"I was—right there," you whine (and yes, you're actually whining now, this is what you've been reduced to). "Don't you dare stop."

He lifts his head, looking at you incredulously. "I literally just filled the condom—"

"I don't give a fuck, just move."

And okay, yeah, PSA time number two: This is definitely not safe sex practice. The second a condom's full, it needs to be changed. That's like, Sex Ed 101. But also? Also your clit is throbbing and you were this close to coming and your horny lizard brain has completely taken over.

"Jesus," he breathes, but he's already starting to move again, shallow little thrusts that make your eyes roll back. "You're fucking insatiable."

"Like earlier," you gasp, grinding down against him. "With the… with your hipbone."

He laughs against your neck—a rough, breathless sound that shouldn't be as arousing as it is. "Gotcha."

And he does. Repositions himself, makes sure he’s got exactly the same position he had earlier. His hipbone comes in contact with your clit as he begins thrusting faster again, and fucking yeah, that’s what you needed.

"Fuck, the way you feel," he groans. "So slick and snug and—shit—"

"Shut up shut up shut up—"

Because you can't handle his voice right now, can't deal with how his words make the drowning sensation grow more and more intense by the second. You're so close you can taste it, right on the precipice, just need a little more—

Then he nips at your neck, his tongue flattening against your pulse point. And that's it. You're a goner. Again. For the third time tonight.

Your entire body locks up as bliss courses through, lapping at your core like waves at a shore. Your eyes instinctively close as you relish it in all its intensity, and you're pretty sure you make some kind of mortifying noise but whatever. Three orgasms in, dignity is a distant memory.

He slows his movements gradually, letting you ride it out, and you can feel him softening inside you. Your head drops to his shoulder because keeping it upright seems like way too much effort right now. The residual booze is hitting different after getting thoroughly wrecked—everything soft and fuzzy around the edges.

You vaguely register him checking the condom with his free hand—the other one still supporting your ass because apparently you're not ready to unwrap your legs from his waist yet. Your brain's moving in slow motion, heavy with alcohol and mist and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only comes from really good sex.

"Hey." He taps your back lightly. "You falling asleep on me? Dick game that good?"

"Die," you mumble into his shoulder, not even bothering to lift your head. "Just... shut up and die."

You hear him chuckle, vaguely. It should be irritating. It isn't. You're too drained to care. Everything's warm and hazy and your limbs feel like they're crafted from lead.

You're only half-aware of him moving you to the bed, of sheets being pulled up, of a warm body pressing against your back. Your consciousness is already drifting, floating in that space between awake and asleep where nothing quite computes.

The last thing you register, right before slumber claims you completely, is his nose pressed against your neck and his drowsy murmur:

“Smell like vanilla now too."

⋆｡°✩ TAGLIST ✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

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auroralwriting · 1 month ago

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anticipation

charles xavier x fem!mutant!reader pre first class era

you were the first person to ever keep charles out of someone's mind. he instantly became enamored.

word count: 1k | warnings: none

It had almost become a hobby of sorts for Charles to peer into others' minds, just briefly in passing. He liked to know their thoughts. Sometimes it was funny, sometimes sad, and other times a little disturbing, but Charles tried to forget about those times.

One of these days, his little trick would probably get him into all sorts of trouble. Until then, it was worth every second.

One of Charles' favorite ways to do this was going to bars and reading the minds of tipsy and drunk people. Those were the most fun. There was absolutely no filter on anyone, making it easy and enjoyable for him to indulge a little bit. Truly, it was a harmless hobby.

Charles' eyes scanned over the crowd of people as he sat at the bar. His eyes scanned in search for the perfect person to read. He wanted something interesting, new, exciting. The best people to read were the drunk ones, but also the worst. It could get repetitive, but this time, Charles was determined to find someone who stood out, someone who he could dig a little deeper into.

A young woman sat at one of the booths across the room. She was alone, and my, rather pretty if Charles had a say. She just sat at the booth, sipping on her drink without a care in the world. Either she had a story or was insanely depressed. Charles hoped it wasn't the latter. Plus, what was life without risk? She was perfect.

Fingers against his temple, Charles slowly began to ease into her mind, so soft and slow that she wouldn't be able to notice a thing.

However, you did.

In fact, you knew something was up with the man before he'd even began to attempt to enter your mind. You could sense strong waves of something from the man. You'd kept him in the corner of your eye before he even set his sights on you. Determination, calculated, and dead set on you. Yeah, he was up to something.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was some creep devising a wicked plan to kidnap you or something. I mean, come on, a girl sitting alone in a bar surrounded by drunk people. But then, you felt his intentions. A mutant, no doubt, or maybe just a really good magician. Then, you saw him make a move, two fingers to his temple. Ah, mutant for sure. Must be some way to hone his powers. So, you closed yourself off entirely.

It was almost like you could feel his mind trying to invade your own. It felt like a stick poking mud. You didn't dare cause attention, so you sat there in great focus to keep him out. He was much stronger than you anticipated, making it a real challenge. Challenge was new. Not many mutants could pin you in a crowd, even alone. This man being able to spot you and attempt to use his own powers on you was unusual, but somehow, you could sense he meant no harm.

Charles' brows furrowed when he got nothing. Absolutely nothing, nada, zip. That couldn't be possible. He never failed. How could he have not sensed a single thing off of you?

Then, you made the mistake of darting your eyes to him. It was just a moment, a fraction of a second, but with how focused he was on you, he'd caught it.

He moved like an arrow speeding through the air at its target. He'd gotten up so fast from his seat that it nearly startled you. Before you could even think of getting up, he was sat across from you.

"Who are you?" Charles asked quickly.

"I think it's very rude to intrude in other people's minds," you replied, folding your arms over your chest. "Very invasive of you."

"You're a mutant," commented Charles as he eyed you.

A scoff left your mouth, "Rude thing to call a person."

"That's not what I--"

"I'm messing with you," you chuckled. "Yeah, I am. And so are you. Do you find some sick enjoyment learning everyone's deepest, darkest secrets?"

Charles let out a chuckle of his own, shaking his head while a hand ran through his hair. "I just merely read their active thoughts. I do nothing with it."

"Sure," you nodded, unconvinced. "What's your name?"

"I believe I asked you first at the beginning of this conversation." Charles replied, a small victorious smile on his face knowing he'd piqued your interest. You gave him your name, and he gave you his. Xavier, Charles. "How did you keep me out of your head?"

You shrugged, "I could sense you were going to do it before you even did it." His face didn't change, but you still added, "Don't feel so bummed. I anticipated it all before you even thought anything."

"You’re not a mind reader," Charles examined, "but you're certainly something similar."

"I can feel your emotions, anticipate your next moves." you answered. "Not the coolest thing, but it certainly makes me feel safer in bars where strange men try to read my mind."

Sheepishly, Charles let out a huff of air. "Sorry. I didn't intend to come off.. well, creepy."

"I don't think you're creepy anymore," you replied. "Plus, I've never met someone with mutations so similar to mine. I mean, we both sort of use our minds. That's something."

Charles nodded, "It is. I've never met anyone so unique yet similar to me. Tell me, when did you develop your mutation?"

"When I was maybe six or seven. From what I've learned, I guess that was a bit young. Gave me time to hone my skills." It really did take a while to get things under control. Feeling everyone's emotions within fifty feet was a lot to take in, especially when that range grew.

"Can I buy you another drink?" Charles asked suddenly. He was flirting, you could feel it. "And maybe, while we're exchanging things, you could drop those mental walls?"

You laughed, "And let you read my mind? Charles, I have a feeling you've never experienced good old heart to heart with another person. My gift to you is discovering how to learn without reading people's minds."

"So, a yes to that drink?" Charles smiled.

"A yes to that drink," you confirmed. "Get one for yourself. I think we're just beginning our night."

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nottivagos · 19 days ago

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COME ON IN! COME ON IN! Welcome Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Thursday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty

Gangster!Danny runs the streets. Every club and bar in your little town he owns. Too bad you're such a pretty thing that comes into his club often. Your father has always told you to avoid Daniel, but after you start a secret affair with him, you can't stay away.

an: first of all, anyone who knows the lyric that inspired this, can i ask for your hand in marriage? like, actually. second of all, gangster au has my heart. like i'm a whore for gangster au so much. oh- the camera was rolling?! shit, that was off script...

taglist: @orangeblossomsintheair

You shouldn't be here. It wasn't right.

Daniel Ricciardo was trouble. Your father had specifically told you that when you'd started to go to his clubs more often. Don't get involved with the Ricciardo Gang, he said. They're trouble waiting to happen, he said.

But there was something alluring that kept you coming back. Daniel was different. He wasn't like the rest of the lackeys in his gang. He was purer, you could see those cracks whenever you spoke to him on an intimate level, the desire to get out of his gang lifestyle evident in his speech.

Danny liked running the clubs. He enjoyed the razzle dazzle and the clientele that came along with it. The man was a charmer, an intoxicatingly gorgeous charmer, but anyone could tell you that. But what he didn't enjoy was the men with guns and the bounties on people's heads. The protection rackets he'd had to have put in place as a result of owning nearly all the casinos in town, the enemies that came along with being this gangster he didn't want to be.

You'd caught his eye the first time you'd stepped inside one of the lavish nightclubs near your little home on a side street. Danny had already acknowledged how out of place you looked with the aristocrats, the way you lurked timidly in the shadows, the innocence in your eye when you choked on harsh liquor you'd never been exposed to. It made his heart flutter.

Quick glances became small talk. Small talk became long nights. It was dreamy. Your heart warmed with his teases, smooth flirts, loving words; your senses soon came accustomed to the booze he sold and supplied cheaply, your flushed cheeks radiating whenever he got you a little too tipsy.

You were cute to Danny and that's all that mattered.

“What would your daddy do if he saw you here, huh?” His words were teasing, they had a bite to them. A smirk moulded onto his lips as his brown doe eyes stayed locked onto your's. “You know I'm trouble, don'tcha princess?”

The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly. It was intoxicating. It was wrong. It was thrilling. A cocktail of emotions swam around in your gut, swirling into anticipation as you batted your eyelashes, twirling some strays of your hair around your finger ever so slowly.

“Maybe you are trouble,” you giggled in response, biting back your bottom lip before letting it pop back. “But you're the one who offered to buy me this drink,” you added with a knowing look, a cheeky smile forming on your soft lips, “so I think that makes us even.”

A raised eyebrow followed. “Oh, is that so?” He questioned, leaning in a little further, his face merely inches away from your own. It made your breath hitch, the intensity of the distance between you both becoming suffocating. The nagging voice in your head telling you it was wrong made it seem oh so right. “Little miss has got some spunk on her, I see.”

Your eyes lit up, giddiness fluttering around your whole body. The electricity of the intimacy and playful banter set your body alight, the moment making your heart pound like an overpowering drum. This whole ordeal was wrong, you couldn't go against your father, but it felt right. Daniel Ricciardo was trouble, but he'd soon be your trouble.

“I try,” you responded as dryly as you could, lips toying with the straw in your cheap gin and tonic as you took small sips every so often. “You don't scare me as much as my daddy wants you to, Danny,” you highlighted with a raised eyebrow before sipping again, the words rolling off of your tongue like thick honey. Smooth and sweet.

“I know I don't, darling,” he quickly answered with an amused scoff. “If I scared you, then we wouldn't be here,” his voice lowered whilst his face edged forward even more, nose now nudging your own slightly as his elbows came to rest on the wooden bar comfortably.

“So you're not even scared of what my daddy would think?” the question so innocently asked by yourself made him chuckle in response. You really were stupid.

“Are you scared of what your daddy would think?”

“Sometimes,” you whispered with a soft look, “but I suppose that doesn't matter.”

“How come?” Danny questioned with more of a little smile that had formed on his lips.

“I'm good at keeping secrets,” your hot breath brushed against his face in that moment whilst you murmured.

“So if I kissed you right now you'd be able to keep it a secret, huh?” Danny challenged with a knowing look, a hungry glint shining in his eye.

At that moment you should've been afraid. You should've ran, the glimmer in his eye meant trouble. A good type of trouble nonetheless. A trouble so enticing that any girl wanted it when entranced in Danny's charm.

“Depends if you're a good kisser or not,” you teased, batting your eyelashes as his breathing became less controlled.

“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”

You responded with a nod, cheeks burning. The sweet look of your face was all Danny needed to see the green light. A large hand cupped your burning face, his nose coming down to nuzzle against your's, lips hovering dangerously before he planted a gentle kiss on your mouth.

A soft moan was suppressed as your hand followed to cup his stubble, melting into his lips as they burnt into you. The moment was raw, so passionately beautiful as your lips slowly parted from each other ever so slowly. A sheepish smile plastered on your face as he smirked at you, his brown eyes fixed on yours.

“Was that more to your liking, princess?” He chuckled, grabbing his tumbler of whiskey, before downing the remnants of amber liquid in one gulp, allowing the alcohol to burn his throat.

You were too much in a flustered daze to answer his question. Mind fuzzy from the intimacy of the gentle peck, you blinked in disbelief for a few moments, the bustle of the nightclub becoming a blur.

He snorted slightly upon seeing your reaction. “I'll take that as a yes, pretty girl,” he mumbled his voice as thick as tar, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear ever so tenderly with a smile you'd never forget in a million years. <3

like gangster!danny? fancy sending me an ask in my ask box so you can be added to my notebook! - notti <3

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 1 month ago

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Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: I've Seen This Film Before

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 3.6K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: ANXIETY ATTACKS/RESPONSE, trauma from abusive mother, description of child neglect/abuse

—————

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending

You're not my homeland anymore so what am I defending now?

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

I think I've seen this film before

The booth table at the Tipsy Bison is frighteningly quiet with the attendants staring at each other. You sit on one side of it your hands picking the table and on the other side is your mother…and father. The decision to meet wasn’t on your terms but the constant pressure they put on Tommy until you agreed. Joel and Maria were a hundred percent on your side of not wanting to see them but it seemed they wouldn’t stop harassing Tommy until they spoke to you since you now remained at Joel and Ellie’s home having moved back to your old bedroom. The dynamic between the three of you is different, while your relationship with Ellie never changed but did grow stronger it was the change with Joel. He was more active speaking to you and not at you, asking about you which at first was weird and awkward going into it, but soon it became more natural. While some of the conversations have awkward silences where either of you don’t know what else to say or when speaking with Ellie or the others all together you and Joel had similar quips or reactions. This conversation however was the last thing you wanted. Your fingers continue picking at the wood not making eye contact with either of them.

“Y/n…” Your mother starts and you glance at her through your lashes before returning your gaze to the table, “We wanted to see if you’d rather come back to live with us. Given Tommy and Joel’s gracious work taking care of you we think you overstayed your welcome.” She says and you continue picking at the wood. Your mother knew this was different than all the conversations before you were a child with no sense of autonomy but you were older, mature, having grown up on your own following your rules for self-preservation. Your father's hand slaps hard on the table and your gaze snaps up to stare at him and he looks frustrated.

“Your mother is trying to reason with you,” He says and you narrow your eyes at him before glancing at your mother who looks tired by the circles they are running in and the hoops they have to jump through. You take this chance to look at him. You had the same colored eyes and you’d say the same skin tone, but he also had the same one as your mother. There wasn’t much to take in he looked rugged and a bit haggard for his age. When you imagined your father you didn’t picture this.

“Y/n,” Your mother calls to you and your gaze snaps to her recognizing that tone, “We’re appreciative of all they’ve done but they only watched you as a responsibility. You were only a burden for them to shoulder. You can do good by leaving.” You feel your skin crawl as she reaches out to grasp your hand. You go to pull but her fingers dig into your forearm and your eyes widen as you look at her. Her fingers rest right where those old scars from years ago rest feeling like you dragged back to being held down as the stick carves into your skin burning the flesh raw.

“This is what’s going to happen, when we leave you’re going to go to Tommy and Joel and thank them for all they’ve done and come live with your actual family.” She says her words as a command not leaving any room for discussion, “Do you know how embarrassing it is knowing that my daughter doesn’t want to be with her family like she hates us? Is that it, you hate me so much you’d abandon your father and sister.” She says and you feel a tighten in your chest at her words, the familiar words and demeaning words getting its grip on you.

“That’s not-” “You left Y/n not me. After everything I did to raise you and keep you alive. How do you repay me? By running off and playing family with some people who don’t even know you.” She says releasing her vice grip and standing up.

“Mom stop it,” You say as your father joins her.

“I’m sorry that’s who I am right? I thought that title goes to Maria or do you call Joel or Tommy dad?” She says and your throat tightens at the digs she throws. “Maybe it was a mistake finding you.”

“I’ll go with you!” You grab her arm stopping her from leaving. From letting her abandon you cause of the stupid choices you made. “Please…don’t leave me,” She stops and you shrink at her face when she turns. You really did it this time making her upset. Her hands stroke your cheek and you flinch by instinct. A kiss is placed on your forehead and a single droplet slips from your eyes, you’re not sure she’s ever kissed you. It’s still unnerving by the affection.

“What have I said Y/n about the tears,” She tuts and you quickly rub the tear away sniffling back more. Once she sees them all gone she gives a proud grin, “Alright go run off and let them know of the change. We’ve got placed at the corner of Connors Drive in the blue house.”

It was raining today and most people avoided outside but you mindless walk through the streets to Rancher Street. It was decided to return to Joel’s home where the others would be waiting for the news. Self-doubt crept in if this was a smart idea, just ignore your mother and stay with The Millers and Ellie, but then you would be abandoning your mother and that would kill her. Part of you wanted to run and hide back in your cabin from the world and all those who know you. The familiar home stands before you as you enter the gate your hand tracing the mailbox that reads ‘Joel Miller + Ellie Williams’. Maybe your name could have ended up there. Who are you kidding your mother was right you were only a burden, Joel didn’t need to worry about another person and Tommy and Maria had Liam to take care of.

The door creaks open and those waiting in the living room perk up hearing the sound of the rain outside before the door closes again. Joel had spent the time pacing while the others tried distracting each other but it was hard to. He’s the first to spot you when you round the corner drenched from the rain a conflicted look on your face.

“Kiddo?” Joel starts but you quickly cut him off.

“Thank you guys for everything you’ve done but I going to live with my family now.” You say and you don’t even dare to look at them your eyes glued to your shoes.

“What you can’t!” Ellie stands from the couch still holding Liam and shouts, “You can’t just leave us!”

“I appreciate you taking me in when you could’ve left me in that cell, but I’m done burdening you.” You say and even Tommy who was in the middle ground was shocked by the words coming out of your mouth.

“Burden? Kid, you’re far from that,” Tommy says and you keep your gaze firm away from them.

“You’re not leaving kiddo,” Joel says and for the first time you look at them, “Your reaction to seeing them isn’t how a kid reacts to being reunited with their family, so no you aren’t leaving.”

“You don’t get to make that decision,” You snap glaring at him.

“Y/n she’s not a good mother and you know it,” Maria says and you feel frozen at the callout and everyone else is confused by the sudden comment.

“Shut up,” You hiss shocking them with the sudden hostility and a warning look sent to Maria to keep her mouth shut.

“Wanna tell them who gave them those burns or shall I,” She says, and it's dead silent as it processes through the other three what was just said. Joel was filled with rage, some directed at you for keeping it a secret but primarily at your mother. What woman causes such pain to a child?

“Or how she made you sleep in the cold by a broken radiator, or let you have injuries fester as a child forcing yourself to learn to stitch cuts, treating your garbage and you just defend her,” Maria says with each step towards you and your hands clench in your fists.

“That’s not her,” You respond and Maria scoffs.

“So she didn’t burn you?” She asks and you shake your head.

“No, I did them,” Immediately defensive.

“You’re a liar,” Maria rebuttals, “Y/n I don’t understand why you let her treat you like this. She’s not a good mother.” She tries resting a hand on your shoulder but you smack it away.

“Yes, she is!” You shout your voice shaky until it grows cold, “You don’t get to talk about being a good mother. Where’s your son huh? Some mother you are.” Venom is spat and Maria physically recoils.

“Y/n!” “Hey!” Tommy and Joel shout at you for such a comment, “You’re done, kid. You’re not going back there. I don’t care what they say.” Joel says.

“Fuck you, Joel. You can’t keep me here.” You hiss and he steps forward and grabs your wrist, “If I gotta lock you up until you understand what she’s doing to you then so be it.” It’s instinctually your fist smashes against his face and he cries out and it’s chaos. Joel stumbles back clutching his bloody nose, Ellie is crying with Liam screaming and crying and Maria instantly shields them. Tommy tries to grab you but you dodge his grasp and sprint down the hallway hearing the pounding footsteps behind you, grabbing the bookshelf against the wall and pulling with your strength until it falls over blocking the hallway with a loud crash. Darting into your room where you slam and lock the door hearing the pounding on the door as you shove your dresser to barricade yourself in. Grabbing your pack and shoving anything you can carry.

“Y/n open the damn door!” Tommy shouts and you hear the shouts from Joel, “Fucking kick it down!” As you scramble faster and move to the window hearing a body slamming against the door. The door cracks breaking the lock as it pushes open making the dresser slide, Tommy and Joel spill in seeing the disarray in the room with the open window and the curtains moving in the rain storm.

2 Months Later

It was May the snow long melted but the coldness and tension between yourself and the Miller remains frozen. Since that argument and fight that was the last time you spoke to any of them. You stopped working at the stables from was a hesitant decision but your mother solidified it.

“You’re going to end up running into them and all those emotions will come back,” She said and when you stop showing up to your shifts they got the message and replaced you. Your days consisted of waking up, cleaning the house, taking care of Lila while your mother and father went out to do their community jobs, then just waiting for the day to be over to repeat for the past two months. No one rarely saw you unless you dropped Lila off at the school where you sometimes ran into Ellie but ignored them and rushed back home. There were times your parents would take you out to the Tipsy Bison and you’d see the Millers across the room and they would notice you were there as well, but they never dare approach.

There had been a time when Joel showed up at your home demanding to speak to you and your father answered, the two almost getting into an altercation if Tommy hadn’t dragged his brother home. Now it’s just burning gazes from Joel across the room or when you walk down the street and he happens to be there. When you joined your mother you thought it would be everything you imagine. Being a large happy family but how wrong you are as you are quickly thrust back into the lifestyle you had growing up. Horrible living conditions and little to no acknowledgment from your mother, but it is only once you need to leave those four walls you have to keep up appearances that everything is fine. You lie awake some nights wondering if you made the right choice but quickly shut it down imagining your mother’s voice.

‘You’re such a horrible child how dare you think that.’

‘I’ve done everything for you and this is how you repay me.’

‘The Millers could never treat you as good as I do.’

‘They don’t understand what’s wrong with you only I can take of you’

‘You can’t abandon me, I love you so much.’

You think when she says ‘she loves you’ it feels emptier each time, but you grow to crave it. Just that hit of praise knowing it was so disingenuous but your twisted mind makes you feel like everything was perfect.

The streetlamps flicker as you carry groceries to restock, your mother wanting you to avoid the people in the early times forcing you to be there right as the close inconveniencing those working there who want to go home, especially with the ridiculous list you have. Your pack is like a dead body on your back as you carry another bag slung across your chest constantly hitting your hip with each step wincing at the bruise that rests there. You had gotten her angry and she shoved you, your hip slammed against the island in the kitchen. It was your fault though. You had taken a nap and slept in at the time Lila needed to be picked up from school leading to the teacher having to go find your mother and father out having drinks at the Tipsy Bison.

The fraying strap from the bag snaps and the items and the bag topple onto the floor spilling everywhere. Curses spill from you as you try to pick up everything salvageable. Some items were broken and you already knew the amount of hell you’re gonna be put through.

“Kiddo?” A voice cuts through the night and you hiss as you flinch cutting your left palm on a broken jar of jam. Your gaze snaps up seeing Joel standing at the corner of the street, he has his pack over his back, and also slung over his shoulder is the object you’ve seen him use on the back porch. He spots the red coming from your palm as you squeeze it with your other hand, “Shit you alright kiddo?” He comes over his hand held out and freezes seeing the small flinch as he gets close to you. He lowers down to a knee as you keep clutching your palm to stop the bleeding.

“I’m fine Joel,” You snap but there seems to be no heat behind it, he can see the tiredness in your eyes, dark circles, and a draining look on your face lacking color and warmth. He slowly takes your hand and you don’t have the will to fight him as he looks over it. Pulling out a bandana he wraps your hand in it tightly and you wince.

“Sorry…” He mumbles and you bring your gaze to the destroyed food. “You need to get it properly wrapped it looks pretty deep.” He says and you rise to your feet holding the broken bag.

“It’s fine Joel really.” You try walking away, but the bag isn’t as secure and you almost drop the items, especially holding it with one good hand if Joel hadn’t swept in.

“Lemme just clean it up okay and fix this shitty strap,” He says and you look at him with cautious eyes, “Then I’ll leave you be,” He says honestly. You knew they would start wondering what was taking too long but you also knew it would take longer trying to talk Joel out of it.

“Just be quick.” You say and you almost catch the relaxation on his shoulders relieved you said yes. Joel takes the bag and leads you properly to sit on the curb underneath one of the streetlights. He gets to work removing his pack and the other object placing it beside you as he pulls out a small first aid kit. He undoes the makeshift bandage and you wince at the cut and the blood that starts flowing again.

“Doesn’t look that deep just needs a cleaning and wrapping,” He says pulling out a small bottle and rag, pouring water on it to clean most of the dried blood off. He reveals a smaller bottle and when he pours it on your fresh cut you hiss in pain trying to pull back but he stops you.

“It hurts!” You hiss and he nods.

“Just some alcohol to kill any germs you’re fine,” He says while pulling out bandages and wrapping your hand. You bring your attention elsewhere to the items that rest on the curb it’s an interesting shape with the strings. It looks like hollow on the inside. Joel seems to pick up on your interest.

“It’s a guitar. It’s a kind of instrument that makes music,” He says and you keep your gaze on the guitar. Once finished with your hand he moves to working on your bag. You can’t help to reach over and pluck a string a sweet noise rings through the air and your gaze snaps to Joel who is watching you with a soft smile.

“You press on this part which are the frets in certain positions to make other notes then pluck the respective string.” He says as you pluck another string that is the thickest it's a very low note, “That’s E.” You then move and pluck the thinnest one and it’s much higher.

“That’s also E.”

“How can they both be E?” You frown and he chuckles slightly and rubs the back of his neck,

“Uh, I don’t know they say the thicker E is used for fuller, richer sound, while the thinner E is better for soloing and playing higher notes.” He explains and you nod. You look seeing he’s finished fixing your bag and you accept the fixed item. He seems to hesitate to speak but decides to.

“If you’re interested in learning I can teach you.” He offers and you look from the guitar to Joel who looks a bit nervous. It did seem interesting and something to keep you occupied, but you aren’t sure your mother would allow that.

“I don’t think I can…I just have a lot of stuff to do at home,” You say and he gives a light ‘Right’ and it grows quiet between you too as you sit on the curb where he is beside you.

“Are you happy there?” He asks and you flash him a surprised look and you grow quiet. If this was any other scenario you would have responded instantly but you weren’t sure why you hesitated to.

“I—” “Y/n.” Your father’s voice cuts through the night and you instantly straighten up in concern and also partial fear. Since living with him he never hit you or got physical like your mother, but you just felt an off feeling from him. Sometimes he would make comments that didn’t feel fatherly and the few times you were alone it felt like he was staring at you for a second too long that made your skin crawl.

“Your mother is waiting for you, what the hell are you doing?” He asks coming over as he grasps your bad hand not paying the bandage any mind tugging you to your feet and you wince at the pressure.

“Careful,” Joel warns immediately rising to stand as well catching you wince as you hold your injured hand to your chest.

“She’s fine, now what are you doing wandering the streets?” He asks and you shrink away from his unsettling gaze.

“I ran into her dropping all these items and cut herself, just patching her up is all,” Joel defends you and you watch the two adults stare down each other before your father gives a grin that doesn’t radiate any kindness.

“That’s so kind of you Joel for taking care of my little girl,” He says while wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you to his side and you cringe, “Well we better get going, you have a great night Joel.” He forces you to turn and start walking down the street.

“Y/n!” Joel calls out and you stop to glance behind you, “The offer for the guitar lessons still stands,” He says and you see it in his eyes, he’s giving you a chance to call for help. To do anything that’ll allow him to swoop in with no consequences.

“Thanks but she’s already pretty busy back at home. I’ll be sure to teach her though if she’s so interested.” Your father says and you see Joel’s face morph into a frown his cold look directed to your father.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks and your father stiffens at the callout.

“It’s a guitar it’s not rocket science,” He says and the two have a silent showdown before your father speaks again, “Have a good night, Joel.” He keeps leading you as you glance back seeing Joel’s defeated look standing under the streetlamp his guitar still on the curb.

Where the Wild Things Are Tags

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If your name is crossed out tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry :(

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riki-riks-chick · 9 months ago

Note

hihi 🙋🏻‍♀️

this may seem like an odd request but ill try my best to explain it 😭 have you ever watched jennifers body? Could you please write reader with a personality like Jennifer Check with a Heeseung boyfriend? like not related to the initial lore but more of a just overly confident hot girl who everyone wants but can’t have, with her gloomy tall boyfriend?

sorry if this doesn’t make sense 😭

Sunshine And Rain ┃L.HS

antisocial!heeseung x overlyconfident!reader

heeseung is a bit of a loser and feels he's not cool enough for his popular girlfriend

fluff! small kisses, self-doubt, reassurance, yn loves her loser bf, grumpyxsunshine trope kinda

wdct: 2k

ty for the request i kinda like this one 💚

═════════════

Third Person POV~

Nights in Hongdae were always some of the best. You could walk around in whatever skimpy clothes you dared to put on, and no one would question it. You could also drink your ass off without any worries because it's the weekend and you don't have to get up for work the next morning.

Your friends invited you out, telling you all about how you guys could have so much fun if everyone brought their boyfriend to make sure you guys were safe the whole night.

You were especially excited because you had finally convinced your boyfriend to go out with you. He wasn't thrilled of course, but you promised not to force him to be social, and he agreed.

You're currently at the second club of the night and its 10pm. Heeseung has probably only had a few drinks, but you're well over tipsy.

You were sitting at the bar together, though Heeseung was hardly paying attention to you, and some man came up to you.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?..." He smiled and you rolled your eyes. "Sorry, I'm taken. Sorry for you though, I'm not sorry I'm taken.." You respond cockily and the man scoffs. "I don't see a boyfriend around."

"He's right here." You gesture towards Heeseung who's to your right, turning to stare at the man attempting to court you, his hand is resting lightly on your waist. "Yeah, like this loser is your boyfriend. What are you a hooker? Do you sleep with losers like him for cash?"

Heeseung's hand tightens against your hips before he pulls back, standing up from his chair. "If I were you, I'd walk away." His voice was low, and deep. You'd always get excited whenever he got jealous or protective.

The man clearly wasn't taking you or Heeseung seriously because he scoffed out a laugh, taking another sip from his drink. "Listen, sweetheart... I'm not convinced by whatever this is that you and this boring fellow are up to.. Come home with me and I'll show you a real good time.."

Heeseung sighs against your ear, grabbing the man by the collar as you grab his wrist, simply shaking your head. You then push Heeseung behind you, glaring at the man. "Listen here... You're the real fucking loser and if you don't take your dumb ass away from me in the next five seconds, I'll find your facebook page and tell your wife that you like to spend time trying to fuck other people's girlfriends." You speak straight up and forward, making the man's eyes widen. "Wife? I don't have a wife!"

"Says the ring on your finger. Now fuck off." You then grabbed Heeseung's hand, pulling him towards the dance floor, your drink clutched in your right hand. He made sure to grab your clutch when you started tugging on his arm.

"Baby.. You know I don't like dancing.. It's too crowded.." Heeseung speaks into your ear, making sure you can hear him over the bass of the loud music. You simply pull him closer, taking another sip of your cosmo. "Hee, baby.. That's the fun part. You get an excuse to be pressed against me in public without anyone noticing or caring."

He simply chuckled at your slurred explanation, spinning you around so he could pull your back to his chest. He held your hips gently, swaying you against him. "I don't deserve you.."

"Oh shut up, if I wasn't dating you I'd be with some perverted asshole who only wants to fuck me." You reassure, reaching back to place your hand on his nape, making him rest his head against your shoulder.

"Why didn't you wear the outfit I picked out for you?" You finally question and Heeseung chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. "The shirt was too brightly colored, and the pants were uncomfortable.." He mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist as he nuzzles against your neck. "Baby.. The shirt was light blue. That's not bright. You need to wear something other than black for once."

"I like the clothes I wear." He responds, and you can tell there's a pout in his voice. You simply smile, ruffling his hair. "If you like it, so do I.."

The night continues on as Heeseung continues to follow you and your friends around Hongdae. He's been mostly silent tonight except for his small conversations with you. On occasion he exchanged a few words with your best friend's boyfriend, only because he'd met him before and felt it would be rude to ignore someone he knew.

Once it hit midnight, you decided to part from your friends, not wanting to overwhelm Heeseung too much.

He took you to a convenience store to get you some water, and a hangover drink before simply just walking with you. Pretty street lights illuminating the streets, nicely colored signs all around you. Your hand is in his and he's smiling at you. Nights out are always so much better when he's with you.

There are a few stragglers walking around and Heeseung can tell that all eyes are on you as you walk by.

You've been dating for almost two years now, and he feels like he should be used to it, but he doesn't like that he never has you to himself. And it's not your fault because you're naturally outgoing and confident, it has nothing to do with how pretty you are. He's extremely lucky to be with not just the prettiest girl, but the most lovely and caring girl as well.

You've always been genuine with Heeseung, defending him whenever anyone tried to question why such an outgoing girl was with such an introverted guy. He fell harder each time you explained that his social life didn't matter as long as you were apart of it.

And now he's watching you walk confidently, heels sounding delightfully against the pavement. He doesn't even know how you're still wearing heels when you've been walking and dancing in them for hours now.

He's pulled from his thoughts when he feels you stop walking. "Heeseung... Do you wanna hang out in this cafe for a little while? It's been awhile since we've been to this cafe together.."

He couldn't say no to you if he tried, so he nodded, opening the door for you and letting you walk in. Even though it had been a long time since the two of you had been here, he still knew your order by heart. He ordered for the both of you before leading you to a quiet booth in the corner. He let you sit down before sliding in beside you.

"Did you have fun tonight?..." He questioned, wanting to start a conversation with you after being mostly silent. "I did.. But I was worried about you.." You reply, glancing up at him. He raises an eyebrow. "Why? I've been okay.."

"I feel bad dragging you around with me sometimes.. I know you don't really like clubbing.. Plus all the guys that approach me. I don't like when people disrespect you." You take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently as he smiles, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "Baby, you don't have to feel bad. I'd do anything for you, you know.. It doesn't bother me when other guys try to talk to you.. You're a very wonderful woman, and I can't blame them.."

You smile at his words, giving him a kiss. "You're always so sweet, Heeseung... But really, I promise that next weekend I won't go clubbing.. It'll just be us. Okay?" He nods, caressing your cheek. "Okay then, we'll do that."

The two of you spend the next hour in the cafe, talking and laughing together. When you finally get up to leave, the barista stopped you. "Hey, could I get your number?"

You simply scoffed, grabbing Heeseung's hand before leaving the cafe. Heeseung was slightly shocked. Usually you'd come up with some cocky response to turn guys down, but you simply walked away.

You were quiet afterwards, and Heeseung didn't know what to say. You stayed silent until the two of you finally got back home.

You kicked your heels off at the door, dropping your coat, which Heeseung gladly picked up for you.

"Heeseung, I'm gonna shower.. Do you wanna join?" You asked, glancing back at him as he followed you towards your bedroom. He simply nodded, setting your coat on the dresser, his own following.

You disappeared into the bathroom, taking off your makeup while Heeseung set out some clothes for the two of you to wear after showering.

He then joined you in the bathroom, turning on the shower before pulling his shirt over his head.

He then moved to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You smiled, finishing taking off your makeup before washing your face.

Heeseung's hands were already working on unzipping your skirt, tugging it past your hips to let it hit the floor. He then pulled your shirt over your head, dropping it as he turned you around to face him, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You kissed back, sliding your hands up his sides as he cupped your jaw, tugging you closer.

Eventually he pulled away, kissing your forehead. You finished undressing before stepping into the shower. The water was warm and you already felt so much relief from the slight headache you had.

Heeseung pressed you against the wall, catching you completely by surprise as you stared up at him. "What?..."

"What's the matter? You're never this quiet.." He mumbles, his tone filled with worry. You simply sigh, reaching up to ruffle his hair. "I'm fine. I'm just tired." Your excuse is definitely not going unnoticed by Heeseung, he shakes his head, cupping your cheek. "Are you upset with me?.. I'm sorry if it's embarrassing having people talk about you because of me.." He asks, saying the words with no expression.

"Heeseung, I'm not embarrassed of you. And I'm definitely not upset with you. Stop saying nonsense." You speak firmly, gripping his wrist as he nodded. "Okay.. I'm sorry." He apologizes, smiling weakly as he pulls away.

You tug him back by his hips, staring up at him. "Now you seem upset... Hee, baby.. You know that I love you no matter what others think. Right?"

He nods, though the motion seems hesitant, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "If it makes you feel better, I won't force you into coming with me anymore.." You suggest, but he shakes his head. "I enjoy being with you, I just wish I wasn't such a loser.. That way people would think that you have a cool boyfriend.. Someone who's not afraid to have fun or socialize.."

His words make you scoff. You cup his cheeks, pulling him closer so he was only a few inches away. You kissed his forehead before pulling back to stare into his eyes. "Lee Heeseung.. I don't give a fuck about what others think.. I only care about you. And I like that you're a little boring at times, it's a good contrast for me.. You're like the rain to my sunshine.. You're perfect and nothing will ever change that.."

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ive never seen Jennifer's Body so I hope I displayed yn's personality right 🫣

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen hyung line #enhypen heeseung #enhypen soft headcanons #enhypen soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #heeseung soft thoughts #heeseung soft hours #heeseung angst #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung enha #enha heeseung #heeseung headcanons

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tonystarkfucksaround · 4 months ago

Text

So I'm pretty sure it's been mentioned before, but I guess I've never really paid it any mind until it suddenly struck me — that scene where Charles makes an illusion of Erik wearing a blue dress and a wig? Blue sequin dress and red wig, specifically?

It's funny and dorky in and of itself, and it sure brings out a couple of questions (did Charles ever see Erik in a dress to know precisely how he'd look in one? Did he fantasize about it? Oh Charles, all you ever had to do was ask), but it also made me wonder if it really was just a coincidence that he kind of... made Erik look like Raven? You know, with the sequin resembling her scales and a matching red wig?

I think it could've been somewhat unintentional on his part, really. It's just that he was so used to Raven being the only other mutant he knew, and to them being together (Charles and Raven against the world and all that). Of course he's excited to meet the others, and he sure as hell enjoys their mutant gay road trip with Erik, but he's known Raven the longest, and he probably still has a knee-jerk reaction every now and then thinking that she's somewhere nearby. And him making Erik look (a little) like Raven? Probably his mind's compromise about having his sister with him.

I also think that it has something to do with the nature of his powers and the way others might react to it (let's be honest — it's probably not always a good way). Maybe Angel wasn't their first recruit, only the first one who agreed to go with them, and maybe there was someone before her who didn't take kindly to Charles showing off his powers by going into their mind; it's mostly Erik who demonstrates his abilities — makes sense, since it's much more tangible — so when Charles has to show what he can do, he must come up with the ways that wouldn't be perceived as scary or invasive.

And his first thought? "What would Raven do", or "Raven would've made it so much easier" (cue to their first meeting with the CIA, where Charles only made everyone panic up until Raven stood up and promptly turned into Stryker).

Now consider that he's also buzzing with excitement about the whole ordeal, probably at least a little tipsy from the drinks (and perhaps not so little from the buzz of drunk minds all around them at the club), and most likely more than a little attracted to Erik sitting so close to him, and voila — his mind practically composes an illusion for him based on these subconscious clues.

(Contrary to a lot of headcanons and fics out there, I really think that Charles absolutely refused to tell or show Erik just what the illusion had been when he sobered up and realized just what he'd done. Angel, though, gleefully did, and Erik absolutely made use of that knowledge at some point)

#Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #cherik #xmen #meta

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ghostgirl-22 · 4 months ago

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Pretend that you love me

18+ !NSFW!

Day 9: Roleplay

A/N: sorry for the delay…life’s been busy

———————————————————————

It starts like this. Patrick on his knees in Art’s bed staring at him, jewel colored eyes darting back and forth rapidly. He’s too close. They’re too tipsy.

“Pretend I’m her.”

“Patrick, that makes…no sense.”

“Why? It’s not like we’re gonna fuck. Just gimme the set up. You came over we’re watching Scary Movie—“

“Not Scary Movie. A scary movie,” Art hiccups.

“Whatever, she’s invited you over. Her bunkmate is gone for the weekend. You’re watching a scary movie. Now what?”

Art can smell the vodka soda on his breath. Which makes him think about Justin. Stupid Justin. The richest kid in their year. Justin who Art wishes Patrick wouldn’t spend so much time with but who always gives Patrick whatever he wants. Even free contraband in the form of half a bottle of vodka and even a dollar and a quarter to buy a coke from the vending machine. They drank more vodka than coke. Justin’s cooler than Art and acts like he’s Patricks best friend. And no, Art’s not jealous. He just hates to feel left out. But whatever, Patrick is his bunkmate. It’s not like he’ll be able to ditch him.

Art? Anybody home? Don’t throw up, I'm all out of excuses if Mr. VanDorn gets suspicious about why your sick again.” Patrick says.

“ ’m not gonna throw up,” Art says, blinking slowly.

“Well? Come on. Remember when I helped you jerk off.” Patrick says it so casually, grinning. “I can help you with this too.”

“That’s different,” Art says rubbing his eyes. He’s so dizzy. Patrick is so close. Art remembers jerking off with him at the same time before either of them had girlfriends. He remembers Patrick grabbing him and helping him once when they were on summer vacation and he spent 2 weeks at Arts house. Art definitely had his eyes closed the whole time. Definitely.

Art hiccups again.

“You drank too much,” Patrick grins. “You’re fucking plastered.”

“I drank the same as you,” Art says.

“I know… and you’re a fucking light weight.”

Art’s so tired of him being so much better than him at everything. Everything.

“Fine pretend to be her.”

Patrick smirks and settles right next to him on the bed. The beds so small there’s barely any distance between them.

“Thanks for coming over baby,” Patrick says in a high pitched voice that sounds nothing like Stacey’s.

Art snorts. “Dont do it like that. You’re gonna make me laugh.”

“How do you want me to do it?”

“Normal, just… just… your regular voice.”

“Okay pretend I’m your hot blonde girlfriend.” Patrick says softly.

“You think she’s hotter than Ashley?” Art hiccups. He doesn’t know why he cares whether or not Patrick thinks she’s hot at all.

“Why would I think that? Ashley’s my girlfriend.”

“Even though you’re fucking Britney.”

“Shh that was one time and the goal is to get you laid not talk about me. Focus sweetheart.”

“You’re the sweetheart,” Art mutters, feeling silly right after he says it. He’s too tipsy. He’s gonna mess this up. “What would you do if it were you?” Art asks, trying to take the pressure off.

Patrick puts an arm around him, fingers in his hair. “You look beautiful,” he says gently.

Art looks at him ready to laugh but Patrick doesn’t look away, he’s soft, his glittering eyes the only thing betraying how much the alcohol is affecting him.

“Pretty girl. You’re all mine, huh?” Patrick says, so soft.

Art feels himself flushing, Patrick doesn’t seem bothered at all, maybe he’s just that drunk. He leans in and even kisses Art on the mouth. Art is still for a moment, like his brain isnt properly comprehending what’s happening. He’s kissing Patrick, his lips are so soft. He can feel him breathing. He’s kissing Patrick and it makes no sense in his addled brain. But his body is going full steam ahead. He opens his mouth and kisses back. There’s no sound just ambient noise in the hallway and other dorm rooms and Patrick’s breathing.

The kissing feels so good. The way it feels when he’s making out with Stacey. He even feels his balls tightening up, his cock starting to swell as Patrick cradles his head and neck. Art wonders if Patrick realizes what he’s doing or if it’s all the alcohol. Art’s body is so lit up he can feel everything. He feels Patrick pushing him down on the mattress and he relaxes into it. Never breaking the kiss.

Patrick moves on top of him deepening the kiss. It no longer feels like it did when they started, it doesn’t feel anything like how he’s ever been kissed before. It’s something… intense… dominating. Like Patrick is claiming him with his mouth, tongue sliding in and out like…

“Fuck,” Art pulls back panting. He’s on his back, Patrick between his legs, he’s achingly hard from the kissing alone. He knows Patrick can feel him because he can feel Patrick. Patrick drops his head, looking down at Art’s chest. Art has the strong urge to put his fingers in Patrick’s hair, reassure him, but something makes him stop.

“I uh— I think I get it,” Art says, forcing a stupid laugh. His body is screaming. He’s a live wire. All nerves. He can still feel Patrick. He needs to get away or he’s gonna do something stupid and destroy their friendship.

He pushes off of the bed to run in the bathroom…acting like he’s gonna throw up or something but instead he just locks the door and leans against it. He starts touching himself. He bites his tongue so hard to keep from moaning that he can taste blood. He slides down to the floor, breathless and shaking when he’s done. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had. He’s so fucked. He takes his time to catch his breath and come to terms with whatever this might mean…

He’s got a girlfriend. Patrick’s got a girlfriend. He enjoys making out with her very much and he really… really wants to lose his virginity to her tomorrow. He doesn’t want to think too hard. And thankfully he was raised by a British mother who wouldn’t say anything if she saw an elephant in her friends lap because “it’s not polite.”

He cleans up and goes back in the room, dreading what he’ll find. But Patrick’s back to being Patrick. He’s watching ESPN and scrolling Facebook on his laptop like nothing happened, thankfully in his own bed.

Art gets in own bed and they go back to normal so easily it’s weird that Art was ever worried.

Everything’s normal. So normal. Except maybe the little ache he gets in his chest now everytime Patrick smiles at him.

#challengers #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengerstober #kinktober #patrick zweig #artrick #art x patrick #pre stanford era

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angel-eyes05 · 10 months ago

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What's In A Name

pairing: roronoa zoro x fem!reader

summary: as a master thief, you pride yourself on never getting caught. that is until you're caught by the straw hats as you try stealing from their ship. unable to turn you in to the authorities just yet, they'll have to make due with storing you on the going merry in the meantime. but, your time in confinement has allowed you to get particularly close to a certain swordsman. how close the two of you get is to be decided though.

warnings/info: nsfw mdni, oral sex (fem receiving), alcohol consumption, drunk/tipsy sex, face riding, my own sex headcanons for zoro are VERY clear here lmao ,takes place in between jaya and skypiea (please pretend theres more time at sea in between those arcs cause this will not work otherwise OK THANKS), this is for the pre-time skip zoro girlies (he's 19 pre-time skip dont come for me), no use of y/n, the first half of this is just cute shenanigans between reader and the straw hats. its a lot of character building stuff but i like it.

word count: 6.3k

notes: HI GUYS IM BACK IVE MADE MY RETURN I FOUND SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT!!!! and its the longest fic ive ever written too god damn what a comeback lmao. ok so i started watching one piece and im head over heels in love with this man...but i'm only up to water 7 rn so i only know how to properly write for pre-time skip zoro so thats how this is gonna go. i was looking for zoro/one piece fics to read but theyre literally all established relationship ones which aren't my cup of tea so im doing it myself lmao. also i didnt proofread i got too lazy sorry if some stuff doesnt make sense sorry sorry sorry but im a simple lazy tired girlie lmao enjoy!!

dividers by: @cafekitsune

You didn’t know any of their names.

You had been aboard the Going Merry for about three weeks now, and you still hadn’t learned anyone’s names. Granted, your reason for being there wasn’t to make friends anyway. That wasn’t particularly easy to do, being tied up in some storage closet and all.

Being one of the few residents who actually lived on Jaya had allowed you to pick up a skill or two when it came to stealing. Pirates with big bounties and even bigger treasures left their ships unattended at the docks, leaving you with some perfect quick heists from time to time. Some steals were easier than others. As much as you believed in your talents, most of the time your ability to get out unscathed was based purely on the luck of the draw. It wasn’t an easy life, many recent nights leaving you with more injuries than berries and gold pieces, but it was all you knew having lived here for so long.

After having taken a break from heists for a bit, you finally laid your eyes on a ship worth stealing from. A pirate ship with a goat out in front and seemingly orange trees next to the helm. Most of the ships at the dock had been there for a while, leaving the pirates on board used to your tricks already. Being low on cash was another factor. So, after a bit of planning, you made your way onto the ship.

Earlier, you had found that one of the windows to a cabin had been left open, so you decided to make your entrance through there. You gathered your things and dove into the crystal blue water by the dock. Once you made it to the back of the ship, you took your rope, with your own handmade grappling hook at the end, and swung it to hook on the window sill. Luckily for you, it stuck the landing on the first try. You smirked to yourself and used the hook as leverage to climb up onto the ship. Unfortunately, this seemed to be the ship’s bathroom. Not super ideal. You’d have to venture more out into the ship. But with this came the risk of getting caught. Given your dire circumstances though, it was a risk you were willing to take.

With an attempt to make as little creak as possible, you slightly opened the door into the rest of the interior. Coast was clear so far. Suddenly, a shake rattled throughout the interior. You tumbled onto the floor, pushing open a door due to your unbalance. What the fuck was that, you thought to yourself. It quickly became no matter though, when you noticed the door had opened up to a room with a treasure chest tucked away in the back. Jackpot. You slyly made your way into the room and shut the door behind you.

The room was neatly kept, with bookshelves, a couch, two sleeping hammocks, and a desk with navigation tools on it. There was even a bar. Though temptation pursued at you, you had to stay on task. While making your way over to the chest, you heard different creaks vibrating across the walls of the ship. You prayed to yourself that it was just the wood’s reaction to the waves. As you had predicted, the chest was locked, so you searched your bag for anything that could key the lock.

Time became of the essence quickly as the thuds and creaks on the ship grew louder and louder. Finally, the lock to the chest made a perfect click, as the chest unlocked. You lifted the roof of the chest to find a sight for sore eyes: jewels and gold galore. This was it, you were set. You were so in awe with the vision before you, that you had failed to notice the woman standing behind you. The image you saw in one of the emeralds was a tall figure, with jet-black hair just below her shoulders, and dazzling blue eyes. “Looking for something?” the woman questioned, almost sarcastically. You seemed to have forgotten rule number one of thieving. Remember to lock the door behind you.

Quick on your feet, you whip around to throw a punch in her face, but her reflexes seem to be quicker than yours by the way she catches your fist. You then attempt to kick out her legs. The image you see next shakes you to your core. A hand, seeming to appear out of thin air, attaches itself to your calf. The hand then slowly raises your fear-frozen body into the air, dangling you upside down like a party toy. You attempt to throw more hits at her, all seeming to be in vain though. You kick and scream, like a child throwing a tantrum, in an attempt to get out. The woman looks out into the hallway and signals over another one of her companions. Fuck, this is turning sour fast. Before you can make out any other features of the man, besides his cartoonishly long nose, he uses his slingshot to pelt a rock towards your forehead. Your vision goes black as the rest of the pirates rush into the room.

The rough fibers of the rope tying your wrists together were the first thing you felt as you woke up. This was quickly followed by the underlying nausea from the waves rocking the boat, reminding you why you preferred to stay on land. You attempted to stand up, but your dizziness and the rope tying you to the floor weren’t letting you get very far. Suddenly, the door to whatever room you were in swung open, and the group of 7 pirates living on board entered the room. You slinked yourself along the back wall, attempting to disappear into your skin. You weren’t sure what felt worse: The fear of what they were going to do to you, or the embarrassment that you had been doing this for so long and still got caught.

Nope, definitely the embarrassment.

The man, no boy was a better word to describe him, standing in the middle of them attempted to speak to you before a woman with short orange hair cut him off. “If you think we’re gonna let you get off easily just because we’re also pirates, you’d be sorely mistaken!” she spoke, fiery anger lacing her words. The tall woman from earlier put her hand on her shoulder, calming her down, and walked out towards you. You tried to scoot away as much as you could as she crouched down to your level.

“Listen, we want this to be over as much as you do. We would love nothing more than to get you off our ship and drop you off at the nearest island. But unfortunately for us, that would mean having to find a group of marines to hand you over to, who we aren’t the best of friends with right now. And we can’t drop you back off at Jaya since we’re too far by this point. So, for now, we’ll just have to keep you tied down here if that works out with you.” You began to speak before the woman cut you off. “You don’t have much of a choice in the matter by the way.”

She stood back up and began to exit the room, the other pirates following her except for two. The boy with the straw hat and another man, with striking green hair and three swords lying in a holster on his belt. The boy looked somberly at you as if he was against this whole idea. But the green-haired one just stared at you. As uncomfortable as it made you feel, you couldn’t help staring back into his piercingly soft eyes. “Come on, let’s go,” the green-haired man said to the boy, finally breaking eye contact and turning his back to leave. The boy followed him shortly after. As he closed the door, you had nothing left to focus on except for the itchiness of the rope, the empty stuffiness surrounding the storage room, and your worsening seasickness.

The following weeks had the same routine. Each of the pirates on board took individual shifts watching you during the day when they were just out at sea. The strange reindeer creature would watch you when they were out on islands. The first shift was taken by the tall black-haired woman. She would come in at the break of dawn to make sure you didn’t find some way to escape at night. You two would sit in silence for a little more than two hours, asking and answering some questions before switching spots with the blonde one. His company was strange, with him hitting on you at random points in your conversations, but he always brought you breakfast in the morning. As much as he made you uncomfortable sometimes, you couldn’t deny that his cooking was the best you’d had in years. He’d even let you take a hit off his cigarettes if you ever asked, so his visits had its perks.

The next shift was taken by the orange-haired one. The first thing she would always do when walking into the room was ask you how creepy the blonde one was. The answer varied on the day. Once she warmed up to you, she would bring you tangerines from the trees out on the deck. As the days passed, she eventually explained that the treasure you attempted to steal belonged to her, which you begrudgingly apologized for. On some level, you felt bad. These seemed to be small-time pirates, just trying to get by like you were. The more you learned about each of them, the worse you felt about your actions towards them.

Around lunchtime, the long-nosed one would bring you your meal, cooked again by the blonde man. This member would go into detail about his next invention he was working on in his workshop. You admired his passion and energy towards his craft. His rants and rambles were normally interrupted by the reindeer creature coming in for his shift, causing intense, yet entertaining, arguments to break out between the two of them. The reindeer was the sweetest of all the crew members, always checking in on your health and helping you with your seasickness. He would talk about his home and his experiences there. You developed a pity for the creature. His presence was calming, and you felt as if you could let your guard down around him. That would change as soon as the straw hat boy would come bouncing into the room, scaring both you and the animal. You would soon come to learn the energetic boy was the captain of the ship, which shocked you. But you soon came to understand why. His crew had a massive respect for him, even if he was the root of half their problems.

Being on the ship, you got extremely close to all the pirates. Even the tall woman from before seemed to respect you in some way. You enjoyed all of their company. There was something strange about them though. One morning early in your stay on the ship, you could’ve sworn you’d heard the tall woman say something to the rest of the crew.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell her your name. Your name is your biggest secret.”

You didn’t know any of their names. You had thought you heard some of them speak it to each other in passing conversations, but not enough to remember who was who. You had bonded with them, but if someone put a gun to your head and told you to name your prison guard pirates, you’d be dead in seconds.

Except for one.

Zoro seemed to be his name. He would come in for the last shift. His presence didn’t frighten you, but it slightly intimidated you. His habit of carrying his swords everywhere he went wasn’t helping. He was silent his entire shift, normally dosing off halfway through after spending around an hour sharpening his swords You didn’t even attempt to make conversation with him. You found out his name when the captain would yell for him to get back to his sleeping quarters. “Zoro! Your shift’s done, you can sleep for real now!” he shouted across the hall the first time it happened. Zoro almost bounced up from his sleep and gave you one look before bolting out of the room to catch up to the captain. You could hear the echoes of their bickering from down the hall as you giggled to yourself. At least he didn’t seem to always be that stern.

It seemed crazy to you. His name was the only one you knew, yet you knew the least about him. He had hardly said 5 sentences to you in the three weeks you had been on the boat. His stoicism was one of the things that drew you into him though. Something about his demeanor, how intensely he would sharpen his swords, how his worries seemed to melt away the minute he escaped into a slumber, and how alive he seemed when he was with his crew. It was enticing. You wanted to know more. You attempted asking him questions about himself, but the most you would get were one to two-word answers. The most you got from him was when your seasickness finally got to you, causing you to puke up the dinner the blonde one made for you. “Woah, are you okay?” he asked concernedly, shooting up from his seat. When your only response was a cough and more puke, he ran out of the room to go get the reindeer. One thing he failed to do was close the door behind him.

You speculated your options. You had no idea where you were. You could be out in the middle of the ocean. Or you could be right about to dock at land. If you managed to scrape yourself about the ever-loosening rope and sneak out, you’d be free. You’d never have to worry about these pirates again.

At this point though, did you want to?

You took too long to decide, the reindeer rushing into the room with his medical kit, the blonde one short behind him. As the reindeer gave you a dose of medicine and cleaned up your mess and the blonde one held your hand and consoled you, your attention stayed by the doorframe. Zoro leaned against the wood, watching the work from afar. What shocked you most of all was his face. For a man who seemed so disinterested in you and your existence, his brows were furrowed, his cheeks had a light pink stain on them, and a slight frown invaded his face. He was concerned. Maybe even a little nervous. But why? He’d never shown any sort of emotion towards you before other than sleepiness. Once the reindeer and the blonde one left, he continued with his shift. You noticed something though. He sat closer to you than he normally did.

You couldn’t tell, but you were blushing the rest of his shift.

Once he left, you sat in silence, thoughts racing through your mind, until you finally fell asleep.

You noticed a change in his behavior in the next few days. When you would ask him a question, he would respond now. And with more than just a “yes” or “no” too. He had more energy around you and wouldn’t spend his whole shift asleep. He would even let out a chuckle now and then. You didn’t know what you had done differently to get him like this, but you liked him like this. He was sweeter than he let on.

Something had changed in you too though. On the occasions, you would catch yourself looking over his appearance. The more you observed, the more you realized how handsome he was. His clear, warm skin, his hypnotic eyes, his striking hair. You caught his appearance giving you butterflies when he would walk into your storage room. Your heart skipping a beat when he would give you even the smallest smile. You would stare even more when he would nap during his shift. Noticing certain things. The way his breath would hitch sometimes. How he always slept with his mouth open and would wake himself up sometimes with his dry mouth coughs. How his chest rose and fell with his soft breaths. How fighting with a sword in his mouth probably made his tongue stronger than other men you’ve met. You felt weird about it sometimes. Almost like some freakish stalker. But you would feel better about yourself whenever you would catch him staring at you out of the corner of your eye.

As time went on, the crew began to give you some more freedom. The tall woman began leaving some of her archeology books in the storage room to keep you entertained. The orange-haired one would show you all her marked-up maps. The long-nosed one would even let you out of the rope to test his inventions from time to time. With the door locked of course. And then, the big display came. One day, during everyone’s shift, they told you their names. The blonde one was Sanji. The orange-haired one was Nami. The reindeer was Chopper. The long-nosed one was Usopp. Their captain was Luffy. And the tall woman, who initiated your imprisonment, was Robin. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to you. With each passing shift, you grew more excited for the next. To learn the next pirate’s name, and with that, their story. Until the last shift of the day came. And you realized.

You already knew his name.

“My name’s Zoro,” he said quietly. “I know,” you replied, bluntly.

Something felt different about this shift. You didn’t feel the same excitement you normally felt when seeing him. Without your connection to him before, his being the only name you knew, something about him just didn’t excite you as much. Now he noticed your behavior change. “You okay?” he inquired. “Mhm,” you responded in monotony. The rest of his time there was spent in silence.

You felt bad about what you were doing. This wasn’t his fault. Yet you were acting like this. It was almost as if the two of you swapped places. He was now the one trying to dig information out of you. And you gave him nothing more than blank faces and empty words. You wished you could figure out why you were acting like this, but you had no clue.

Today though, the crew was going to take an extra step towards including you. Throughout your time on the Going Merry, you had only left your little storage room prison a few times. To go to the bathroom and visit the kitchen on special occasions. But you hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. After proving to the crew you had changed, they planned a little surprise for you.

Robin woke you up earlier than usual. “Is everything ok?” you asked, still half asleep. Robin just smiled at you. “Come on, get up.” You looked at her confused, as she walked over to your restraints, untying you from the hook keeping the rope down. She took you by your restraints and walked you out to the room. The mix of drowsiness and confusion left you slightly panicked as you realized she was walking you out to the deck. She opened the door to a still-dark morning.

The rest of the Straw Hats were sitting out on the deck, just conversing and eating an extra early breakfast, courtesy of Sanji. They all turned to you once you and Robin walked out. “What’s going on,” you asked, still very confused. “On Thursdays, we all like to get up early and sit out and watch the sunrise. And we were talking about it, and we felt like you should join us this time,” Nami smiled. She stood up and pranced over to you, mouth slightly agape and speechless, and took you over to sit in between her and Zoro. You turned to Zoro, overwhelmed with emotions.

It had been so long since you felt a part of a community of people. You never exactly fit in with the ruthless bands of pirates coming and going on Jaya. Finally feeling connected to people, especially after you wronged them so horribly, brought you happiness you hadn’t felt in ages.

A singular “I-” was all you could manage to get out, a tear trickling down your cheek. “Just enjoy it. They’ll be at each other’s throats again in a minute,” he joked, getting a soft laugh out of you. He smiled gently, brushing the tear off your cheek. His finger lingered there longer than expected. You blushed. The butterflies were back and you caught yourself staring again.

“What’s that supposed to mean!” Nami interrupted. “Well, it’s true!” Zoro retorted, leaning over you to yell at Nami. The two began arguing as you noticed the sun starting to peak out over the horizon. “Shut up you two, you’re gonna make her miss it!” Usopp and Luffy yelled. They stopped bickering once they also noticed the sky begin to turn orange.

The pinks and oranges mixed together in a beautiful watercolor painting as the sun reflected its image on the ocean. The soft waves bobbed the ship up and down in a calming hypnotic motion, almost putting you back to sleep. The beauty of it all was so serene. Against popular opinion, you always preferred sunrises to sunsets. The representation of a new day beginning. It gave you hope in your most dire situations.

You lifted your head back to see the colors slowly spreading to the rest of the sky. Everyone to your right was in the same headspace you were like they were in some sort of trance. They were all cuddling against each other, Robin holding Chopper in her lap, Luffy and Usopp mimicking each other’s smiles, and Nami resting her head on Sanji’s shoulder. They all seemed so close to each other. Like a little family. Connected. You turned to Zoro to see if he was doing the same as the others, but all you found was his eyes softly gazing into yours, and his hand slowly inching towards yours. The minute he snapped out of it, he sharply turned his head and hand away and cleared his throat. You couldn't help but laugh at his schoolboy behavior. With your ego controlling your actions, you took his hand and slowly intertwined his fingers with yours. You could see a smile float onto his face out of the corner of your eye. You did the same.

The rest of the day was spent out on the deck. The feeling of the sun on your skin for the first time in weeks was euphoric. All you wanted to do was soak it all in. The Straw Hats must have been in a good mood today, because, with some extra convincing, you got them to finally take off your shackles. You spent most of the day sunbathing out on the deck with Nami. She had let you borrow one of your bikinis. You two were slightly different sizes though, so the suit was a little tight on you. You didn’t mind very much. You were just happy to be out of the same clothes you had worn for 3 weeks. Sanji didn’t mind either, ogling both you and Nami and basically worshipping the two of you. “It’s ok, he’ll get over it in a few hours,” Nami consoled. You circled the deck a few times to see if Zoro was anywhere in sight, but you couldn’t seem to find him. He probably went inside to nap away from the heat. Part of you wanted him to get the rest he deserved. The other really wanted him to see you in your outfit.

The day really took a turn when Usopp brought out the liquor from the kitchen. “I was saving that asshole!” Sanji yelled. “Oh come on, this is a special occasion!” Usopp pleaded. With some more convincing, Sanji finally gave in. You and the crew got increasingly drunk throughout the evening, Zoro eventually coming out from wherever he was napping to join the party. You all had even decided to jump into the ocean and swim around for a little bit. All except for Chopper, very sober and very nervous for any incoming sea monsters. He had managed to get you all back onto the ship with some very convincing pleading.

You and Zoro caught each other catching glimpses of one another throughout the rest of the day. Zoro admiring your figure in the swimsuit, and you ogling at the way his damp shirt hugged at his muscles. One by one, as day grew into night, crew members began to pass out on the deck, deciding to sleep outside for the night. You and the other members who wanted to go back into the cabin, Zoro and Robin, made your way back down into the ship. “Make sure you tie her back up. No hard feelings but we can’t be too careful.” Even slightly tipsy, she was still her stern old self. “Yeah whatever whatever, goodnight to you too,” Zoro drunkenly pushed off. You giggled and blushed as he took your hand and led you down the stairs into the cabin. Robin sighed to herself as she watched the two of you scamper off.

You felt your heartbeat get increasingly faster as he led you to your room. For some reason, the air in the hallway got thicker as you got closer. You blamed it on your tipsiness. But your heart slowly sank as you got to the door, realizing you had to say goodbye to Zoro for the day. He opened the door and stumbled into your room, leading you in behind him. He closed the door behind him, hesitating for a moment before going to wrap the rope back around your wrists.

He seems distressed for some reason, breathing heavily and avoiding eye contact. You look down at your hands, as he so gently maneuvers the rope around them. The butterflies begin to well up in your stomach again, the alcohol fueling their ferocity. His hands. So calloused yet so gentle. You can smell the remnants of sake exuding from Zoro’s heavy breaths. You looked back up at him. Were you two always standing this close together? You the butterflies keep rising and rising. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re not sure if you should run, kiss him, punch him, but you have to do something before you implode. Until. He stops.

The rope undoes itself in his hands as he freezes. His hands are shaking, his breath is heavy, and his eyes avoid yours like the plague. You were just getting antsy but Zoro seemed in distress. “Hey?” you ask, lowering your hands and dropping the rope to the floor. “Zoro?” You take your hand under his chin and lift his eyes to yours. You might throw up at any second. His eyes are so softly intense.

He brushed his thumb against your cheek, sending chills down your spine. You both want the same thing. Both of you are just too scared to take the chance. “It’s ok. You’re okay,” you reassure him, placing your hand over his heart. His heart, which happens to be underneath his bare chest, him having taken off his wet shirt earlier. His breathing slows, and his eyes move down ever so smoothly from your eyes to your plump lips. You catch yourself doing the same to him, and you inching closer to him. “You’re fine.” Closer. “We’re gonna be…fine.” Your lips barely brush each other. The gentleness of the kiss is calming though, as you notice Zoro’s breath slowing.

You brush again. And again. And again. Lips touching a little more with each meet. Until they fully interlock. The two of you melt into each other as Zoro wanders your back into a wall for support. Your kisses are structured, made to get the most out of each meeting. You’re both ravenous for each other, but you know if you go at each other like mad dogs, you won’t get what you want. So you both take your time getting to know the feeling of the other person’s mouth. You slip a moan out as Zoro’s tongue seeps between your lips. His kisses get slightly more sloppy as he runs his hands down your body. He feels the underneath of your breasts, the curves of your waist and hips, and finds a nice resting place under your ass. Your hands roam his cheeks and jaw, making their way to tug slightly on his moss-colored hair.

“Needed this,” Zoro whispers in between kisses. “Needed you so badly. But I didn’t know how.” He separates his lips from yours and plants kisses and hickeys along your jaw and neck. “I was always just too nervous for some reason. You make me so nervous.” His hands find their way into your bikini bottom and fondle your asscheeks, getting a low moan out of you. The alcohol must’ve given him a confidence boost. “Good to see you found your footing now,” you whisper in his ear. He chuckles, the butterflies speeding up in your stomach.

The two of you stay here for a little bit. Hell, you could stay like this for hours. Just soaking each other in. Feeling his warmth brought a fire into your soul. You could tell Zoro was getting a little antsy though, one of his hands moving from your back to your front, beginning to slowly circle your clit. The other hand went to your bikini, untying the back and letting it fall to the floor as his mouth moved to your breast. Waves of pleasure crashed through your body as you let him do his work. “God, you sure this is your first time?” you moaned out. He removed his mouth from your nipple to talk. “Never said it was, sweetheart. You just assumed it.” “Well from the loner vibe you got going on mixed with being on this ship 24/7, you can’t blame me for thinking that.” “Well the loner vibe worked on you, so who’s to say it hasn’t worked on others?” he smirked. You laughed to yourself as he got down on his knees.

Zoro slipped off your bikini bottom, completing the set on the floor. He kissed your v-line with the same softness he treated your lips to. He sat back on his knees for a moment to catch his breath, looking up at you, as if to ask for permission. You held your hand out to his cheek and rubbed it with your thumb. His eyes closed as he placed his hand over yours, as if you would ever take it away from him. God now this was a sight you could get used to. He was so infatuated with you it made your heart ache. He was right here at your disposal, yet you wanted more of him. So you bent down and gave him a sloppy forehead kiss. Once you were back up, he decided to go in.

Like most things he does, he started slow and controlled. He kissed and sucked on your inner thighs. Once his hand finally left your clit, you knew he was ready. He kissed your cunt, using his tongue to lick up your wetness. You could pass out right now if you had less self-control. Whimpers and moans left your lips, your hips naturally starting to grind against his nose, relieving the ache in your clit. You let him know what felt good by the tugs and yanks you put in his hair. He was a natural. Your guess about his tongue earlier was right too. “You taste so good, just as I imagined,” Zoro breathed onto your lips. You could tell he was starting to lose his composure with the way he continued to bury his face into your pussy. Your cunt naturally tightened around his tongue as he tasted you. Your hips began to buck into his face as your grinding pace increased, the butterflies turning into a white heat you felt getting stronger and stronger. Your bud was becoming more swollen by the second. Your grip on his hair tightened to make up for your failing knees.

You wouldn’t be able to take much more. Zoro wouldn’t either, his hand making its way into his pants to relieve his own bulge. His pace got faster to match your grinds. The smack of your lips against his tongue, mixed with both of your moans, was pornographically loud. Suddenly, the situation of Robin or another crew member hearing became an apparent one to you. That worry quickly left your mind once one of Zoro’s hands made its way to fondle your nipple. If he asked you to follow him anywhere right now, you might just do it if it meant this every other night. You felt he knew your body better than you did. “So pretty. So good for me. You make this so easy,” Zoro groaned between licks. “Zoro god fuck me please!” Your final whimper sent you over the edge as you wailed and came all over his perfect face. He licked up your juices as he finished his own job as well. Your knees finally gave out as you fell on top of him, into his arms.

He brought you down gently, straddling you on his lap as you wrapped your arms around him. He traced his cum soaked hand across your back and kissed your nape. You were more exhausted than expected, almost passing out in the crook of his neck. Even now, he was so gentle with you. “You did so good, darling,” he praised, kissing your earlobe. “Want…more…want you…inside me,” you managed to get out. He just laughed and pushed you up to look at you. “If you took me right now, I don’t think you’d wake up tomorrow morning. Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open, sweetheart,” he teased. You pouted. “Oh, you feel that proud of yourself?” your drunkenness fueling your frustration. “No no no, sweetheart,” he chuckled. Once your frown didn’t change, he stopped laughing and pressed a kiss deep into your forehead. “I’m sorry. What I meant was, if I fucked you with everything I have left right now, which is the only way I would want to do it, this floor would leave us with sore backs for weeks.” You stayed frowning. “I want to fuck you right, the way you deserve. And I can’t do it for you right now.” You pouted more at him. He smiled up at you and leaned in closer to your ear. “If you trust me, I promise I’ll make it worth your while. You’ll be walking funny for weeks.” God, you almost came again just now. You didn’t notice how much your jaw dropped until Zoro laughed at you. You couldn’t help but laugh back in tune with his infectious laughter.

He kissed you with a fever behind his lips, then scanned the room around the two of you. “What’s wrong?” you drowsily asked. The exhaustion from you coming, the sleepiness brought by the alcohol, and how late it was getting was starting to overpower you. Zoro didn’t respond. He just grabbed your swimsuit and helped you put it back on, tightened your legs around his hips, and hoisted you up as he stood. You decided to ask questions once you had a clearer idea of what was happening. He opened the door and walked with you down the hallway, passing the girl’s quarters and into the men’s room. He checked inside quickly before bringing you in and signaling you to bring your legs down. You confusedly followed him to his bed as he groaned, rubbed his back, and sat down on the edge of the bunk. “Wanna explain to me what you’re doing?” you asked, slightly more awake. “If you think I’m just gonna leave you to sleep alone, tied up, on that dirty floor after what we just did, then you must think I’m a really shitty guy,” Zoro quipped before getting under the covers and trying to pull you down. You put some resistance towards him though.

“B-but Zoro, I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“I know.”

“If someone catches me in here we’re both fucked.”

“They won’t catch you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ll wake up before Robin starts her shift.”

“Are you sure, I mean I just don’t kn-.”

“Hey.”

You stop your nervous rabbling and look at him as he sits back up. “Do you want to go back and sleep on the cold, dirty, hard floor?” You really didn’t. “No.” “Then stay here with me.” “But what if-.” “Do you trust me?”

You sure hope you did after all of that. His kind eyes reassured you in the darkness surrounding the two of you. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Do you trust me?” he asked again. “I trust you, Zoro,” you confirmed. He smiled kindly at you. “You’re fine. We’re gonna be fine.” He steadied you by placing his hands on your hips, running his hands along your waist, and pressing his lips into your tummy. You loved the way he looked at you. Like you were his whole world. It was comforting.

He took your hand and helped you into bed. You bundled yourself under the covers and wrapped yourself around his frame. He kissed your temples one more time before slipping into sleep, his light snores hypnotizing you into a slumber of your own.

The last thing you remember before dozing off was the feeling of his hands on your waist.

Everything you wanted was right here. In front of you. Straight out of a dream. Your only fear was that it would be gone once you woke up.

a/n: THIS TOOK FOREVER GOOD LORD. anyways thanks for being here for my comeback era lol. my upload schedule is NOT going to be consistent this is just a little splurge i wanted to write lol. thank you for reading i really appreciate it (i also really appreciate engagement lol please like repost comment etc im greedy). i love one piece and i love zoro. once i meet law expect all hell to break loose im gonna write so much fanfiction about him its concerning hes so fine im so excited. anyways lol thanks love you bye.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #x reader #zoro x reader

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