#written and didn’t cross any lines that i usually see other fics crossing so i quite enjoyed it really!

[emmcfrxst]

no bc this felt like a full on punch to the gut from start to finish……. the soft and sweet beginning…. sleepy logan wanting to make his girl feel good….. getting interrupted by scott and logan in typical logan fashion just straight up ignoring him until you push him away….. him trying to keep his cool when the creep starts to flirt with you and immediately calling him out on his shit for using his powers to prey on women…… logan teaching younger kids and being soft to them…. the grand reveal where charles is like “hehe we been knew folks i just know how to shut the fuck up”….. the desperate sex and the breeding kink….. yeah i’m gonna be thinking about this fic for a while

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly. 

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend. 

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time. 

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy. 

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep. 

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his. 

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time. 

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses. 

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back. 

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.” 

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body. 

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him. 

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. 

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs. 

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands. 

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan. 

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot. 

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully. 

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?” 

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off. 

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you. 

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow. 

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response. 

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.” 

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little. 

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder. 

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

 It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand. 

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail. 

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge. 

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration. 

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer. 

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door. 

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious. 

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts. 

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom. 

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together. 

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience. 

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together. 

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls. 

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again. 

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold. 

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” 

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood. 

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?” 

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand. 

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him. 

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?” 

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!” 

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down. 

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension. 

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.  

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of. 

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts. 

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud. 

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds. 

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead. 

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?” 

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace. 

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish. 

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours. 

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust. 

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.” 

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s. 

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened. 

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly. 

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

tags: @cosmiccandydreamer @alsoprettyinpink @alastorssimp @1800-fight-me @iamburdened @chaoticweirdogeek @loganobsessed @seasonofthenerd @witch-lemon @the-occasional-artist1125 @https-murdock @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[mushgloomz]

A New Perspective

Joel Miller x F!Reader OneShot

• an: y’all i have been GAGGED over some of the sex pollen fics I’ve read recently and i truly couldn’t help myself. as usual, this is not proofread whatsoever and was merely written in a horny-for-Joel-Miller induced haze, so apologies for any errors you may come across <3

• warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - SMUT/NSFW CONTENT. SEX POLLEN (DUBCON). unprotected p in v (not worth it irl!! don’t do it!!), reader is afab, able-bodied and has hair. language, descriptions of genitalia, pet names (baby, baby girl, sugar etc.), joel has a fat cawk but what’s new, creampie

• wc: approx 5.2k

Late spring had washed over Wyoming, introducing a plethora of flora and fauna to what was a barren waste of ice all but a few months earlier. Luscious greenery stretched as far as the eye could see; the snow-capped mountain range barricaded by acres of plentiful forestry. It was beautiful. A soft breeze swilled around your head as you took in the view from your vantage point.

“Would’ve asked for a different partner if I knew you’d stand around gawpin’ all day.”

Reality trickled back into focus as the grumble from your foraging partner reached your ears. Joel Miller, Jackson’s own resident asshole, had been paired with you four days prior to complete a week-long expedition. You’d been sent off to retrieve anything of value from abandoned settlements, and to stock up on ingredients for herbal remedies. How you’d fallen under the misfortune of being partnered with the most miserable bastard in the county was beyond you.

Joel hadn’t even turned to voice his complaint, continuing to walk toward the tree line. You mentally weighed up whether being left to raiders could really be that bad, before scampering off to rejoin him with a huff. “Didn’t exactly choose to be here myself, dickwad”, you hollered, falling on deaf ears as you closed the distance between yourself and the man ahead of you.

You reached the tree line, standing to inspect the foliage before you.

“If you’ve got anything stupid to say, get it out your system now. I ain’t dying on your count ‘cause you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

He couldn’t be more condescending if he tried. He stood at arm’s length beside you, rich brown eyes staring you down, arms crossed across his chest in a display of patronising authority. A singular eyebrow raised in your direction, prompting you to break the silence. “Oh fuck off already”, you mumbled as you barged past him and onto the dirt path, intentionally knocking into him with your shoulder as you went.

The woods were thick. Shrubbery of all varieties grew between the trunks and twisted roots of staggeringly tall trees as you edged your way further inwards. Insects provided a constant thrumming sound, broken only by the twittering of small birds, high above the underbelly on which you walked. Once in a while, a twig would snap underfoot, followed by a hushed shut up from Joel trailing behind you.

You peered through branches, your mental checklist of ingredients being ticked off gradually as you foraged through the underbrush, scoping out your remaining items. The ground was unforgiving, swelling and receding with reckless abandon, threatening to throw you off balance at any given moment. You continued your trudge, until you came across a small and unusual clearing.

You kept your volume low as you enquired about the strange plant ahead of you. “What… what the fuck is that one?”, your curiosity piqued by the shrub in the middle of the clearing, seemingly warding off any and all other vegetation. You stepped forward, wanting to get a closer look at the vibrant blooms spreading across the tangled mass of deep green leaves and twisted branches.

“Christ, don’t you have any survival skills? Where’d you learn to stick your nose into plants that you don’t recognise? G’damn FEDRA didn’t teach you shit, clearly.”

The hiss of Joel’s words were delivered straight into your ear as you were yanked backwards by a firm hand on your shoulder. Not to give him any credit, but you hadn’t realised quite how close you had gotten to the bright red petals in front of you. You jerked your shoulder from his grasp and shot him a warning glare.

“Get movin’, next settlement should be ‘bout a half mile from here.”

It was Joel’s turn to barge past you, leading the way around the small glade and past the shrub. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the blossoms adorning it’s branches, the crimson colouring almost magnetising to your eyes. You hadn’t been paying attention to your footing as you passed, and before you could rebalance, you stumbled over an overgrown root and found yourself tumbling into the sprawling clump of petals and greenery.

Despite the prickle of broken branches, toppling over had been less of a pain in the ass than a majority of the expedition. The smell, for one, was divine. It was powdery and light, yet simultaneously heady and almost nauseatingly sweet. You couldn’t describe it even if you tried. And tried you did, as you sat and breathed deeply through your nose, not even attempting to right yourself. A calloused hand breached the branches directly in front of your face.

“Get. Up. Now.”

But even Joel’s sour tone couldn’t distract from the aroma. You clasped both hands around the one ahead of you, and with a grunt coming from the other side of the branches, you were hauled up and out of the bush onto your feet. The smell clung to your clothes as you brushed twigs and squashed petals from your body. Joel did the same, having leant a fair distance into the centre of the plant to retrieve you.

As soon as you were stable again, Joel took off without another word. You didn’t care particularly. You trailed a few feet behind, cautiously watching your steps to avoid another fiasco. You walked in silence, arms swinging gently by your side, ambling along. You sighed. As you scanned the environment, you realised that everything had become slightly hazy, the borders of your vision tinged with a fuzziness that hadn’t been there before.

“Did I hit my head on the way down?”, you questioned out loud. It was the only explanation you could think of; the only answer as to why everything in your field of vision had taken on an almost shimmering iridescence. Sunlight breaching the canopy of trees beamed down and quite literally sparkled. Warm hues were more pronounced - an ambience that you hadn’t noticed before surrounding you as you continued to sidle along the path. Joel didn’t answer, remaining steadfast in his pace.

Ten minutes passed, and you noticed that your skin felt hot and clammy underneath your clothing. Trailing a hand toward your neck, you unclasped the buttons of the denim jacket that suddenly felt all too much for this weather. Shit, maybe you did hit your head. But this didn’t feel like a typical concussion; everything looked far too pleasant, the melding shades of green and brown making you hum unexpectedly, as if you were purring. Everything felt… good.

“Sh-should be five minutes from here now.”

The sound reached your ears, a rumble from just ahead of you. It was warm, much like yourself, like everything else; viscous like honey and borderline blissful to hear. Heavy eyelids lifted from the path in front of your feet as you glanced toward the source. Joel. Unlike everything in your periphery, Joel was crystal clear.

You took him in, in all his glory. And glorious he was, as he swaggered in front of you, strong legs stepping rhythmically across moss and detritus. You’d never noticed quite how broad he was across his shoulders as your eyes worked their way up his back. Curls sprung from his nape, perspiration making unkempt hair even more unruly. It made you salivate. A source of light just beyond him let you know that you were nearing the edge of the forest, the settlement you’d be pitching up in for the evening just ahead. And that’s when he turned his head, painfully slow, to glance over his shoulder at you as he walked.

It was like you had been electrocuted, or stung, or something. Eyes that had rarely held anything but disdain for you now frenzied looking, pupils blown out. Ravenous. The glance lasted far, far too long, or at least it seemed like it did. A plush pink tongue swept over parted lips and you damn near gasped. A singular bead of sweat sat atop his usually furrowed brow, now knitted in a delectable blend of need and desperation. That’s when the ache started, deep in the pit of your stomach, inescapable. Your breath sat heavy in your chest, each inhale seemingly adding to this godforsaken pressure now lingering between your legs.

Not once had you thought of Joel in a sexual manner, you thought to yourself as you stepped into the sunlight beyond the tree line. He was always so unimpressed by you, so harsh and scolding. He was handsome, no one would argue that point, but his sharp tongue and unrelenting judgement of others made him unapproachable. How stupid of you, to overlook something quite so beautiful. Your stomach knotted, painfully aching as you continued to watch him head toward the small building a mere few metres away.

Each step became arduous as you reached the abandoned house, your thighs rubbing in your jeans. Joel didn’t hesitate to enter, swinging the door open, mumbling bathroom in your direction before slinking off upstairs. It was so unlike him, to act so precariously. Why did it make you wet? You eyed an armchair, hideously upholstered in a carpet-like fabric, before approaching and resting. As soon as your ass hit the cushion, your thighs pressed together as though your very own body may betray you if you didn’t seek to contain yourself. Teeth clasped your bottom lip, a stifled whimper echoing in the room. Did you just make that noise?

You were desperately uncomfortable. The armchair played no part, the discomfort stemming purely from yourself. You rubbed your legs together, the friction offering no relief. Hazy-eyed, you peered around the room. Joel hadn’t returned. God, how long had it been since he went upstairs? You crossed your legs, your core hot with an unrelenting need to act. The thought of touching yourself, slipping a hand under the waistband of your jeans, sprung to mind. You shook it off, and no sooner had you done so, you whined. Animalistic, like a bitch in heat. You were no better than any wanton animal, desperately seeking out relief from the ache that consumed you.

What the fuck was going on? Why were you acting like this, so uncontrolled, so unhinged? Your back arched against the chair behind you, eyes squeezed shut and inhaling deeply. You had to do something, anything, to settle the ache inside you. You hesitantly unfurled your legs, biting your lip harder. Your thighs trembled as you stood, and you willed them to carry you toward the staircase that Joel had disappeared up.

After braving the stairs, you could see a number of doors. One was open, a trail of wet footprints leading from it and toward another, the end of the path being cut off by a closed oak door. You followed the footsteps in reverse, heading toward the bathroom. You could smell the pine shower gel that had been wrangled from the mirrored cabinet above the sink, the cracked tile underneath you slippery.

You closed the cabinet and looked at yourself. Staring back at you, eyes wide and dazzling, pupils stretching your irises into a thin circle of colour around a bottomless pit of pitch black, was a version of you that you’d never seen before. Your hair was windswept, flyaways sticking to damp skin on your face. There was something feral about the woman that looked back at you. She was beautiful. Without thinking, you reached out to touch the cool surface of the mirror, in awe of how her lips parted just so, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The ache returned and interrupted your admiration with a ferocity unmatched.

You wanted relief. No, needed relief. As you stood, you trailed a hand down your chest, past your naval, and down to the button of your jeans. Your fingers fumbled for just a moment before threading the button through its hole, immediately seeking out the metal zipper after. You didn’t even bother with shedding the denim from your legs. A supple hand slid its way over your mound and toward your clit, slick and saturated with want. Bracing yourself with one hand on the porcelain sink, forehead pressed against your own cold reflection in the mirror, you began to draw slow circles around yourself.

A heady moan left your mouth, your clit sensitive under your touch, the relief your fingers could offer barely scraping the surface. The frustration swelled inside you as your fingers drew tighter circles, adjusting both pressure and pace in a bid to meet your climax. A strangled sound escaped your throat, high pitched and breathy, as you came, the ache inside you merely ebbing before burning brighter than before. This wouldn’t be enough, you thought, as you rinsed your fingers under icy water from the tap and wiped them on your jeans.

That’s when you heard it. Quiet, muffled by brick and wood, coming from a different room. A groan, somehow both pained and yet drowning in bliss. You’d barely finished re-buttoning your jeans before your feet had moved of their own accord, seeking more of the sweet sound that you knew could only be coming from one person. There was something so wrong, so obscene, about you stood outside of the doorway, ear pressed against chipped wood. The breathing inside was laboured, part grunt, part sigh. It may as well have been a live wire entering your eardrums, the way that it electrified you and made the hair on your arms stand on end.

You pressed harder against the door, pleading for more of the delicious noises to reach you. Your stomach coiled and churned, painful and hot, tension brewing across your shoulders as you fought to keep yourself upright. Teeth found your bottom lip once more, stifling your own lewd sounds, praying that you wouldn’t be caught in such a compromising position. It was then that you heard it, quieter than any noise that proceeded it, but it was there. Your name, moaned at a volume no louder than a whimper, intoxicatingly melodic as it reverberated inside your head. Your jaw was slack, spit pooling, and a moan left your mouth with no warning.

You clapped a hand over your mouth the moment it had happened, but it was too late. The sound of springs shifting, of feet making contact with floorboards, replaced the lusty melody as you span on your heels and pressed your back against the wall beside the door. You sank to a crouch as footsteps neared the doorway, and clarity breached your mind just for a moment, the consequences of your voyeurism being weighed up. Joel was a dangerous man, that much you knew, and you silently hoped that he would be forgiving as the doorknob twisted.

The door cracked open ever-so slightly. You could hear panting through the gap as you willed your own chest to settle. Door edging open, you squeezed your eyes shut, as if not seeing Joel would make the whole scenario better, as if you hadn’t just been caught in the act. With your eyes closed, you could smell him, like your remaining senses had been switched on for the very first time. He smelt of vetiver and musk, of leather and whiskey. Had your eyes not been shut, you’re sure you would’ve seen stars.

The crouch that had been holding you against the wall failed you, your thighs trembling and buckling, and your knees made contact with the hardwood floor underneath. Head ducked, you opened your eyes slowly and were met with the view of unlaced boots. Your gaze lingered as you raised your head, taking in strong thighs wrapped in starched denim, a shirt thrown haphazardly over an otherwise bare torso. A trail of dark curls closed the gap between naval and waistband, a runway for your eyes to follow, leading you to the thick imprint of a cock aching to be released from its confines. You drew your eyes away from it after a moment, and with your heart hammering inside your chest, you glanced up to Joel’s face.

“Get up.”

His voice was commanding but non-aggressive. There was a hint of desperation, as if you needed convincing. He looked down at you, soaking you in, and you wondered whether he too saw the beauty in the wild woman you’d seen in the mirror. Cheeks and neck pink with warmth, he held out a hand, which you took gratefully. Touching him, touching skin that wasn’t yours, was exhilarating. His hand swallowed yours, the skin of his palm firm and coarse, fingers thick and long. He hoisted you up to your feet, dropping your hand and scanning your face.

“Can’t be around you. Ya gotta go downstairs, can’t trust myself.”

Joel could’ve been speaking in tongues for all you knew. All you had heard was a throaty grumble, your attention all but consumed by the shape of his mouth as he spoke. The way his jaw tensed as he paused, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped in air. You swear his cock twitched in his jeans as your name left his mouth. You felt hotter than the sun, resisting the urge to double over as pressure reached a crippling peak between your thighs. “J-Joel, I need you to help me”, your voice cracking, pleading with him. You watched pink swipe over his lips, now glistening, hand reaching out and clutching at his bicep to steady yourself instinctively. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, please. Please, just-“.

Your sentence was cut short as a firm thumb found its way to your lips, coaxing them to part as it pulled the lower one down. Strong fingers held your chin up. Muscles flexed beneath your hand, tensing much like the ones you watched in Joel’s jaw. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to escape as your insides boiled, only fueled by the contact on your skin.

“Shhh now baby. You feelin’ it too? Reckon it was that damn plant, not been able to walk straight since you fell in it.”

Baby. The way it rolled from his tongue so naturally, like he’d always wanted to call you it. It made you feel giddy, head lulling harder into his grasp. You didn’t attempt to stifle the whine that left you. His fingers flexed around your chin, and he hummed his approval, the sound emanating from low in his throat.

“Oh darlin’, gotten yourself in a real state ain’t ya? Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can make it better.”

Was this really happening? His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he removed his hand, placing it on your upper arm and squeezing gently. Your breathing was shallow, words unable to form. A wave of pressure swelled low in your abdomen and without thinking, you tip-toed, tilting your head up to reach Joel’s, and kissed his cheek. Stubble scratched at the swell of your lips, and the smell of him so close drove you to the brink of frenzy. It appeared the same happened to Joel, as he tightened his grip on your arm, bringing his other hand to sit flat on the small of your back and pressing you toward him in one fluid motion.

His mouth met yours with a vigour unparalleled; his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, all-consuming and dominant in its nature. You were putty under his touch, his hand following the arch in your spine up toward your hair. Breathing was no longer a priority - you needed this man more than oxygen. A fistful of your hair found itself wrapped around Joel’s hand, and with a firm tug, your neck was exposed. You were his for the taking.

Lips traced along the length of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking as they made their way down to your clavicle. Flat-tongued and panting, Joel worked his back up toward your ear, licking as he went. Any self-restraint you may have possessed was long gone; begging him to give you all that he had. “Please, I need - oh fuck - I need you”, your hushed tone perceptible only to his ears. He stopped his attack on your neck and collar, eyes dark with desire, releasing his grip on you only for a moment before grabbing at your wrist and pulling you into the room that he had left.

The room contained little more than a double bed, a nightstand and a dresser. The bed was in a state of disarray, sheets peeling at the corners, a pillow lost to the floor. The smell of sex hung in the air, the aroma giving Joel and his earlier activities away. You squirmed from his grip to remove your jacket, far too aware of its weight on your aching body. Hands deftly made their way to the hem of your t-shirt, before lifting and shedding yet another layer. You stood, your upper half bare, and looked at Joel.

“Fuck, look so pretty for me baby. Gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

The words fell from his mouth, rumbling and low, and it sent chills up your spine where his hands had not long been. You’d no doubt soaked your panties, and at this rate, your jeans wouldn’t be far behind. With an almost pained expression, Joel tore his eyes from you and moved toward the bed, shrugging the shirt off of his bare torso and letting fall to the ground. He turned, facing you again, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh, beckoning you over. He leant back on a single propped arm, shifting his hips to accommodate the somehow still growing bulge in his jeans. It was vulgar to witness, and you moved quickly toward him.

Hands found your hips as you stood before him, feet planted between spread legs. He worked one hand over your zipper, and tucking both thumbs into your waistband, pulled both your jeans and panties to the ground in one fell swoop. He drew his lips toward your stomach, placing wet kisses in a downward direction, his breath hot against your exposed flesh. Goosebumps prickled along your legs, blood replaced entirely by red-hot adrenaline, as he neared your core.

“S’all mine, you hear me?”

No sooner had the words reached your ears, did you feel Joel’s hand snaking it’s way up your inner thigh toward your cunt. In a desperate bid to stop yourself from rocking your hips forward, you instead opted to nestle your hand into thick brown curls, tugging hard and reaping the rewards - a moan cascading from Joel’s mouth. “Please, Joel, I can’t - need something, anything”, you begged, as though your life depended on it. It very well may, you thought; the heat in your core reaching a precipice and threatening to bring you to your knees with its blistering pain. You felt a number of fingers drag through your folds, hot and slick, before two were pushed inside you without warning. You yelped, not with pain, but with a scorching desire for more.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. Must be hurtin’ real bad.”

You whined as the fingers inside you curled, brushing against the velveteen walls of your cunt, deeper than you’d ever been able to reach yourself. You felt yourself clench around the soaked digits, pumping themselves in and out, stilling only to drag themselves across your g-spot.

“Make me wanna cum just watching you, sugar. See what you’re doin’ to me?”

You glanced down past the curls still tangled around your fingers. Joel had unbuttoned his jeans, his cock thick and leaking, almost purple and just begging to be attended to. He held the shaft steady around its base, his other hand continuing to unravel you from the inside out. “P-please, I need-“; your words were cut short as Joel moved his thumb to your clit, nothing more than a strangled moan escaping you. He pressed firmly as he swept the digit left to right, his fingers now curling inside you - you felt as though you’d left your body as your orgasm drew closer, grounded only by the rhythmic motion of thick fingers and the blissful sounds of Joel’s humming.

“Cum for me baby, I know you’re needin’ it. Wanna see you make a mess of this pretty little pussy.”

Spurred on by the obscenities leaving his mouth, you held your breath as your orgasm rushed through you. As the wave of pleasure hit, momentarily replacing the ache in your abdomen, a cry left your parted lips, your head tipped back. Joel’s fingers worked you through the bliss, coaxing every last sound he could from you, murmuring as he went.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“That’s it darlin’, gonna make it all better.”

“So tight around me baby, don’t think I can hold on much longer.”

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in shudders, knees desperately trying to refrain from buckling beneath you. And yet, before you could discern exactly what had just happened, your stomach tensed with a vengeance - it simply wasn’t enough. With his jeans still around his thighs, you gawped at Joel, sat cock in hand, precum dripping in glistening beads from its tip. Your fingers unwound themselves from his head as he slipped his fingers from your heat, slick release coating your inner thighs. You stepped out of the remaining clothes that sat bunched around your ankles, and made for Joel’s lap, wide and inviting.

He leant back further, using both arms to hold himself upright, as you climbed across his thick thighs and sat on him. Your chest was at his eye level, and he took full advantage of such a fact, dipping his head toward your breasts and nipping at the swells. God, if only you had the foresight to see what you’d been missing out on this whole time.

You weaved your hand between your bodies, further down until you made contact with his cock. It was girthy and solid, the weight of it surprised you as you curled your fingers around its length, your thumb not quite reaching the other side of your hand. Hesitation zipped through your mind, questioning whether or not you could actually take him, but the visceral groan that met your ears was enough to dismiss any and all doubts.

Steadying his shaft in one hand and balancing yourself on your knees, you lined him up with you. He stared up at you, brows pinched and pleading, surely feeling the heat radiating from your core. Hands remained at his side as you made your descent, the stretch as you engulfed him inch by inch borderline painful, but oh so worth it. The gasp he let out as you reached the hilt of his cock was downright criminal, his face flashing with both shock and desire. You let yourself adjust to his size, the fire in your belly quelled for now.

“Don’t know how long I’m gonna last; been a while since I last-“

You’d rocked your hips as he was speaking, and in turn had unintentionally cut him off, your name interrupting his flow of words, jolting out of him as if it were the most obscene curse word he could muster. It was music to your ears. You’d never felt so full, packed to the brim with Joel, cock-drunk and giddy as though you’d been fucking him for hours. He’d not done so much as thrust, and yet he had you enraptured.

“You’re so tight baby girl, I can’t - Christ - I can’t think straight.”

You rolled your hips, not just once but repeatedly, making light work of the friction that the smattering of curls at the base of his cock offered against your throbbing clit. You mewled as you pushed your hips down harder, seeking as much purchase as physically possible, Joel twitching against your walls.

“Such a pretty girl, making me feel so good. Always knew you’d take me so well.”

If it weren’t for your state of bottomed-out delirium, you’d have questioned Joel on what he meant by always. Had he pictured this exact scenario before? Was it as good as he’d imagined it would be? Selfishly, you didn’t care. You had started to lift yourself along his length, finding a pace that quickly filled the dank room with a cacophony of moans. Your knees ached against the mattress as you brought yourself up and down repeatedly, thighs trembling once more. You couldn’t be contained; a woman unraveled. Joel dug his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply, muffling his groans of pleasure with your shoulder. He filled you to such a degree that you could feel him pressing against your cervix, hard and wanting.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock, sugar. Gonna squeeze the cum straight outta me, so g’damn tight.”

The crude description alone would’ve been enough to send you tumbling into your next climax, even without the swell of Joel’s cock inside you. You bore down and rutted against him, dizzy and blissed out as you sought out your release. You choked on his name as you came, bracing yourself against his tensed shoulders, milking his cock as your walls quivered and clenched around him. As you rode out your climax, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you in place. He lifted you ever so slightly, creating just enough leverage for him to buck his hips up into your pussy, chasing his own orgasm.

You watched as he set a ruthless pace, sloppily thrusting upwards, eyes screwed closed. The slapping sounds as his hips met your own nearly overpowered the guttural moaning escaping his mouth. “Cum for me Joel, p-please - fuck - please fill me up”, you babbled, too enthralled by pure lust to consider the consequences. You needed him to fill you, claim you.

Your begging tipped him over the edge, and with a groan he shuddered his hips up, painting the walls of your cunt with hot, thick ropes of cum. You could feel him pulse inside you with each spurt, the muscles in his chest and stomach tensing, shoulders heaving with strain. He pressed his damp forehead against your chest, still hard inside you.

“Don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard - damn near knocked me out, pretty girl.”

He chuckled, still panting as he spoke. You shifted your weight and leant against his shoulders as you lifted yourself off him and to your feet. No more than a minute after you had unsheathed him from your walls, his spend still dribbling down your thighs from your slit, did the ache return. It brewed inside you, bubbling low in the tender flesh of your stomach, freshly bruised from the frivolities you had just taken part in. The building pressure made you whine, and as you glanced at Joel, cock still throbbing and stood to attention, you realised that your evening was far from over.

[skiller0dani]

Going Home | Eleven

M A S T E R L I S T Doctor Who Masterlist

smut requests info w.c | 7k summary | you go home for a quick visit, and The Doctor leaves when he promised he was going to stay.

Welcome to my secret archive! This is a personal favorite that I have written. I hope you enjoy, and just remember some of the details may not line up bc I really didn't think they would get posted, as I wrote them for myself mostly. I hope you enjoy it anyway, there are no Doctor Who fics here or on Archive it's a travesty! So I thought I'd share my little collection with you all, enjoy my loves!

BTW I listened to The Long Song by Murray Gold for this piece. Also BTW, Eleven is my favorite Doctor followed by Ten. Also (I know shut up and let them read, Danielle) I'm AMERICAN LOL and I tried my best to make this seem Authentic to England, but it still has American twists to it, I don't mean to lol my culture is all I know.

CREDIT: Found the amazing Dividers at Firefly Graphics, check them out.

“I’ll just be a minute, just want to pop in and say hi.” You smile, reaching for your handbag to sling over your shoulder. The Doctor smiles from the other side of the console, he’s used to this. Bringing Humans to live with him in the Tardis usually means occasional visits home. 

“Need me to tag along?” He asks, and you smile because you know he doesn’t really want to come. The Doctor has become hesitant in recent years to become over involved in his companions' families. You asked him why once, and he got this sad look on his face like he was remembering something. He didn’t tell you, but you knew whatever he was thinking of wasn’t good, so you didn’t ask. 

“No, that’s okay. My mum doesn’t really like you anyway,” you tease with a light smile on your face. The Doctor’s mouth drops open in offense as he makes his way around the console towards you. 

“What?! I haven’t done anything to that woman, she’s only met me one time!” The Doctor exclaims in disbelief. You chuckle as you look up at him, he’s stopped just barely a foot in front of you. You feel your heart begin to thrum unsteadily against your chest at the close proximity. You look up at him, your eyes meeting in a heated stare. 

“Oh you mean the time when you knocked on the door, promised her you’d keep me safe, and took me away with you? That time? Yeah I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t like you.” You joke, sarcasm in your voice. 

“You’re safe aren’t you? And I’m returning you, as promised.” He insists with a huff, leaning back against the console with his arms crossed. 

“Wait, you’re not leaving are you? I’m just visiting-” You begin, and the worry in your voice makes The Doctor smile. He reaches up to tenderly brush his palm against your cheek, his thumb stroking gently. 

“I’d never leave without you, promise.” His voice is soft, sincere and you believe him. 

“Okay, I’ll see you later then.” You smile, nervously leaning forward to press your lips against his cheek to give him a quick peck. Technically you and The Doctor aren’t together, and you clearly have feelings for him. You think he has feelings for you. You hope he does. Sometimes it's hard to tell with him. He has a small smile on his face as he watches you leave, flashing him another beautiful smile over your shoulder before you’re out the door. You see your parents' apartment building just ahead of you, and you’re already mentally preparing for the scolding you will receive in just a few minutes. 

You weren’t entirely fibbing when you told The Doctor your Mum doesn’t like him. She doesn’t. According to her, he’s the reason you quit your job and broke up with your fiance, who was a highly respected Attorney. In actuality you never loved Todd, he was so mind numbingly boring compared to The Doctor. You know meeting The Doctor has ruined any possibility of ever having a relationship on Earth because no man will ever have a chance of competing with The Doctor, he’s sort of it for you. Not like you’d tell him that though, or anybody for that matter. 

Nearly every star in the sky can be pinpointed back to him in some way, you wonder how dark and bleak the Universe would be if he didn’t exist. Everybody in this Universe owes their lives to him, and you’ll make sure he never forgets all the good he’s done. The Doctor tends to look at himself and see a monster, a selfish man who drags fragile Humans around with him to impress them, but you know that’s not true. Everybody needs a friend, even The Doctor...he just always seems to forget that. 

So how the hell could Todd from Barnaby and Scott Law Firm compete with someone like that? Has he ever even saved a cat from a tree? No, not worth his time, but he’d be there to represent the cat in court after the poor thing fell. You laugh softly to yourself as you trudge up the last flight of stairs before you finally reach your parents floor. You anxiously check out the window one more time, and you see the Tardis is still parked out on the lawn just where it was before. 

You’re not checking because you don’t trust him, or because you think he doesn’t want you to travel with him anymore but because The Doctor has a tendency to leave companions behind to keep them safe. He's already threatened to do it once when you wandered off and nearly got yourself killed. You don't think he actually would, he was just cross because you scared him. You approach your parents door, and hesitantly lift your hand to knock. You’re looking forward to seeing your Dad, your Mum not so much. You hear scrambling around and chairs scraping against the wood floors. The door flings open and you’re met with your 14 year old sister, Jeanie. 

“Jeans!” You exclaim joyfully, throwing your arms around your beaming sister. She hugs you back tightly, peering over your shoulder curiously. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” She mumbles against your shoulder and you feel your chest seize and your face flush. 

“Who- The Doctor?” You ask incredulously, and Jeanie simply nods. 

“He- he isn’t my boyfriend Jeans, and he’s busy.” You dismiss her question as casually as you can, hoping your voice doesn’t give anything away as you make your way into your parents' spacious apartment. Your Father, Richard Scott, is a co-owner of Barnaby and Scott Law Firm, so you lived a privileged life. It’s also why your Mum was so dead set on you marrying Todd Farlan, who was conveniently employed at Barnaby and Scott. 

“Busy! He’s always busy, he promised he’d bring me a Quadricycle!” Jeanie pouted, a look of disappointment on her face. 

“And if he isn’t your boyfriend, then he should be.” She insists. 

“Wait, what’s a Quadricycle?” You ask, disregarding her previous comment, which she doesn’t miss. 

“Don’t pretend you’re not in love with him.” Jeanie teases, a dangerous and playful glint in her eye. 

“Quit it Jeans, I am not. Oh, hi Dad.” You smile as you round the corner into the kitchen, to see your Dad sipping a cup of coffee in a pinstripe suit. 

“My Happy girl has finally come back home! How long are you planning on staying this time?” He asks, and you love the lack of contempt in his voice. 

“Not long I’m afraid, just a few hours for a visit. I missed you.” You admit, letting your Father crush you against his chest. 

“Is that fellow of yours coming? The Doctor?” He asked, his eyes glancing back at the door. You shook your head, allowing your eyes to close as Dad rubs his hand up and down your back. Being in life threatening danger on a daily basis really made you miss your family, well Jeanie and your Dad anyway. 

“No he’s…working. He says hi.” You’re only half-lying. The Doctor got a strange message on the psychic paper he’s checking the authenticity of, so he technically is working. Keys jingle in the door, and your heart instantly plummets into your stomach. It’s your Mum. 

“Now Happy, you know how your Mother is. Just ignore her and put on a brave face, yeah?” Your Dad says, placing a hand on your shoulder once he feels the tension coming from you. Jeanie gave you a smile, dashing off to her room and you almost wished you could do the same. But you didn’t, you started getting busy on the dishes. Doing something else made it easier to ignore her. You can hear the clicking of her heels as she comes down the hallway, your Mother was the Headmistress of a Secondary School, and she acted like one. 

“Oh so you decided to finally grace us with your presence, hm?” Your Mother says, her voice stern.

“Hello Mum.” Your voice is polite, fake polite. You turn to give her a smile, and you see her graying blonde hair pinned back and her glasses perched up on her beak shaped nose. Come to think of it, your Mother reminded you of a bird with a pinched up face. She scans you from head to toe, her eyes flickering over you from the tops of her narrow glasses. 

“I suppose you look thin enough, a bit worn out though. What is that Doctor doing to you anyway?” Her voice is judgemental, accusatory as she places her black handbag down. She’s wearing a suit, a pantsuit, your Mother never wore skirts. 

“Nothing Mum, he hasn’t done anything.” You say patiently, sighing a bit as you turn back to the dishes. He only saves my life practically everyday and still you say horrible things about him, you think bitterly to yourself.

“Give her a break Christine, she just got home.” Your Father says, and you could hug him all over again. Your Mother reaches into her bag, pulling out a stack of papers. 

“Yes Richard I can see that, it’s perfect timing actually.” Your Mother begins and your Father swears under his breath. 

“Christ Christine, not this shit again. I already told you those won't hold up in a court, it’s not the fucking 1800s!” Your Father snaps and you have to physically pick your jaw up, you hardly ever hear your Father swear.

“Dad, what're you talking about? What are those papers?” You ask, your anxiety spiking. 

“Your Mother here has decided to write up a contract betrothing you to Todd Farlan.” Your Father explains hotly, this is clearly something they’ve argued about before. You feel your heart seize, and cold dread washes over you. You need to go back to the Tardis now, you never should have come home. 

“What?” Your voice is small, you hate how afraid you sound. Your Father turns to face you, looking in your eyes. 

“Happy, don’t forget I’m a lawyer. I won’t let anybody do anything to you against your will.” Your Father promises and you nod, avoiding your Mothers eyes. 

“Richard let me talk to her. Alone.” Your Mother asks, tapping her heel impatiently against the kitchen tile. He doesn’t move. 

“Oh for God sakes, I just want to talk to her. She’s my daughter.” Your Mother huffs, and you want to sink into the floor. Could your Mother really marry you off to Todd without your permission? She seems to be sure it’s going to happen, was she going to do this behind your back while you were gone? You’d come back suddenly married to Todd? You feel sick when you think about all of this. You regret telling The Doctor not to come, you wish he was here. You wanted him to swoop in and rescue you like he always does. But he’s outside tinkering in the Tardis and you told him not to be worried unless night has fallen and you still haven’t come back. He needs to make you a ‘help me!’ button that you can press and alert him you need his help. Like a Doctor Life Alert. 

“It’s okay Dad. Just 5 minutes Mum.” You tell her, and you want your voice to sound stronger but it sounds so small and afraid. It’s hard for you to be brave when The Doctor isn’t around, he has this way of making you feel like you can do anything. He believes it too, even if you don’t. Your Dad leaves the kitchen, giving you an arm squeeze and a wink as he goes. You remain standing by the sink, a guarded look on your face as you cross your arms. Your Mother slides the stack of papers towards you. 

“Just read them, I think you’ll find the terms aren’t as bad as you think. You loved this man once, would marrying him really be so awful?” Your Mother is giving you this look, this I love you and only want the best for you look, but you don’t believe her. Not anymore. 

“I don’t love him anymore, and actually that sounds like a hell crafted specifically for me. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. The only thing I want in this world is to travel with The Doctor.” You say patiently, though you’re starting to losing your patience. 

“Ah, not that stupid man again! You’re traveling with someone you don’t even know Y/N! You don’t even know his name!” She exclaims, frustrated. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” You huff, you know the truth. You know that worlds would burn and the fabric of reality would split open if someone uttered The Doctor’s name at the wrong place, at the wrong time. His name is literally dangerous information, besides The Doctor suits him just fine. 

“No, and I don’t care to anymore. That’s besides the point. I have it written up in this contract that you will be allowed to continue traveling with whomever you choose at your discretion.” Your Mother explains, and all of this is raising red flags in your head. 

“That’s awfully kind, what’s the catch?” You ask, your voice flat and sarcastic. There’s a catch, there’s always a catch. 

“You have to return home to produce children, an heir so to speak for his family's prestigious name and fortune. Once you have given him a male heir, you are free to do whatever you like.” Your Mother explains, like this is all normal stuff. Like the two of you are discussing the shopping, debating wheat bread versus rye. 

“Oh my God. So if I sign this, I have to come home to have sex, squeeze out a baby and then I’m free to do what I’m already doing without all that nonsense? Sign me right up!” You snap, pushing past her to head towards the front door.

“You get security for life Y/N! Knowing you’ll be taken care of when this little phase of yours has passed. A life to come back to!” Your Mother insists as you quickly gather your things. Jeanie has slowly emerged from her room by now, watching you gather your things with sad eyes. 

“This isn't a phase! I have a life. A good life.” Is the last thing you say before you slam the door and barrel for the stairs. Tears blur your vision as you stumble down the stairs, you need to get out of here as soon as possible, you doubt you’ll ever come back. You’ll run away with The Doctor and stay gone. The Tardis is your home now anyway, you love her. You push through the doors of the complex building and look up to where the Tardis is parked only to see that she’s gone. 

“No, where did he go?” You cry, your tears coming out heavier. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. 

“No, no Doctor, where are you? I need you, you idiot!” You cry softly, your chest tightening when you realize you’ll have to go back to your parents apartment to wait for him. You know he’s coming back, he is. He wouldn’t leave you here, you know he wouldn’t. He’s going to come back and get you. He promised. 

The Tardis lands in the lawn, just where it was before and The Doctor rushes for the doors. He hopes he timed it correctly because you’ll be cross with him if he’s late. He just had a quick errand to run, which was actually picking up your favorite and rare snacks from around the galaxy. He knows visits home are difficult for you because of your Mother so he made you a little care package for when you get back. It also has bath spa stuff, and some of your favorite movies.

The Doctor won’t admit his feelings for you to even himself, he’s literally never breathed the words aloud. The feelings he has for you are a lot like the Tardis, bigger on the inside. So big they fill every corner of his mind and consume his every thought with you. Where are you? Are you safe? What are you doing? Do you miss him? Do you think about going home? The list goes on, everything he does is for you. Every time he’s fighting to protect the Universe, he’s mostly fighting to protect you. Them too, but mostly you. 

He throws the doors open and instantly both hearts have dropped to his stomach. It’s evening, and not only that but according to the newspaper- it’s evening and 4 months from when he dropped you off. He left you here, with your Mother, for 4 months. The Doctor is immediately sprinting for the stairs, you’re never going to forgive him for this. He makes it up the stairs in record time, turning for your parents door and knocking frantically. Nobody answers, so he keeps on pounding and he doesn’t care if he wakes everybody up. He knows your Mother, remembers the horrible stories you’ve told him about her, he needs to get you out of here now. 

Eventually the door opens to reveal Jeanie standing in a tank top and fuzzy pajama pants. She smiles when she sees him, her face bright. 

“Doctor!” She exclaims, throwing her arms around him. She adores him even though she’s only met him a few times. 

“Thank goodness you’re here. Are you here to get Y/N?” She asks and The Doctor looks over the top of her head into your family's apartment. The lights are on, and it looks like Jeanie is the only one home. 

“Hello Jeanette! Yes, she in?” He asks, already making his way inside the apartment. Jeanie kicks the door shut with her foot, heading back into the living room where her movie was paused. The Doctor is the only one who calls Jeanie by her full name, 'Jeanette', and surprisingly he's the only one she lets call her that.

“Wait, why did you say that? 'Thank Goodness'?” He asks, turning and bending down to look right in Jeanie’s eyes. 

“Well it’s just that my Mum has been horrible to her, wrote up this contract to marry her off.” Jeanie explains and The Doctor feels dread ball up in the pit of his stomach. Marry? As in marriage? As in you’d be marrying another man? The Doctor doesn’t say anything as he races down the hallway to your bedroom door. 

You’re sitting at your desk, your chest aching. You know he’s coming back, that’s not even a question in your mind. He’s just…late sometimes. You really have no idea how long you’ll be waiting here for him, could be a few months, could be many years. You have been ignoring your Mother and the contract. It’s laying out on your desk, you admittedly read it. If you had 3 brain cells and the talents of a half-dead gnat you’d see your Mothers point. The terms could be worse, but your life after signing this contract would be a living hell. You’d have to have sex with Todd, and the thought of ever letting him touch you again was appalling. The thought of carrying and birthing his children was even more appalling. You just wanted The Doctor here so bad, you wanted him to sweep you away back into your little dream life you shared with him. Your chest ached as hot tears stung your eyes, where is he? 

Suddenly, at that exact moment, you hear rapid and harsh knocking on your door. 

“Y/N? Open the door, it’s me. I’m so sorry I’m late sweetheart.” It’s The Doctor, you can hear the panic in his voice through the wood of your door. Your bedroom door doesn’t have a lock, so he can enter if he wants to but The Doctor has this silly rule that he’ll never enter your space without your permission. You stand, the relief fading away to anger. He left you here, for 4 months! You cross your arms, you want him to grovel a little. 

“Please, darling open the door. Let me explain.” He begs softly, not hearing anything on the other side of your door. You creep closer to your door, you can hear him breathing heavily on the other side. Your chest warms, did he sprint all the way up here from the Tardis? 

“I didn’t mean to leave you here sweetheart, I promise I didn’t. You know the Tardis, she does what she wants! I didn’t leave you here on purpose, please talk to me.” The Doctor tries again, pressing his forehead against the door. Your fingers trail lightly over the handle, you’re not ready to open the door yet. Not ready to ease his panic, not after he left you for 4 months. Hearing the pet names is helping, though you won’t tell him that. 

“Y/N, is this because you want to marry that man your Mother is trying to ship you off to?” The Doctor asks hesitantly, afraid that you’ll answer the door with a diamond engagement ring on your finger. You open the door, and the first thing you do is slap him hard across the cheek. Tears are building in your eyes, and you want to stay strong. You want to stay mad at him for what he did, but the desperation in his eyes as he looks down at you breaks your heart. When the first tear falls, The Doctor is back in your space. His thumb brushes the tear away while his arms pull you against his chest. He wraps his arms around you and holds you tenderly, one hand cradling your head against his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes while muttering soft apologies against your hair. 

You pull back to look at him your voice thick with tears, “I don’t want to marry Todd. I’ve been waiting for you, you complete idiot.” 

The Doctor presses you firmly against him, guilt beginning to seep in. He hates that he hurt you, he hates that when you needed him he wasn’t here. He hates that he left you. You turn your head to look up at him again, The Doctor’s hand still cupping your cheek. His other hand reaches up to cup your other cheek, his eyes studying yours. You hold your breath, eyes glancing from his to his lips. Is he going to kiss you? You want him to kiss you, really bad. He pulls you closer to him, and then he does it. He can’t help it, the way your watery eyes are looking up at him tempt him to you. He presses his lips gently against yours for a soft kiss. He tries to pull back, but you curl your hands around his jacket and pull him back to you roughly. 

The Doctor’s body collides with yours, and his arms curl around your back as your lips move desperately against his. You can tell he intended for this to be a soft and sweet kiss, he’s old fashioned like that. But you’ve been waiting for this for so long, you can’t control your hands as they pull him closer to you, as close as he can get. You want to feel every inch of his body pressed against yours. But his hands press against your shoulders, pushing you back lightly. He doesn’t let you get too far though, he keeps his arms around you and your body pressed firmly against his. His eyes are wide, and there’s a cheeky grin pulling at his face. 

“Well hello.” The Doctor says softly, his forehead resting against yours. Your cheeks color, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. You hate that you’re so much shorter than him, he however revels in this fact. 

“Shall we go home?” He asks, stepping into your room to grab your handbag. He spots the contract sitting on your desk, flipped open to the 197th page, and a highlighter sitting on top. 

“Y/N, were you considering this?” He asks, both hearts nervously racing. In truth, you weren’t. You just had nothing better to do waiting for him then look over this stupid contract. However, you still wanted to make The Doctor squirm a little. 

“Maybe...how was I to know when you’d come back? You said you accidentally left Amy for 12 years. How was I supposed to know you would come back so soon!” You exclaim, loving the way he anxiously shifts from foot to foot. 

“So you were?” He asked, wounded sad eyes looking up at you. 

“He was good in bed.” You lie, he was terrible in bed and you only slept with him the one time. It was so awful you never did it again, he didn’t warm you up and finished in 30 seconds. The Doctor stiffens, a much different look in his eyes now. Something fierce and angry shines in them, and his hands begin to twitch. 

“Have you slept with him recently? Since you’ve been waiting for me?” The Doctor asked, and he knows he doesn’t really have a right to ask. He shouldn’t, it’s improper enough to make him blush, usually. Now however, he’s too angry to pay attention to how improper and forward it is. 

“What would you do if I said yes?” You asked softly, eyes peering up at him as he slowly approached you. The Doctor wrapped one arm around your body, yanking you against him. You were breathless as your hands landed on his chest, your lust blown eyes staring up at him almost dreamily. His lips were brushing against yours, you could feel his breath. 

“Has he seen you? Touched you? Recently?” The Doctor asks again, although this one sounded more like a demand than a question. He ghosts his lips over yours, and you so desperately want him to kiss you again. 

“No, no I was just trying to make you angry.” You admit wantonly, pressing yourself against him and trying to lean up on your tippy toes to connect your lips. The Doctor hums, allowing you a short but heated kiss before he pulls back again. 

“You did.” He confirms, kissing you once, twice, three times before the sound of the front door closing gets both your attention. You exit your room first, and the sight before you makes anger bubble in your chest. It’s your Mother, standing in the living room with Todd Farlan. The man you will not be marrying. He doesn't look like he wants to be here, your Mother likely made him.

“What the hell is this?” You snap, feeling a warm presence behind you. Your Mother narrows her eyes at The Doctor, especially at the close proximity between the two of you. 

“Is this why you’ve been so impertinent? Because you love this man?” Your Mother sneers, and Todd looks very uncomfortable. 

“Yes! I love The Doctor, and nothing you say or do will change that. I’m not going to marry Todd.” You snap, and you feel The Doctor gently take your hand in his. You pull him towards the door, sending your little sister a sad smile before exiting the apartment. The two of you walk back to the Tardis in silence, but your hand stays wrapped safely in his. You realize suddenly that you really do feel safe with The Doctor in all ways, you know your heart is safe with him too. He opens the door for you and your eyes water at the basket sitting on the console. It’s filled with all of your favorite things, things for a perfect relaxing day in. 

“Did you do that?” You ask, knowing there’s nobody else who could have done it. 

“It's why I was late.” He says sadly, eyes meeting yours when you move to stand right in front of him. You don’t say anything, you just wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him tenderly. Now that he’s kissed you, you don’t ever want to stop kissing him. His hands find your hips and he gives you a small smile. 

“It’s alright, I forgive you.” You say softly, and he presses his forehead against yours. 

“Doctor?” You breathe, you squirm as you feel a nervous wriggling in your belly. You can’t really believe you’re about to say this, but the aching from between your thighs is unbearable and only he can fix it. He hums, his attention on you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. 

“I…I want-” You cut yourself off, you can’t say this. You can’t. The Doctor already knows what you want, can see it in the way your fingers play absentmindedly with the button of his trousers. He really wants to hear you say it though. 

“What do you want, my love? C’mon darling, use your words.” The Doctor prods gently, and you squirm under his knowing gaze. 

“More.” You reply, your voice small and quiet. The Doctor presses a loving kiss to your forehead. 

“More what?” He asks, and you give him a look that says, you’re really going to make me say it? 

“More kissing, more touching.” You explain shyly, and The Doctor’s smile only grows. The Doctor’s hands lift you up from under your thighs, you sequel in surprise as your legs wrap around his hips. You can feel him hardening in his trousers, and you moan softly when he presses against your aching center. His arms wind around your back, pressing you close to him as his lips press to your neck. The sound makes a shiver ripple down his spine, he wants to hear you make that sound again and again and again. The Doctor isn’t paying attention to where he’s going, being far too occupied with your quiet moaning to look so the Tardis helps and materializes your room right in front of him. 

He stumbles through the door and to your bed, placing you gently onto it. He leans back and looks down at you, the stunning view in front of him not one he wants to take his eyes off anytime soon. Your loose tank top you’d been wearing for bed has slipped down, your breasts practically spilling out of it. Your pajama shorts were hiking up, revealing more and more of your thighs. The Doctor feels nearly overwhelmed with lust, he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He doesn’t want to hurt you because he’s lost himself in a lust-filled frenzy. 

“Is this alright?” The Doctor asks softly, and you nod. You look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. It warms him up from the inside out, and he leans down over you to kiss you again. He moves slowly, languidly, softly against your lips as he lays you more firmly against the mattress. He is old fashioned after all, and is it not the gentlemans job to take care of all his loves needs? The Doctor’s hands thumb the hem of your tank top, and you lean up to let him lift it off you. Your bare chest is instantly revealed to him, you were about to go to bed, you hadn’t been wearing a bra. Your cheeks color and warm. 

“Beautiful my love, absolutely beautiful.” The Doctor breathed in awe, leaning down to press his lips against your soft skin. His lips landed between your breasts and The Doctor closed his eyes, it’s been a very long time since he has even attempted to indulge this rather primal need. Not since he was with his wife on Gallifrey, and even she passed a few years before the Time War- point is: it’s been a really really long time and The Doctor is struggling to restrain himself. His lips travel across your breasts, stopping at your nipple to bite gently and pull a few soft, desperate moans from you. 

“Please don’t go anywhere.” You beg suddenly, and the desperation hiding in your tone makes The Doctor’s chest hurt. 

“I won’t my love, I’m here. I’ll take care of everything, just lay back alright?” The Doctor says lovingly, and you can only nod dumbly. He hooks his thumbs into your shorts and presses a kiss to your hip bone before pulling them down and off your feet, tossing them behind him. He feels a swell of heat rush through his entire body, and he is rock hard by now. You aren’t wearing any panties, and he can instantly see your wet cunt. He can smell your wet cunt, being a Time Lord has that effect. It’s intoxicating, and slowly driving him mad. He takes your ankles and roughly yanks you down the bed, his composure is slipping. 

“How long?” You ask, you can feel his palms shaking. Can see how lost and unfocused his eyes are. They are scanning your entire body, and he’s mouthing hotly at your neck and breasts. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, holding him firmly to you. 

“Too long.” Is what he mumbles against you, his fingers reaching up to unbutton his vest. His jacket has long since been thrown off, and his bowtie discarded in the pile somewhere as well. 

“You have so many layers.” You whine, and The Doctor smiles at the neediness in your tone. He presses your hips together then, momentarily holding onto your hips so he can grind himself against you. 

“Patience my love.” He smiles, finally shaking off his vest and shirt. Your hands are instantly exploring his smooth warm chest, touching all the skin that’s been revealed to you. He leans over you again, his lips pressing against yours. His lips move slowly against yours, and you moan softly against his mouth. The Doctor trails his hands down your stomach lightly, and along your inner thighs. You’ve parted your legs wider to make room for him, and the Doctor reaches down to release some pressure in his trousers. He unbuttons them and yanks the zipper down, releasing a sigh as some of the suffocating pressure is released. 

“More.” You beg against his lips softly, and how could The Doctor deny such a request from his love? He trails his hands up your inner thighs, and he finally parts your folds gently, feeling for your entrance. 

“Oh,” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The Doctor carefully slides 2 fingers inside you, and you moan at the sudden intrusion. 

“I’m sorry my love, was that too much?” The Doctor asks, panic seeping in that he’s done something wrong because he can’t control his impulses. But to his surprise, you shake your head quickly, your head tossed to the side and your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. 

“No, please keep going, my love.” You beg quickly, wriggling your hips so he starts moving. The Doctor smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck as he starts to thrust his fingers into you at a slow and steady pace, he wants to take you apart lovingly, carefully, not rough and hasty. That’s not what you deserve. You moan louder, more desperately as your back arches and you press your bare chest against his.

The Doctor is having a hard time believing this is really happening.

He keeps thrusting his fingers into you, and you can feel your orgasm slowly building. The Doctor pulls back to look at your face, and the look on your face takes his breath away. Your head is tossed back against the pillow, your eyes closed and your mouth parted as you moan and cry out in his ear. The Doctor thinks this right here might be heaven, and he doesn’t even believe in heaven. 

“I’m going to come, oh God Doctor please please-” You’re rambling, and The Doctor keeps moving his fingers. You squeeze around him suddenly, coming and gushing around him. The Doctor groans against your neck, his cock throbbing in his trousers at the sight of you soaked and twitching from oversensitivity. After a few minutes of The Doctor pressing gentle kisses to your neck, chest and collarbones while you recovered from your orgasm, you looked up at him again. 

“More.” You said again and The Doctor smiled fondly above you, and he swears if it were possible, there would be cartoon hearts circling above his head. 

“Are you sure you can handle more my love?” The Doctor asks softly and you nod quickly. 

“Yes please, I um… I want to feel you inside me. I want to be yours.” You admit, avoiding looking in his eyes by trailing your fingers across the moles and occasional freckles across his neck and shoulders. The Doctor’s mind goes completely blank at your words, the lust overpowering everything else. Your words go straight to his cock, and he presses his lips against yours quickly. 

“You’re already mine.” He promises between kisses and you believe him. You reach your hand down, pushing at his trousers and boxers beneath. The Doctor helps you finish undressing him, and he kicks his trousers off to the side before leaning over you again. 

“Y/N, my love, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” The Doctor asks, he needs to ask. Needs to know you want this, needs to know you won’t come to your senses later and realize you made a mistake. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. Sex was not something that was casual to The Doctor, he didn’t have sex ever. Unless it was with someone he really, truly loved. 

“Yes I’m sure, please I can’t take it anymore. I want to feel you.” You beg, eliminating any fear from The Doctor’s mind of you changing your mind. The Doctor leaned back then, grasping the base of his cock with one hand while he braced himself over you with the other. He lined himself up with your entrance, dragging his tip from your entrance to your clit to warm you up. The Doctor pressed his lips against yours, he was a romantic at heart. He wanted, needed, to be close to you. He eased himself into you as soon as your lips touched, and your back rose, pressing your chest against him as you cried out sharply. 

“You’re so big oh my God-” You gasp, and The Doctor cradles you lovingly against him and he slowly works himself inside you. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, Time Lords weren’t designed to breed with Humans. There’s a bit of a size difference.” He explains, his voice strained. You’re so tight, so wet and warm, and you’re squeezing him so so tightly. Once The Doctor has his pelvis pressed flush against yours he stays still, to calm the racing of his hearts. You’re squirming against him, gasping and moaning as slick gushes out of you. The intrusion is intense, and the stretch it takes to accommodate him burns. 

“Darling, is it too much? Do you need me to stop?” The Doctor asks when he notices the pain on your face, even though the thought of stopping now seems impossible. 

“Don’t you dare.” You warn, eyes watery as you look up at him. The Doctor holds your body against his, propping himself on his forearms above you. Your legs wind around his waist, and your arms grasp at his shoulders. The Doctor kisses your forehead as he pulls his hips back, all the way back until just the tip is inside you. Then he swiftly slides back into you at a steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow. You cry out desperately as he steadily thrusts into you, panting against your shoulder. The Doctor pulls his head back to watch where you two connect, the place where both of you become one. The sight of his cock disappearing inside you again and again makes The Doctor feel tingly and warm all over. 

The Doctor leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, and you moan against him as your legs begin to tremble. 

“Going to come-” You whine desperately, and The Doctor changes the angle of his hips just enough to make your toes curl and tears to slip from the corners of your eyes. The Doctor reaches one hand up to swirl at your clit, rubbing it in soft, gentle circles. The other hand cups your cheek, wiping gently at your tears.

“Come for me my love, I want to feel you.” The Doctor breathes and that’s all you need to tumble over the edge. You squeeze around him, and your nails bite into his shoulders, dragging upwards as you cry out and writhe against him. The Doctor curls his arms around your body to try and hold you still, and your eyes meet his and it’s simply erotic. 

“Keep looking at me.” The Doctor instructs and you force your eyes open so you can keep looking at him. The pleasure is overwhelming, he keeps thrusting and it keeps going, the hot pleasure washing over you. 

“Where do you want me to- God- to come my love?” The Doctor asks and you know where instantly. 

“Inside me, please please come inside me.” You beg, and The Doctor groans against you as he buries his face in your neck. The Doctor keeps pushing into you, until he presses himself as deep as he can go and you feel him coming inside you in hot spurts. The Doctor presses his forehead against yours, and you feel him softening inside you. 

“Are you alright, my love?” He asks, but you don’t respond. The Doctor pulls back instantly, his hands cradling your face. Your eyes are closed. Panic spikes hot in his chest, did he hurt you? Time Lords and Humans don’t normally have sex, was it too much for you? 

“Y/N, my love, open your eyes.” The Doctor pleads, and you slowly peek one eye open. A smile tugs at your lips when you see the worry in his eyes. 

“I’m just relaxing, you worry too much.” You tease, and The Doctor releases a shaky breath. 

“You scared me.” He says, carefully pulling himself out of your warm heat. You whine, lazily grabbing at his hips as he withdraws himself from you. 

“I have to clean you up my love.” The Doctor whispers softly, pressing kisses to your hairline as he scoops you up in his arms. He carries you to the bathroom and places you gently on the counter. The counter is cold beneath your heated skin and you jump when he puts you down. The Doctor kisses your temple before leaning down to draw your bath. After the water has started to fill the tub, he turns for the door. 

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask nervously, you don’t want him to go. The Doctor smiles fondly at you, kissing your head. 

“I’ll be right back my love, I’m going to get all that fancy bath stuff I got you.” The Doctor kisses you and then retreats from the bathroom. You smile to yourself, feeling happiness overwhelming you before you slide into the warm bath water. 

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million

damian wayne x reader x jon kent  - ch.1

(A/N): The plot of this is mostly based off of a trip I took a little over a year ago, though there are liberties taken further on. And my memory is kinda sucky so take any airport lingo with a grain of salt. Also, thanks to @glorified-red for helping me outline this while I was heading to the same place this year and also for being my beta reader. 

This is fully written and has been for two months so hopefully I'll post a chapter a week or so? I am also posting this from hawaii so here's hoping a) I get new fic material and b) i've converted the time zone correctly and this posts late EST. 

If you saw this posted yesterday, no you didn’t. Posting across time zones is hard

wc: ~2300

warnings: plane travel; anxiety

~

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you stepped off the tram. Above your head, the sign read Terminal B in large letters. The people ahead as you stepped onto the escalator were a couple with matching, brightly colored, floral-patterned carry-ons. 

The notification was a text from the airline. You skimmed it as you walked towards your gate, weaving in and out of internal airport traffic. We're ready to board your flight to Gotham (GHM) at Gate B6 and look forward to seeing you soon! The text was right below the one telling you about yet another delay. A quick check of the time declared that making any detours would cut your arrival at the gate a little close. 

“Worth the risk,” you decided for yourself. “Let's go.” 

The escalator opened into the middle of your terminal, a dozen gates from your destination. Even though the airport you were in was spread out massively, you weren’t too worried. Your boarding group wouldn’t even get on the plane for probably another ten minutes, so you ducked into the nearest restroom before crossing to your gate. 

The time in red on your boarding pass caught your eye. 70 minutes late, it read. Any other day, a delay would have been an inconvenience. This time, the buffer actually ended up being beneficial. You needed it when trying to catch a connecting flight—the second of two on your way home—after one already delayed. Your eye caught on a pretzel stand further down the terminal. You could almost taste the pretzels; it had been a while since breakfast. The usual delicious smells were covered by the perpetual airport scent of stale air and commercial cleaner. If you wanted to get close, you’d have to cross the foot traffic. The voice over the loudspeaker curtailed that hope quickly by announcing your boarding group. You sighed. Next time. 

The boarding line was long and you silently thanked yourself for checking a larger suitcase as your primary luggage. Your only current accompaniment was your airline declared “personal item.” There was no way there would be spots for any hypothetical carry-on by the time you got on board. As if to agree with you, the airline employees over the speakers nudged passengers once again to check their carry-ons. 

Like always, it took longer than it rationally should have for people to display their boarding passes and continue into the enclosed boarding bridge. Your chest squeezed as your seat flashed on the screen. The only seat available and in your budget had been a “B”: a middle seat in the back of the plane. Middle seats were the worst, especially when traveling alone. Too often you’d found yourself next to men (and even women, sometimes) that made you extremely uncomfortable.

You scanned the numbers above the seats as the line in front of you blundered along. Someone’s carry-on bag almost smacked you in the face before the line cleared enough for you to be able to see your row. Your heart sank just a little bit when you spotted the two heads in the A and C seats. No hope for an empty seat on this flight, then. 

When you stepped closer, you could see two men—young adults and not older men, you realized, thank goodness—conversing with each other, both tilted into the middle seat. You hoped, privately, that they didn’t know each other well, if only so they wouldn’t be talking right through you the entire flight. 

“Excuse me,” you said, stopping in front of the row, “I have the middle seat.” 

The boys sat back. The one in the window seat had olive skin and dark wavy hair cropped close on the side, dripping down across his forehead and over his eyes. The other, with lighter skin and fluffy dark hair, stood to let you in. You had to take half a step back to let him out. He was tall. And pretty. Nope, Shut Up, brain. You pushed the thought into the back of your mind; he could be the most homophobic person you’ve ever met, how would you know? 

“Sorry about that, go ahead.” 

“Thanks.” You smiled at the boy before sliding clumsily into the row and landing heavily in the middle seat. You shoved your bag under the seat in front of you and sat up stiffly, shoulders pulled into yourself. The seatbelt dug uncomfortably into your thigh. Silently , you shifted, sliding on the smooth airplane seat, to free it. A few minutes passed in awkward silence as the rest of the passengers boarded. Your headphones were down in the bag you’d just squished under the seat. Was it really worth it to grab them now? Yes, you decided, leaning down to maneuver them out of your bag. The fluffy haired boy spoke across the seats. 

“Damian, I can’t get the app downloaded.” 

You sat back up slowly, chest constricting again. They did know each other. 

The boy in the window seat—Damian apparently—looked up from where his head had been bowed over a book. You couldn’t really make out the words scribbled in the margins, but both the text and the handwritten notes looked like something in the Arabic language family. He put his arm out and the other boy reached across you to place his phone into the outstretched hand. 

“You need to turn on your cellular data for the app store. There’s no internet here.” His voice was low in pitch and quiet. The kind people listened to. Window Seat Boy (it felt weird calling him Damian even if you knew his name) easily unlocked the phone—a red-cased, beat up iPhone—and started rifling through settings. 

The other boy turned his attention to you and you gave an awkward smile. 

“I kinda just realized that it’s probably really annoying to be in the middle of us so did you want to switch with me? Like so every time we talk to each other you’re not in the middle?” 

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. The offer was unexpected, but he looked genuine. You didn’t want to wait for him to potentially change his mind. 

“Yeah, um, that would be good—if you’re okay with that?” 

“Oh yeah I don’t care. I don’t fly like this often enough to have a seat preference. But sitting in the middle of two strangers would probably not be it.” 

Your response huff of involuntary laughter surprised you. He seemed sweet. Your guard dropped a little bit as he stood up in the now empty aisle to let you out. You pulled your bag out from under the seat in front of you and dropped both it and your jacket on the now vacated seat before sliding out and standing up yourself. 

“After you.” You gestured to the empty seat. He shot you a grin before maneuvering more awkwardly than you thought possible into the middle seat. 

“These are so cramped. How do people fly like this?” he muttered, then accepted his phone back from Window Seat Boy. You felt a smile tug at your lips, shoving your backpack under the seat as you sat back down.

“It’s the lack of legroom that gets me. There’s barely enough space for my bag, much less my feet.” 

Now, Middle Seat Boy turned to look at you. His eyes—shining from behind black rectangular frames—were a startling crystal blue. A smile spread across his face and you felt your chest squeeze for a different reason this time. You didn’t even have it in you to reprimand your brain; it really was a pretty smile. 

“Yeah I don’t get it. How is this supposed to be comfortable?” 

“It’s not supposed to be comfortable,” you said, “it’s supposed to make the airlines money.” 

There was a soft huff from Window Seat Boy and Middle Seat Boy’s grin widened. He extended his hand, elbow pressed awkwardly against his torso, before seemingly deciding against it and putting it back down. 

“I’m Jon. And this is Damian.” He gestured to the boy next to him, whose face was once again buried in his book. Damian—now using his name felt less like an intrusion and more like decent politeness—gave a brief nod as he was introduced. 

You stuck your hand out and Jon let out a small laugh as he took it. 

You appreciated that he repeated your name back to you when you gave it to him. Most people just barreled on with their misunderstood pronunciations. 

“Are you heading home?” Jon looked actually interested in your answer. 

You debated for a moment before deciding to be honest. There were over a million people living in Gotham.  

“Yeah, heading back. This is my connecting flight to get home. How about you guys?” 

Jon glanced back at Damian before answering. Damian stayed invested in his book. “He’s from Gotham and I’m going back with him so technically, yeah.” 

“Work trip? Or a personal one?” 

Jon opened his mouth then closed it without saying anything. “Kinda work yeah. We missed our,” he paused as if searching for a word, “original flight so now we’re here.” 

You nodded your head understandingly. 

“Oh that sucks. Hope you weren’t delayed too long.” 

Jon hesitated, wincing as he stretched out his left arm. 

“We weren’t, technically. Was hoping not to have to fly like this, though.” 

You shrugged. 

“This is my usual airline so I don’t have much to say about that.” 

Jon found that funnier than you expected, but you felt a smile crawl across your face as he laughed. The crackle of the intercom interrupted whatever he was about to say. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Thank you all for your patience this afternoon. As you know, weather delays kept the plane from arriving here on time and we are happy to finally have you on board. My apologies for the delay in takeoff. There’s been a slight mechanical issue, but we should get it all straightened out in the next twenty minutes so just sit tight. Thank you for your cooperation” 

You sighed heavily, eyes rolling.

“Of course there is.” 

Jon’s worried expression snapped to you. 

“What?” 

Your eyebrows scrunched down in confusion. 

“'What' what?” 

“You said 'of course there is'. Of course there’s what?”

You felt your shoulders relax. 

“Oh, another delay. Almost every plane I take on my own has some sort of delay. Like my last flight was an hour and fifteen minutes behind. And now this one. I just want to go home, you know? I’m exhausted.” 

Jon slumped in his chair. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

He looked exhausted, you realized, eyes decorated with underbags and body slouched into his seat. He was also wearing two sweaters, even though the plane was more warm than chilly. 

“Are you okay?” 

Jon shrugged, smiling. 

“I haven’t uh—I haven’t gotten enough sun recently but yeah.” 

You let out a small huh of understanding and looked out the window open across the aisle from you. It was dark out despite the fact that the sun hadn’t quite set. He wasn’t native to Gotham, you remembered. Cloudy days are the default there, but you knew a couple people who could never make it in Gotham just for that reason. 

It felt weird to put in your headphones and tune out the boy next to you now. Usually, you wouldn’t have thought twice, but you liked him and didn’t want to block him out. Instead, you tucked the headphones back in and pulled a craft project out of your bag, continuing the row of stitches you were on when you put it down at your first gate early in the morning. 

After a moment, you looked up to see Jon watching you. 

“Whatcha making?” He asked, eyes tracing the pattern of your project. You paused, hands stilling mid-stitch.

“Nothing specific really. Just something to pass the time. It’s a pattern I found online a little while back. I kinda enjoy the time on planes and the like that force me to not watch something. Even though technically there’s in-flight entertainment, there’s not too much I enjoy so I’d rather read or something, you know?” You completed the stitch, eyes flicking back to Jon as you tugged it tight. Jon’s head tilted to the side. You had to stop yourself from smiling at the movement. It was cute, a little bit like a puppy. 

“In-flight entertainment?” 

“Like movies and TV shows, whatever the airline puts on it. You didn’t know that?” Jon shook his head. “How often do you fly?” Jon’s eyes widened. For a moment you thought you’d offended him. “I’m not judging you or anything I just—”

“No! No, you didn’t. I don’t…take airplanes much.” 

“Ok well there’s a whole selection of movies on the app, if you have that. This plane has some TV channels,” you said, gesturing to his TV. It was streaming a basketball game, same as most of the others around you. You’d turned yours off before continuing on your project. A quick glance at Damian’s revealed that his was also turned off. “But there’s a better selection of stuff on the app and then you can connect your bluetooth or whatever headphones to your phone and watch with those.” You pulled your phone from your pocket, opening the app and navigating to the entertainment section. 

“See?” You hit the button for the ‘view all’ list and turned the phone to Jon. “You can’t do anything with it unless you’re on the plane but since we are, here it is.” 

Jon pulled out his phone and navigated to the same page you were on, then started scrolling down. 

“This one’s okay but I feel like I’ve seen it a thousand times.” He tilted the phone towards you, display open to a movie from a few months ago. 

“Oh, I meant to see that movie but never got to. Do you recommend it?” 

Jon returned to the main page and shrugged. 

“I think you can do better.” 

You smiled, stuffing your project back into your bag in favor of scrolling through the movie list yourself. 

“Let’s see what they’ve got.”

[virtie333]

Paint It Black

Yovanna is starting a new life in Australia, but she would be happier if the man who helped her get there could share that life with her.

My first Triple Frontier fic, written in honor of the Netflix movie's 5th anniversary. It's just a simple love story, what I would have wished to see happen for Santiago and Yovanna.

@triplefrontier-anniversary

Rated NC-17 for Explicit Sexual Content (18+ Only!): Includes protected P in V and mirror sex.

Cross-posted on AO3

5.6k words (sorry, not sorry!)

Inspired by this gifset!

“Katia?”

It took almost two full seconds for Yovanna to respond to the teenage girl behind the counter; she was still not used to that name. Katia Hernàndez was who she was now, but despite living with that name for the last six months, she still had a hard time remembering to respond to it. She wondered if she would ever find it easy.

She turned toward the front of the delicatessen, where sixteen-year-old Maggie was looking at her expectantly, a plastic bag on the counter in front of her. The girl smiled when Yovanna looked her way, and Yovanna smiled back.

“Sorry, I was distracted.”

Maggie giggled. “Yeah, my mind likes to wander a lot, too.”

Yovanna walked over to the counter to take the bag with her purchases. “Gracias,” she told the girl.

“De nada,” Maggie responded. “Is that right?”

Yovanna smiled. “Si, that’s one way to say ‘thank you’.”

A woman came up behind Maggie, grinning. “You know, she had no interest in learning a foreign language until you started shopping here,” Lauren said. Blonde like her daughter, Lauren Oggelby owned and operated Oggelby Deli, one of the few delicatessens in Kiama, New South Wales. Seeing as it was just down the street from the apartment Yovanna shared with her little brother Emiliano – Ezra now, she reminded herself – it was the only deli she had been to in this town. The straightforward friendliness of Lauren and Maggie made it feel comfortable and safe.

Safe was not something Yovanna was used to.

“I want to learn it so well I can have a full conversation with you in Spanish,” Maggie said, responding to her mother’s comment.

Yovanna nodded. “Well, from what I understand, it’s a lot easier to learn Spanish than English, so be glad you already know the hard one.”

Maggie laughed while Lauren nodded. “You speak it fluently,” she observed.

“My mother was raised in the United States,” Yovanna said, making sure she didn’t say where in the U.S. “I grew up speaking both Spanish and English.”

“I want to visit Guatemala someday,” Maggie said dreamily. “It sounds beautiful.”

Yovanna smiled again. “It is.” She shrugged. “I better get going. I’ll see you both later!” She didn’t dare speak any more about the country she was from, especially since it wasn’t Guatemala. The two women waved at her and said their goodbyes as Yovanna left the store. She slipped on her sunglasses and headed down the sidewalk, away from the beach which was only a quarter of a mile away to the east. She would probably end up there later today; she usually did. She loved the ocean, though she had rarely seen it before coming to Australia six months ago. She would be content to live next to the sea for the rest of her life.

She arrived at the gate to the small complex she lived in. At the moment, it was only temporary, as she hoped to find a nice house in the near future, but odds were good Emiliano would stay here. He had started on-line classes just a few weeks ago, and Yovanna knew he wanted to become more independent; they had been in each other’s pockets since they had arrived, and they were both ready to start living their own lives now that things seemed to be settled.

Kiama was a beautiful, quiet place, and Yovanna was ready to call it home.

Yovanna climbed to the second floor of the complex, then walked to the third door down. She unlocked it, then nearly ran into her brother as he was heading out. “Where are you off to?” she asked in Spanish.

“I’m going to Ted’s,” he told her in English. He was determined to fit in to his new home by rarely speaking his native language. He wanted to rid himself of any accent other than Australian. “Then I have a date with Margo tonight, so I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

Yovanna felt a tug of anxiety and tried to ignore it. Emiliano had been doing well since they had arrived to this new country with new names and forged documents. His short jaunt in jail in Colombia, and the terror of having been in the discotech in Tarapacà when it was raided and almost destroyed by police, had set him back on a safer course. Money was not an issue for them anymore, and drugs had fortunately not become an addiction before his arrest. Their arrest, actually. Only she had gotten away.

With the help of one of those ‘cops.’

“Well, have fun,” she responded, also in English. “But not too much fun. Make sure you use protection.”

She couldn’t help but smile as her little brother, who stood taller than her and was very much a mature young man, blushed. “I will,” he mumbled before heading past her out of the apartment.

Sighing, Yovanna took the bag into the kitchen and began to put away the meats and cheeses and spreads she had purchased, her mind drifting, as it often did, to the ‘cop’ who had helped her and her brother get here. She wondered where he was. What he was doing. Had he made it out of Colombia safely? Had he and his friends gotten all that money over the mountains? Was he now lazing on some beach somewhere, some beautiful blonde in a bikini feeding him cholados?

She shook her head, chastising herself. She needed to stop thinking about him. He most likely had forgotten about her. Hell, she didn’t even know his name!

She finished putting away her purchases and leaned back against the counter, remembering the last day she had seen him, when she and Emiliano had started their journey to Australia with three million dollars. She remembered the question his friend, another former soldier, had asked her. “After you had sex…” She scoffed. She wished that had been the case. For the almost thirteen months she had known ‘Consejero,’ he had never once done anything improper or propositioned her in any way. She had often wondered why, as other ‘officials’ she had known, American or otherwise, had never been shy about requesting sex in exchange for protection and secrecy.

And Lord knows if he had requested that of her, she would not have refused.

But he never did. Though there were times… no. She was fooling herself, thinking she had often read more in his gaze than was most likely there. That he cared about her. That he worried about her.

That he loved her.

She groaned out loud and pushed herself away from the counter, moving toward the refrigerator, intent on getting something cold to drink. Though the AC in the apartment worked wonderfully, thinking about Consejero always made her heat up. She needed to follow her brother’s example and find someone here. Goodness knows she had already been asked out by enough people since her arrival. It didn’t matter that she was always comparing them to him. And always found them lacking.

There was a sharp, sudden knock on the door and it made her jump. She shook her head at her own nervousness and moved toward the door, wondering if it was her brother. Maybe he had forgotten something. She unlocked the door and pulled it open, then stood in silent shock as she saw who was on the other side.

As if she had conjured him with her thoughts, Consejero himself was here.

XXXXX

Yovanna stared at the man standing outside her doorway, her eyes quickly assessing him, noticing the changes from the last time she had seen him. His hair was longer, the grey a little less pronounced in the thicker curls. He had the familiar 5-o’clock-shadow, but his face seemed narrower, his cheekbones more pronounced, as if he had lost weight. His broad shoulders also seemed sharper under his dark grey button down, and as her gaze trailed down his body to his khaki cargo pants, she realized he was indeed skinny. Too skinny.

She brought her eyes back up to meet his. Chocolate brown and as intense as always, this was something that hadn’t changed. She opened her mouth to speak, but the shock of his appearance kept her silent.

“Hello, Yovanna,” he said softly, his heavy brows low as he watched her carefully.

“Katia,” she said automatically in reply.

He huffed slightly and the corner of his mouth curled up. “Katia.” He took a deep breath, then shook his head. “If you want me to leave and pretend I never saw you-“

“No!” she interrupted him. She stepped back. “Come in, please?”

He did as she asked, walking past her toward her living room. His cologne, subtle and alluring, caught her attention. That also hadn’t changed, she thought as she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Delicious. She opened her eyes and closed the door, locking it immediately as she had become accustomed to. She turned and followed him into the living room.

He turned to face her, his expression uncertain. “Where’s Duke?”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s nickname. “Ezra is with friends.”

“He’s doing well?”

She nodded. “Yes.” She paused, and when he didn’t continue, she rushed ahead. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t bother asking how he had found her; he had been the one to have the fake passports and documents made. He knew more about her new persona than she did. The question that she needed answered was why he was here.

He bit his lip, and she tried not to think about what that action did to her physically, then he met her eyes with his own. There was a strange desolation in them, a sadness she didn’t remember seeing in his eyes before. She had witnessed him angry and concerned, and she had seen those eyes light up with laughter, but never had she seen him like this.

“What happened?” she whispered, knowing it wasn’t good.

He gave a heavy sigh and moved to sit down on one of the stools that sat along the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Everything wrong,” he told her.

“You didn’t get the money out, did you?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “Not much.”

“Did everyone make it?” she whispered, instinctively knowing that while losing all that money would be devastating, losing one of his friends would be worse.

His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed as he looked away from her, then he gave a sharp shake of his head. “Redfly didn’t,” he mumbled.

“Redfly?” she said. She hadn’t known the men he had brought to take down Lorea, but he had told her that she could trust them. That he trusted them with his life. And she had overheard them talking with each other. “He was the one that didn’t trust me, wasn’t he?”

He gave another sharp nod, then looked at her. “And I’m not going to deny how pleased I was to prove him wrong about you,” he said softly. “But he was off his game. We all were.”

“I’m sorry,” Yovanna said softly, and she meant it. While she might not have had a good experience with the man, he was still this man’s friend. And she cared about this man. Too much.

He shrugged. “What money we got out, we gave to his family,” he continued. “I’ve just been… wandering since. Can’t go back to Colombia. Can’t go back to the States.”

She nodded. “Diego and his men know your real name,” she said. And they had plenty of contacts in the States. She huffed a laugh. “So, you came to the one person you know who actually benefitted from your heist.”

He furrowed his brows for a moment, then his eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “Oh, no! That’s not why I’m here,” he argued. “I may not be a millionaire, but I’ve still got plenty of my own money from investments keeping me afloat. I…”

She laughed at his defensiveness and moved to the refrigerator in the kitchen. Opening it, she pulled out a couple bottles of Schweppes lemonade and handed one to him. “It doesn’t matter,” she told him, trying to believe it herself. The idea that he had come for her and just her was too much to hope for. “It’s not like Emiliano… I mean Ezra and I are going to need all that money. It started out as yours, and you are welcome to a share.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s yours. I don’t care if you keep the majority in hiding or invest it or give it all away to charity, it’s yours.” His dark eyes were focused on her intently once more. “I came here because I missed you.”

Yovanna sat on the stool next to him, but couldn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on opening the bottle in her hand.

He continued. “I missed talking to you. I missed complaining about all those little things that annoy me to you, and getting your sympathy. You were the only person I really trusted in Tarapacà, dare I say my only friend there?” He paused, waiting for her to look at him. “I missed your smile. Your laugh. The way you glared at me when I teased you.”

She finally looked at him, searching his face, but she saw no duplicity there. Despite their official relationship, she believed he had never lied to her. And she had never lied to him, which is why he had been so angry with her after the discotech raid. “I wasn’t like any of your other informants, was I?” she asked, and she couldn’t help the bit of sarcasm in her voice.

Either he didn’t pick up on it or he chose to ignore it. “No, you weren’t. And you were my only one in the end. The only one I trusted.”

Yovanna took a sip of her drink, then shook her head again. “I always wondered why you treated me different,” she told him. “Carmen and Lucia had much different relations with you.” Carmen was one of the secretaries in the office she had worked at, the one where most of Lorea’s money was funneled through. And Lucia was her friend who worked as a housekeeper for several of Lorea’s men in Tarapacà. It was through them that this man had found her, a lowly accountant, who knew far more about the coming and going of all that dirty money than most of her coworkers.

He seemed to pull back at her words, knowing now what she was getting at. Carmen and Lucia had both commented more than once that he ‘paid them well,’ both in and out of bed.

He watched her silently for a long moment. “You’re wondering why I didn’t fuck you, aren’t you?”

She felt her face heat, which was crazy. Yovanna wasn’t an innocent, though it had been a very long time since she had been in a relationship with a man. Since before she met this one, in fact. She tried to shake her head to deny his question, but she couldn’t.

“There’s two very good reasons why I never asked you for that kind of arrangement,” he told her, his voice hardening. “One was that I knew you weren’t that kind of woman. Lucia and Carmen both used sex to control the men in their lives on a regular basis. It was an exchange as easy as money to them. I knew you were different.” He took a deep breath. “And two… I knew I could love you.”

Yovanna’s eyes shot up to his face. Had she heard him right? Had he actually used the word love? She was literally speechless at his comment, but as she searched his face, she once more found no evidence of deceit. If anything, he looked nervous, as if he wasn’t sure he should have admitted something so dangerous.

When her silence continued, he grimaced and nodded. Setting the unopened bottle of lemonade on the counter, he stood. “I just wanted to be sure you and your brother were doing okay. It looks like you found a perfect home, and I hope you are happy here. I don’t want to upset that peace. Goodbye, Yovanna.” He paused and smiled slightly. “I mean Katia.” He nodded and turned toward her door.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, hating how desperate her voice sounded.

He stopped and turned back as he reached the door. “Santiago,” he told her. “Santiago Garcia.”

She slid off the stool and walked quickly toward him. “Don’t go, Santiago. Please, don’t leave.”

“Give me a reason to stay,” he responded, his voice rough.

She reached for his hand, taking it in both of hers and rubbing his calloused palm gently. She brought it up to her mouth and kissed his rough knuckles, then looked him in the eye. Slowly, deliberately, she turned and tugged on his hand, coaxing him to follow her to her bedroom.

He didn’t resist.

XXXXX

Santiago.

The name rolled around in her head like the lyrics to a favorite song. Santiago. It was perfect for him. It was strong and masculine, but caring and empathetic, like the stories of the saints she learned as a child. Santiago.

As soon as the door to her bedroom closed behind them, he had her pinned to the wall, her arms up with their fingers entwined, his mouth on hers. She reciprocated by writhing against him, meeting his tongue with her own in a sensuous dance. As his lips dropped to her neck, she pulled her hands free, reaching down to work on the buttons of his shirt. He responded by grabbing the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it up and over her head. She stepped away from him a bit so she could toe off her shoes and he moved to sit on the corner of her bed so he could remove his boots.

She followed him there, bending over to work on his shirt once more. He tried kissing her while they both worked, missing her mouth and connecting with her cheek or her ear over and over again until she was giggling. When she looked at him, the crow’s feet around his eyes grew as his smile widened. The darkness in his eyes had faded.

She straightened and reached behind her for the clasp of her bra, slowly letting it slide down her arms. His eyes became intense once more as he watched her, slowly taking off his now unbuttoned shirt. As he focused on her bare breasts, she ran her eyes over his chest. While he had indeed lost weight in the last few months, he was still beautiful. Muscled without looking like a body builder, his copper skin tantalizing. His chest was hairless, but the trail of hair that began under his navel and disappeared under his waistband was alluring.

“Wait!” he said suddenly, and she brought her eyes up to meet his. “I seriously wasn’t expecting this,” he told her with a slight shake of his head, his eyes huge. “I don’t have protection.”

Yovanna smiled slightly and walked over to the dresser next to the bed. She opened the top drawer and pulled out an unopened box of condoms, then brought them back to Santiago. “I bought them for my brother, but he assured me he had his own.” She tossed the box onto the bed next to him.

He looked at them, then looked at her, and the excitement she saw in his eyes sent a shot of electricity through her. He began to unbuckle his belt, and she started to work on the fly of her lightweight trousers, quickly sliding them off as he stood and removed his, boxers and all. He stepped into her before she could get a good look at his impressive erection, wrapping his arms tight around her and finding her mouth with his own once more. She let herself sink into his kiss, feeling her whole body shiver at the feel of his naked skin against hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her hands sweep along his shoulders and the back of his neck. Her fingers found the scar there, and she gently massaged the area. She knew he had gotten surgery on his neck only a few months before the heist had taken place; he had returned home to the States for it, and she had missed him while he had been gone. His mouth once more dropped down to her neck, but then she felt him still. She pulled back slightly to look at him, and realized he was looking behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see what had caught his attention away from her.

It was their own reflection in the floor length mirror on her closet door. She felt her heart start to race as she watched his hands smooth down her naked back, cupping her almost-bare bottom; she was still wearing a pair of teal-colored panties.

Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around with a growl deep in his throat. As she faced their reflection, she caught sight of his cock, which looked even more massive than before now that he was fully aroused, and then she felt it pressed against the upper curve of her buttocks. His arms came around her once more, one hand cupping her breast and squeezing it lightly, the other dropping down between her legs, his fingers delving into her panties to burrow into her wet heat. She cried out, both the feel of him and the sight of them in the mirror shooting her arousal into orbit.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured roughly against her neck, his fingers playing with her sensitive folds. “So fucking wet for me.”

His words made her whimper, and she rocked her hips against his touch.

“Look at me!” His words were harsh and made her jump. She hadn’t realized she had closed her eyes. She opened them to look at him in the mirror, making eye contact through their reflection. “Tell me you want this!” he demanded. “Tell me now or I walk out of here.”

And he would, she knew. He would stop if she didn’t give him the okay. This man, a trained killer, would leave her alone if she asked, even as fully aroused as he was right now. Holding his powerful gaze, she nodded. “I want this.”

He brought his hand out from between her legs and plucked at her panties. “Off!” he told her as he backed toward the bed, grabbing the box she had put there and ripping it open. She slid her panties off as he removed a condom, preparing it and sliding it on. She had turned to watch him and didn’t hide that fact. ¡Dios mío! He was thick! She felt her pussy weep even more fluid at the thought of him inside of her. He finished and stepped toward her again. Briefly he made eye contact once more before grasping her shoulders and turning her away from him again. He pushed her forward gently, toward the mirror.

She realized what he was doing and she began to pant in excitement. When she was close, she leaned forward, her hands on the mirror. She looked up to see him move behind her and grasp her hip with one hand. She felt his cock come up between her legs, but he didn’t push in. Instead, he used his other hand to run it all over her dripping pussy, covering the condom with her juices. She moaned at the sensation, her hips moving counter to his actions. “¡Dios!” she cried, feeling an orgasm already threatening.

“Hermosa?” His throaty gasp caught her attention, and she looked up again, meeting his questioning gaze in the mirror.

She nodded quickly. “¡Ahora!”

Without any resistance, he slid into her. She cried out, smiling at the absolute pleasure his invasion brought her. “Yes!” she cried out in English.

“Fuck!” he responded. “You’re so tight! Please, tell me I’m not hurting you!” His voice was desperate.

“Santiago,” she said, her voice breathy as she continued to pant. “Santiago, please, fuck me!”

And he did, his hips immediately thrusting into her at a steady and solid pace. She dropped her head, unable to keep on watching their reflection in front of her, her sole focus on the feelings his body was creating in hers. She was so full, but she wanted more. She pushed back into him, encouraging him without words to move faster. He responded by quickening his pace, but he grumbled at her as he did so. “I’m trying to take this slow, Querida.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his words. “I don’t want slow. We can go slow next time!”

“Fuck, yeah!” he said, his grip on her hips tightening. “Next time!” He began to pound into her harshly, and she laughed again in pure joy. Yes!!!!

“Oh, Dios!” she cried. She was almost there!

Suddenly, he dropped one of his hands down, reaching around in front of her to tease her clit. “Come on my fucking cock!” he hissed in her ear.

His touch combined with his words sent her over the edge and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her body convulse, her pussy squeezing him tight, her legs tremoring. She saw stars. Or maybe they were fireflies. She wasn’t sure and she really didn’t care. She was crying, tears of ecstasy rolling down her cheeks. Her legs began to give out and Santiago moved his arm up to wrap around her waist, holding her tight against him.

When she was able to focus again, she realized he wasn’t moving. His cock was still buried deep inside her, but he was simply holding her. She looked up at him in the mirror, afraid and embarrassed of her reaction. He was smiling softly at her, his eyes wide and almost black with passion and… dare she think it? Love?

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered.

She gathered her strength and straightened her legs, standing on her own again. His grip loosened, then he let her go completely and backed away, sliding out of her.

“No!” she couldn’t help but gasp. He wasn’t done. Just because she had had the most amazing orgasm of her life didn’t mean they were done!

His smile got bigger as he took her hand and led her toward the bed.

He sat on it and pushed himself back, laying down with his head on her pillows. His smile had turned into a smirk. “Come on, Cariño. You know what I want you to do.”

Yovanna climbed onto the bed on her knees and shuffled over to him. She threw one leg over his hips and settled on his thighs, his still rock-hard cock in front of her, teasing her super sensitive clit. Taking a deep breath, she rose up on her knees and grabbed his cock, then carefully mounted him. She was still so wet, he slid in easily, and she closed her eyes as she absorbed the feeling of him filling her once again, this time touching places he hadn’t in their previous position.

“Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

She opened her eyes to see him looking to where they were joined. She also looked down, rather amazed that she could take him all, then she looked back at him. He was watching her now, and as she made eye contact with him, he lifted his hands toward her, fingers outstretched, in invitation.

She accepted, meeting his hands with her own, palm to palm, fingers intertwined once more. She began to rock, back and forth, with her hips. She leaned down to kiss him, bringing their joined hands up to rest just above his head on the pillow. He moaned into her mouth, letting her take control this time around, and apparently loving it. Eventually, they let go of each other so they could take their time touching each other. Yovanna played with his hair, running her fingers through it as she had imagined doing so many times before. Santiago let his fingers toy with her breasts, thumbing her nipples, then massaging her curves. They never stopped kissing.

As her rocking became faster, his hands moved down her back to her buttocks, the tips of his finger straying down to where they were joined, then up to tease her asshole briefly, making her squeal in surprise. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, she realized, just nothing she had tried before. Interesting. She pushed herself up straight once more, using her strong thighs to push herself up and down on him now. He also sat up, diving in to lick and suck on first her breasts, then her neck. He found her pulse point and began to suck hard; she knew he was marking her and didn’t care. Her bouncing increased in speed and his grip on her ass tightened.

“Fuck, I can’t hold it anymore,” he groaned.

“Don’t!” she told him. “Let go! Come for me!”

She felt his hips raise up off the bed as he ejaculated, finally coming. Dios, his stamina was amazing! As he let himself fall back onto the bed, Yovanna felt her own body start to tremble once more. This orgasm wasn’t as strong as her first, but it was no less satisfying. Breathing hard, she let herself fall forward and a little to the side, letting him slide out of her. He winced, then sat up to take care of the condom, tossing it in the waste basket next to the dresser. Then he fell back onto the bed, looking at her, a soft smile on his face.

She scooted close to him, tentatively putting her head on his shoulder, not sure how he felt about post-coital cuddling, but his arm wrapped around her immediately and he began to kiss her hair. They lay like this for a long time, letting their breathing and their hearts come back to normal. Yovanna became sleepy, but her brain soon started working overtime, and she was wide awake once more.

“Where are you staying?” she asked him.

“A little bed and breakfast on the other side of town,” he told her.

“You’re welcome to stay here,” she said softly.

“For how long?”

She lifted her head to look at him. “For however long you want.”

“With you?”

She shrugged. “Well, for a while. I’m planning on buying a house of my own, soon, but Emi—I mean Ezra, will probably stay here. So,” she gave him a teasing smile. “You can be roommates with him, or you can come live with me.”

He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d love if I stayed with him,” he said sarcastically.

“Then stay with me,” she told him, her voice soft but firm. “As long as you want.”

He was silent for a moment. “I know where the money is.”

She frowned at him.

He licked his lips. “Ironhead gave me the coordinates where we dumped it. In the mountains.” He was looking at her expectantly.

“How dangerous would it be to go back for it?” she asked carefully.

“Very,” he told her. “Not just because there are still people looking for it, but because the location it’s in is… treacherous.”

She bolstered herself for her next question. “And how much do you want it?”

He took a deep breath and pulled away from her. He slid off the bed and looked around until he found where his trousers had ended up, then he went over to them and pulled his wallet out from the back pocket. He opened it and took out a slip of paper. He dropped the pants and walked back over to where she was still lying on the bed, leaning on her elbow, her head propped on her hand as she watched him. He showed her the paper and she could see the coordinates on it. Then he reached for the long-stemmed lighter that sat on the dresser next to one of her scented candles. He lit it, then touched it to the paper, setting it on fire. He held onto it while most of it burned, then placed it on the candle, the remaining flame lighting the candle as it burned the last of the paper. He looked at her.

She gave him a half smile. “That’s a beautiful gesture,” she told him. “But do you really expect me to believe you don’t already have those numbers saved in your phone? Or even memorized in your head?”

He laughed. “Oh, come on! Let me have this dramatic moment!”

She laughed along with him, but soon he became serious once more.

“Give me a reason to not go back for that money,” he told her, the darkness from earlier appearing in his eyes once more.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, in a trembling voice, she said, “I love you.”

His expression softened and his mouth opened as if he was stunned. He blinked rapidly, and Yovanna felt tears forming in her own eyes in response to his obvious emotion. He cleared his throat and bit his lower lip, but didn’t seem to know what to say. So, she sat up and continued.

“Stay here with me,” she told him. “Start a new life with me, away from pain and fear and anxiety.” She paused. “You’ve done more than enough, dealing with demons both real and in your mind. Let your body and your soul rest the way you deserve.” As his expression turned hopeful, she added, “Let me love you while we take care of each other.”

Slowly, he moved to lie next to her on the bed once more. “Forever?” he asked, his expression still full of such hope.

“Forever,” she told him.

“I love you, Yov—Katia,” he smiled softly as he corrected himself.

“And I love you, Santiago.”

“Yes, I’ll stay.”

Forever.

THE END

[bunniebubbleswrites]

Blood runs thicker than water

Mother Figure! Lady Lesso x Never Student! F! Reader A/N: This fic will be loosely based on the books and the movie and yes parent's weekend is a thing in this world just consult the Ever Never Handbook bc that is the reason I got this idea in the first place. Also soft Lesso!! Warnings: Never student from an Ever family, mentions of parental abuse Words: 1411

The sound of excited Nevers and Evers filled the Theater of Tales. Parents Weekend had fallen upon the school, most students excited to see their parents if they were still alive. 

Sitting on the decaying pews with your peers, you scanned the room for your mother’s signature blue dress and your fathers sage suit. You hadn’t written any letters home fearful of how your parents would react. The only Never from a long line of Ever’s. Just imagining the disappointment and hatred in your family's eyes made you flinch. 

The sound of heels made you stand from the pews, the sound of heels hitting the marble sounded much different than the staff, they sounded meaner but it was a different sound than what Lady Lesso’s heels made. 

You walked down from the pews black boots making the decaying wood creak. You shoved your hands into the pockets of your black pants. You wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. Walking over the side littered with happy Ever’s and their parents. You spotted your parents, they were kind of hard to miss. 

Your mother in her elegant blue gown, not a blemish or wrinkle on her smooth skin. Your father by her side in his sage colored suit. The perfect fairy tale couple, your mothers eyes scanned the crowd of Ever girls looking for you. You stood on one side with your peers not allowed to cross over to the other. Your father spotted you and nudged your mother, catching her attention. Her eyes fell on you and a scowl graced her lips, your father indifferent like he always had been. 

They slowly made their way over to you. To anyone else it would look just like disappointment graced her features but you knew she was fuming. 

“ (y/n), dear. No wonder you didn’t write home,” you could hear the sourness in your mothers voice. “You're a never. Where did we go wrong?” She sighed but the smile returned like she didn’t hate you like you hadn’t ruined her life. 

That’s what you were always told as a child. That’s what she would say when she yelled and screamed at you. All you wanted was for her to be proud, and here you were class captain and ‘1’ ranks all across the board. 

The two deans came out onto the stage at the front of the room and you walked back over to the pews, hands still shoved in your pockets. 

“Hello parents and guardians, I am Professor Dovey. Dean of the School for Good.” Dovey’s voice carried through the room. Her golden gown shimmering. 

Dot leaned back in your direction and looked up at you, “So (y/n) where are your parents? I thought you said they were coming.” The girl said while shoving chocolate in her face. You put your head down to look at her, hair curtaining your face, and instead of your usual smile a scowl graced your lips.

“ Oh, they’re here dot,” You said bitterly as you looked up at where the Ever’s sat. “You see the woman with the blue ball gown and the man next to her that almost looks like Professor Sader?” Dot nodded “Those are my parents. I come from a long line of Ever’s.” 

Dot looked at you and so did Hester. They thought you were joking but your face said otherwise. You turned your attention back to the two women at the front of the theater, tugging your long sleeves down to cover your hands. Almost everyone in your school had seen them, the scars but you still hid them. You didn’t need people asking questions, but you didn’t want your teachers asking questions. Especially Lady Lesso. You couldn’t help but feel like you would disappoint her too. 

The sound of people getting up and chatter filled your ears once again. Taking a deep breath.

Let's get this done and over with.

Walking past your peers to meet your parents. Once again an invisible barrier in between you. You could feel eyes on you. You assumed at least 2 of them were Dot and Hester. 

“ (y/n), dear I think me and your father are going to leave. I mean we don’t really have any reason to stay.” Your mother said as a frown graced your father’s stoic expression. You loved your dad, you really did. You don’t think you’ll ever truly understand how they ended up together but you wanted to spend time with your dad and you like the same thoughts consumed him.

“ Don’t have a reason to stay, really that's the best you got. I’ve worked my ass off trying to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love, but I will never be good enough will I?  I earned my spot as class captain, I earned all my 1st place ranks and no thanks to you. So go ahead and leave. I have friends who would actually enjoy my company today.” Your face was flushed and your breathing heavy. The last time you had talked back like this you had some nasty bruises all over your body.

The sound of skin hitting skin made everyone go silent as it echoed through the room. “Don’t you dare talk back to me young lady. I am your mother and will treat me as such.” Your mother had slapped you in front of hundreds of people. Students and parents alike. You were rendered silent, regaining your composure fairly quickly. You turned on your heel and quickly made your way out of the theater through the Nevers entrance. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you ran back to your dorm room. The sound of your boots hitting the floor, it was evident to anyone still in the building that you were running. Reaching your room you bust the door open and threw yourself onto your bed and just cried. You had been bottling up the emotions since day one but you just couldn’t take it anymore. You just wanted someone to hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay. 

A knock on your dorm room door startled you. Wiping your eyes and cheeks off you opened the door and there you were met with the concerned face of your dean. 

“Lady Lesso, why are you here?” Instead of a response she pushed you into the room and shut the door behind her with a swish of her finger. 

She pulled you into her arms, “Tell me, tell me what they did to you.” The minute those words left her lips you burst into tears and told her everything. You told her about how your mother would scream and yell at you and how your father would tend and bind your wounds after your mother was finished unleashing her wrath onto you. 

Once you had finished spilling your heart out to your favorite teacher, she wiped your tears and smiled at you reassuringly.

“ You know that saying ‘Blood runs thicker than water’?” Lesso asked you 

You nodded, “ My mother says it all the time to justify the things she did to me.”

“ It’s a bunch of bullshit.” You smiled at her and nodded. You both walked out of your dorm room as she escorted you back to the Theater of Tales. 

As soon as you entered the theater with Lesso behind you. You turned and thanked her and before you ran over to your friends to meet their parents you heard Lesso whisper,

“ I could never be disappointed in you kid.” You smiled back at her as Dot and Hester enveloped you in their arms and Andail joined in on the group hug as well. 

Even though your parents were nowhere to be seen, Dot’s parents welcomed you into their family as if you were their own.

Maybe this Parent’s weekend wouldn’t be so bad and you knew that you could go to Lady Lesso for any and everything. She had shown you more love than your mother ever could. You would make her proud in any way you possibly could and you knew that your friends would help you achieve that goal.

When you looked back at your dean, you saw a small smile form on her lips before it disappeared. You knew she could never be disappointed in you and Dovey saw it too, just like she could never be disappointed in her students. Maybe Evil had a shot at winning this time around.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 The Papas and Copia and how they react to your compliments. 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 Compliments 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬) Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader, the paragraphs for the other Papas can also be interpreted as Papa x GN!Reader 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 No smut but mentions of sex in Copia's section so 18+ only, MINORS DNI 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 588 words. 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 My body is too warm and it's making sitting in front of my laptop uncomfortable so I'm using today to take a break from writing Mary fics. I've v briefly proofread this to make sure I don't use gendered pronouns or terms for reader but if I've missed any lmk! 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 𝐓𝐢𝐩 𝐉𝐚𝐫

When Primo receives a compliment from you, it’s usually waved away dismissively as he mumbles something along the lines of ‘you waste these words on an old man like me instead of one who would appreciate them more’. It doesn’t stop you giving them to him though, now written on a note attached to a new plant or flower you’ve bought for him to plant in the gardens so he can’t brush them off. He always finds you afterwards, lightly chastising you for being far too kind and generous to a man of his age. Every time, without fail, you press a kiss to his cheek and tell him to stop being silly. It makes him smile fondly.

Secondo pretends not to be affected by the compliments you give him. You tell him he doesn’t need to put on such an act around you, and yet he does it anyway. He grunts, muttering about how you’re exaggerating and trying to be modest. Your compliments are always accompanied with a pot of tea served with his favourite cups and saucers and a plate of amaretti biscuits that you’ve freshly baked that morning. Sure, he grumbles about being distracted from his duties whenever you enter with a tray laden with biscuits and beverages, but he makes sure to thank you before you leave every single time, lips pressed to your forehead in gratitude as he promises to thank you properly later.

Compliments between you and Terzo become a competition. You’ll engage in compliment combat each time you cross one another in the corridors, lashing one another with kind words and affection until one of you smiles or laughs first. It used to startle the siblings of sin when they passed you both in the corridor during these times but now it’s such a common occurrence that they merely shake their heads and chuckle before continuing on with whatever they were doing prior to encountering you both. Terzo has won more of these compliment battles than you have and you’re okay with that. Just getting to see him smile and bask in the affection you offer him brings you an endless amount of joy.

At first, Copia didn’t deal with compliments too well. Each time you complimented his outfit or his moustache or even something his office space he’d bristle, assuming you were making fun of him like your fellow cardinals used to before he became the frontman for Ghost. It took months of building up trust and friendship for him to realise that you were being genuine and honest, showering him with affectionate words and reassuring smiles. Lingering eye contact and the touch of an arm that lasted longer than perhaps was appropriate between the two of you became more and more frequent.

Eventually, the kind words and compliments you exchanged resulted in him bedding you. Featherlight touches exchanged between two cardinals pining after one another became caresses and kisses in places that had you arching your back, aching for him. Whispers and giggles became moans and whimpers as you explored one another’s bodies in the dead of night, sneaking around the cardinals’ quarters and other places in the abbey after curfew. Shared books passed to one another innocently in the library became an excuse to meet up there after hours and desecrate the librarian’s desk with your head between his thighs and vice versa. What had started out as acts of kindness turned into a relationship and sexual encounters that were etched into your memory long after they’d happened.  

[angelbaby-fics]

stucky x little!reader

What if during the night someone breaks into their home…daddies were up anyway in the bedroom with little one that was sleeping in their bed. but when they hear the commotion downstairs, it wakes up little one and she starts tearing up because she’s scared….but one of the daddies goes to call back up while the other one stays behind to calm little one down…

You can do really whatever you want with this story 🤍

Safe Room

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Mob!Stucky x Little!Reader

Warning: Slightly darker than my usual fics due to the mob AU! Nothing too scary I hope!!

A/N: Sorry I changed it up a little!! :O if you want something closer to your original request I’d be happy to write it!! This is just what came to me while I was writing so I went with it lol <3 I'm very excited to see The Gray Man soon and it inspired me to try writing some Mob!Stucky, a trope I love but have never written before!! Also the paci is a reference one I just bought from @princeminnow and I highly recommend you guys check out his blog! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!!

You had your own bedroom, painted your favorite color with a big comfy bed and lots of blankets. Shelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with stuffies and toys, as well as your ever expanding collection of little gear. The closet doors almost couldn’t close over the amount of both practical clothing and dress up costumes you had. Despite all this, however, your bedroom was not your favorite room in the house. It’s not that you weren’t thankful or that you didn’t like it - you loved it after all! But if you got to choose, you’d spend every moment you could in Steve and Bucky’s room, engulfed in their scent and aura. 

That's where you found yourself on this particular night, one hand tangled up in Bucky’s fingers, the other around your stuffy. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, only meaning to get some evening cuddles while Bucky read his book, but when your eyes started to feel heavy, you didn’t fight it. Your mouth hung open, having fallen asleep without a paci, and Bucky didn’t want to risk waking you by getting up to get you one. Besides, Steve would be home any minute now, and not only could he go retrieve a pacifier for you, but would also get the treat of seeing you curled up with Bucky. He needed it after the day he’d had. 

Bucky heard Steve unlock the door and hoped he’d enter quietly, but when the closing of the door was followed by a harshly whispered curse word, Bucky immediately knew something was wrong. He heard Steve climb the stairs, two or three at a time, as fast as he could towards the bedroom. Steve didn’t even have time to take in the adorable sight in front of him, nor Bucky the time to ask Steve what was wrong. Steve scooped you up as gently as he could, hoping not to wake you. If the change in position didn’t wake you, he feared his rapid heartbeat or the quake in his voice would.

“Someone’s in the house.” He said quietly, hoping to convey the urgency of the situation to Bucky as quickly as possible. “We need to get her to the safe room now.”

Bucky nodded, immediately getting up out of bed and crossing the room to the closet where he kept some weapons. 

“You take her, keep her calm. I’ll take care of this.” Bucky said in his stubborn way.

“No, they already know I’m here, they don’t need to know anyone else is home.” Steve replied, trying to hand you to Bucky.

“I’m not letting you face this alone.”

“We can’t leave her alone!” Steve countered, knowing Bucky couldn’t argue with that.

Bucky took you from Steve’s arms, grateful that you hadn’t woken up in all the commotion yet.

Then a crash came from downstairs. Your face scrunched up as you debated whether the noise was worth waking up over, but another curse word from Steve’s lips made your eyes shoot open. 

“Daddy what?” You muttered, voice heavy with sleep. 

“Shhh angel, everything’s alright,” Steve whispered to you, “just go back to sleep babydoll.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging onto him as the commotion downstairs continued.

“Daddy what’s goin on?!” You cried, starting to panic.

Bucky and Steve exchanged a glance.

“Take her. I’ve got this.” Bucky said, coldly and quietly so as to express his urgency to Steve without scaring you further. Steve nodded as Bucky got dressed, hiding a gun in his waistband.

“Hey honeybear, we’re gonna go on a little late night adventure, okay? But you gotta stay really quiet and be a good girl for Daddy, alright?”

You knew Steve well enough to know that he was trying his hardest. Even though he protected you from the truth, the big part of your brain knew that your daddies dealt with dangerous people. Even though they kept their business as far from you, their little girl, as they could, you still noticed every time one of them came home with a black eye or blood on their shoe. You learned it was best not to question it. And even though Steve focused every cell in his body to keep you calm, you knew even in your sleepy little state that whatever was going on was very, very bad. 

You stayed quiet, just as Steve commanded, but you couldn’t stop the tears filling your eyes and dripping down your face. You were too scared to even sniffle as Steve ran through the halls of your big house, pressing you into his chest so hard it almost hurt. Steve stopped at a bookshelf, in which room you couldn’t tell as all the lights in the home had been turned off. He checked his surroundings to make sure the two of you hadn’t been followed before tugging on the edge of a book and pulling the hinged bookcase away from the wall. He hurried inside with one arm holding you to him and the other shutting the secret door as quietly as possible. Once he heard it latch, he pressed a code into the number pad on the wall and continued through the snaking hidden hallways of the house. He reached a sturdy locked door, punched in the code for that one as well, and once inside, attempted to set you down. But you weren’t having that. 

Your breathing turned to panting as you desperately clung to Steve’s torso like a koala. 

“Shhh baby it's okay. You’re safe now, I promise.” He said softly to you, rubbing his large hands up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

You looked up at him with giant, terror-filled eyes before he realized what you were likely thinking.

“It's alright, honey, nobody can hear us from in here. It’s soundproofed.” He reassured you.

You slowly stopped fighting him, allowing yourself to be set down on the ground. You looked around with wet eyes at this room you hadn’t even known existed. The walls were painted a calming lavender, and though the room was small, there was a big comfy couch and a plush rug on the floor. A shelf against the wall held books, a radio, and a collection of movies, presumably to be played on the large TV on top of a chest of drawers against other wall. Steve guided you gently to the couch, pulling a giant cozy blanket off the arm and wrapping it around you.

“Please Daddy, what’s happening?” You asked, choking on the sobs you’d been stifling since you’d heard him swear.

“Oh sweetie. Daddy accidentally brought a bit of work home with him, didn’t he? Silly Daddy, huh?” He joked, hoping to cheer you up at least a little bit considering the circumstances, but you continued crying. 

“But thankfully, Baba is being really brave, and he’s gonna fix it all while you and I hang out down here, alright?”

“Is Baba gonna be okay?” You asked, trembling.

“Oh, of course baby. You know how strict Baba can get when you break the rules? Well he’s gonna use his scary voice to make these men go back home.”

Big you knew better; big you knew Bucky was down there killing those men, those men who had likely come to kill him, or Steve, or worse. But little you didn’t have to worry about that. As far as little you would ever know, these men had really come just to talk. Steve’s explanation calmed you down enough that he was no longer afraid you’d pass out from hyperventilation.

“How long is it gonna take?” You asked.

“I don’t know, baby. Hopefully not long. But look! Baba and I filled this room with tons of activities for whenever we need to come play down here!” Steve pointed towards the shelf, and upon closer look you noticed that all the books and movies were for little kids like you. The bottom shelf even held a stack of coloring books and a box of art supplies. As much as you loved to craft and color, you shook your head before nuzzling back into Steve’s chest.

“Oh, I understand, baby. It’s a lot right now, isn’t it? And it’s way past your bedtime! Now hang on, I know I put some in here somewhere…” He muttered the last bit to himself as he rose from the couch, with you still attached to him. He strode over to the drawers under the TV, opening one, the other, and finally finding a collection of brand new paci’s in the third drawer he checked. Your eyes lit up, you hadn’t even realized you’d been without your comfort item for so long.

“Check that out angel,” Steve smiled. “Every time you come down here, you get to pick a new paci to use. You like that?”

You nodded softly before pointing to a blue paci featuring an illustration of a big daddy bear hugging a little baby bear.

“Like me an’ you…” You whispered as Steve picked it up and popped it into your mouth, unable to resist pinching your chubby cheek, and you giggled. Steve carried you back over to the couch, intending to cuddle you as long as you needed him too and then even longer after that. But just as soon as he lowered the two of you onto the overstuffed cushions, Steve’s phone rang in his pocket. You tightened your grip around him slightly, looking up with wide eyes as he fished the phone from his pants. “It’s just my phone, baby, look.” He said, holding up the screen with Bucky’s contact photo displayed on it. “Baba calling?” You asked around your paci, reaching up at the phone.

“I’m gonna answer it first, okay? And then you can talk to him, is that alright? Can you be patient for Daddy?” He asked, and you nodded solemnly, playing with the hem of the blanket while Steve answered the phone. 

Even if you could make out the words on the other end of the line, you doubt you could have made sense of them considering the state you were in at the moment. 

“I love you too. See you in a minute.” Steve finally spoke, before hanging up the phone. You gasped. “I wanted to talk to Baba!” You said, beginning to tear up, but Steve scooped his arms around you and picked you back up. 

“You can, angel, in just a minute! He said the coast is clear, we can go back out and see him now.” He said, walking you towards the door, and he felt you tense around his body. 

“‘S it safe now, Daddy?” You asked cautiously. 

“It is, baby, I promise.” Steve replied, unlocking the sturdy door and carrying you out into the long passageways within the house.

“Pay attention to this, baby, I need to make sure you can come down here by yourself if you need to.” Steve commanded, and then sensing your anxiety rising again, he added “Don’t worry, angel, it's just in case. Daddy and Baba will try to be with you always.”

You watched your path, taking note of how many turns there were and when to take them, before you and Steve reached the back of the bookcase door. 

“This is the password, baby, see?” He demonstrated putting the numbers into the keypad, the code was your birthday, which made you smile. The door opened to reveal Bucky on the other side.

“Baba!!” You cried, reaching out towards him.

“Hey angel,” Bucky smiled, accepting you into his arms while Steve embraced the two of you, your little family at long last reunited after a brief but stressful night. 

When Steve pulled apart from you, he turned to the door, shutting it behind him. He placed his hand on a book and looked you in the eye.

“If you ever have to go down there, you pull on this book, alright?” He said, and when you squinted your eyes against the dim hallway, you noticed it was a book of your favorite fairy tales. Of course it was.

Taglist: @babybatdani @cherryynoir @simpingbutch @xxxqueenlaufeysonxxxxo @mogaruke @flthyhrts @mariexoxosblog @stuckysgirl27 @midnight-dreams-23 @mischiefsemimanaged @0witchtrials0 @my-river-lilly @erynnnn @tired-spider-siblings @tamzindouglas @st3rgirl ​​@rach2602 @bradfordmyworld @keirabux @teddybearsgrr @sleepybabyxo @bunnyweasley23 @simpforsebastianstan06 @angies1021 @acahope311 @marvel1984 @little-love-bee @charliessafespace @avoyen1998 @milfdilfslayer23000 @mylittlesafehaven99 @bootlegmothman420 @lokisgirlszendaya @thenextavengerpost @bunnybubbls

please note that due to how big its getting i will be revamping my taglist in the near future so keep an eye out!!

[elixirfromthestars]

One Call Away

Pairing: Agent!Bucky Barnes x Journalist!Reader

Summary: You’re a journalist in the late 1950s working for a gossip magazine. You write an article about the actor Steve Rogers, and his agent Bucky Barnes is not happy about it. He confronts you and offers you a deal.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning(s): suggestive language/drinking/implied PG-13 public display of affection/a slight mention of a random side character cheating/if you squint really hard there’s a hint of angst/not much overall

a/n: Hello everyone! This is my first fic on here and I hope you all like it! This fic is a submission for the all’s well writing challenge being held by the lovely @barnesafterglow​ . The lyrics that inspired me for this fic were,” No more keepin’ score. Now I just keep you warm. No more tug of war. Now I just know there’s more.” From the song Long Story Short by Taylor Swift. Thank you so much for reading! ♡

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

     “ Hey, Y/n, some agent is here to see you. He’s a real dreamboat,” Debbie, your editor, rushed into your office. You looked up to see the look on her face matched the tone of her voice, completely smitten. 

     You knew exactly who she was talking about.

     “ Send him in,” you answered nonchalantly before placing your attention back onto the typewriter in front of you. The last article you wrote was a hit with the public and your boss was expecting another piece just as successful. Little did he know, you were in the right place at the right time to get that scoop. You had a deadline to meet with no new gossip to report. 

     To sum it up, you were stressed. 

     The door creaked open and you didn’t pay any attention until the door was shut. There were many expressions you had the pleasure of seeing on the face of the man in front of you. As a journalist, you had run into him more than once and even became what you could call friends. Friends that had a slight flirtatious comment here, a smug smile there, and with a usual healthy dose of banter. However, today, James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t flashing his pearly whites or winking at you with those ocean eyes of his. 

     No. Today, he was mad. 

     “ What’s the meaning of this?” He held a magazine in his fist, one which you assumed held the article you had written. You knew he wouldn’t be happy about it, but you didn’t think it would upset him this much. It wasn’t like you reported a lie. Nonetheless, displeasure was written all over his face.

     You scoffed,” Buchanan, don’t come and give me a hard time just because you didn’t like what I wrote about your friend. It’s not very professional of you.” You kept your face as neutral as possible. You knew calling him Buchanan would get on his nerves—he glared at you the moment it slipped from your lips. If he was going to show up here and waste your writing time over an article, then you weren’t going to make it easy on him. You wanted to have a little bit of fun with this side of him you hadn’t seen before.

     “ Steve Rogers cozying it up with his co-star Lorraine,” he imitated your voice as he read the article title,” You crossed the line with this one. How did you even get that picture?” He placed the magazine on your desk. The picture of Steve Rogers kissing a notorious Hollywood actress stared back at you. You brushed off his anger,” First of all, I do not sound like that. Second of all, you do know I write for the biggest celebrity magazine here in New York, right? This baby sold more copies than any other article in years. You should be happy for me,” you couldn’t hold back a smug smile. He didn’t like that.

     “ Y/n, I’m not playing games here. This is bad. Steve is real upset over this,” he motioned over to the picture in emphasis.

     “ He shouldn’t be. When my article came out his ticket sales went through the roof. You’re welcome,” you pointed out. 

     “ It’s not about that,” he shook his head before sitting in the seat in front of you. You raised your eyebrows in anticipation. ” Steve was trying to get with this broad, Peggy. Never seen him be like this towards anyone before, but ever since that article came out, she hasn’t returned his calls. He’s heartbroken, moping around his apartment all day,” he exhaled worriedly. You took a second to process what he said.

     “ So let me get this straight. Your friend goes and kisses his co-star, and somehow it’s my fault his other lady found out?” You looked at him in slight disbelief. Was he really blaming you for this? Yes, you had written the article, but it wasn’t your fault Steve was seeing multiple women. If anything, you felt like you did this Peggy woman a favor. 

     He threw his head back onto the chair, clearly fed up,” She kissed him. He wants nothing to do with her. The only woman he has eyes for is Peggy. I keep trying to cast him in other projects, but he refuses to do anything else until this is resolved. He’s real gone with that broad.” His explanation didn’t do much for you except tell you he wasn’t going to let this go. 

     “ Buchanan, he was clearly kissing back.”

     “ Okay, stop with the Buchanan. I already told you what actually happened.” 

     “ That’s not the story the picture tells.” 

     “ A story I would’ve liked to have known about before it was published. I could’ve given you the full story—the true story. Steve isn’t that kind of guy,” His eyes narrowed, a stern look reflected in them. You exhaled, giving in a little,“ Fine. Since we’re friends I could have given you a heads up, but I don’t mix business with friends. I’m sorry your friend is upset, but this is how it is. I don’t know him like you do, so I only report what I see. Even if I had given you a heads up, the article would’ve been published anyway,” you shrugged. He wasn’t going to let this go, but you weren’t backing down either. You only did your job, and based on the public’s response, you did it well.

     He was silent for a moment, collecting himself. A contemplative look on his face.

     “ No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here and demanded answers from you. You were just doing your job. It’s just seeing Steve all upset about this, and then seeing you had written it, I guess I got carried away,” he admitted with an embarrassed look on his face. You knew Steve was like a brother to him, so it made sense why he jumped on his defense so quickly. You would never let him know, but it was hard to stay mad at him.

     “ Apology accepted. Now, if there’s nothing else, then. . .” You trailed off not knowing a nice way to tell him to leave. If it was any other day, you would have gladly accepted the distraction from hours of writing. Today was not that day. Not when you had this deadline tugging at you harder than gravity itself. 

     He laughed,” Kicking me out already?” He shuffled in the seat, sitting more comfortably in spite of what you said. You rubbed your temples to soothe the headache that was emerging,” My boss wants a new article as big as this one in the next two weeks. Just so you know, the whole Steve thing was a coincidence. No one tipped me off or nothing. I was just in the right place at the right time. Now because of that, I have to submit something just as good, if not better,” you explained your current situation. It took you a lot of sleepless nights to prove yourself here at the Empire State Exposé. You thought that maybe when you finally had written something that was praised, it would take some of the pressure you felt off of you. You were undeniably wrong. 

     The pressure got worse. 

     His face lit up,” A new story, huh? Doll, it’s funny you say that since as an agent, I hear a lot of stories all the time. A lot of interesting stories. . .” he showed off his signature smile. You leaned forward, intrigued at what you assumed to be a mutually beneficial agreement of some kind. “ What are you on about, Barnes?” You wanted him to get to the point, but he wanted to have fun drawing this out. 

     “ Well, L/n, think about it. Imagine the things the other agents spill when they’re three bottles in,” you nodded and motioned for him to continue,” All the things they say when there isn’t a reporter in sight. Just the other agents listening in and telling their own stories too,” he spoke slowly to accentuate every word. Now you fully understood what he meant. 

     “ Okay, please get to the point. My deadline is still here.” Your impatience made him chuckle. “ Fine. Fine. Look, since we’re friends, then I think we could help each other. I could give you insider information about lots of celebrities, in exchange for you giving me a heads up on any articles about Steve. Maybe even some editorial rights. . ?” He knew the last suggestion was a stretch and by the look on your face he was right.

     “ I am not letting you control what I write. Giving you a heads up, however, is something I could do. Not just on my work, but others too.” You understood that if he was going to put his reputation on the line for you, then you should reciprocate with something that meant just as much—something that could tarnish your reputation as well.

     You thought about it for a moment and shook your head,” But I don’t think this is going to work out. If the other agents find out you’re leaking precious info, they’re not going to like it.” You brought up the potential complications. He smirked and leaned in real close to you from where he was sitting. If he came any closer your noses would be touching. If you were anybody else, this simple gesture would’ve had you melting like putty at his gaze. You, however, had seen him do this with a lot of women, so you weren’t affected by it. 

     “ They won’t find out because it’ll be our little secret.”

     “ Oh, we have secrets now?”

     “ Doll, this will be the first of many.”

     He flashed that captivating grin of his and you stared intently at his ocean eyes. You searched in them for a reason not to trust him. A part of you was hoping they would scream back at you don’t do it. You weren’t the closest of friends, and for all you knew he could try and give you false information to make fun of you—you hurt his friend after all. Looking at the ocean, however, brought you reassurance not distrust. 

     Not even an ounce of it. 

     “ If I accept this, then whatever information you give me has to have some sort of evidence to back it up. I can’t risk my credibility and that way I know you’re not giving me a fake story.” You laid out your condition. He couldn’t argue with that, “ Wouldn’t want you to. I’m risking my credibility too, so I’m not losing it over something stupid. I’ll call you when something interesting happens.” He stood up to leave. 

     “ Here, take my card. It’s got my number on it.” 

     “ I knew you’d give me your number eventually, doll.” 

     “ It's my work number.”

     He laughed at that,” Same difference. Means I’m a step closer to you giving me your real number.” He took the card from your hand, intentionally brushing against it with his own. You only gave him a disapproving look in return. If this was how your situationship was going to be from now on, then you weren’t looking forward to it. 

     Well, actually you were, you were just too stubborn to admit it.

     Four days had gone by since then, and you received no calls from Bucky. Your deadline was getting closer by the second and the pressure was crushing you at this point. You hadn’t been going to the office lately, since there was nothing new to write. Instead, you spent your hours in your usual go to places to find something to report on. You knew all the locations the celebrities went to, to mingle amongst themselves. You were good at fitting in and usually no one could spot that you were a journalist. A few times even, you were mistaken for someone famous. 

     You blew out into the frigid Manhattan air, watching your breath become visible. The day went by as usual, and you had nothing new to report on. Along with the cold weather, it had rained profusely. You were soaked and needed to dry off somewhere. You were a few blocks away from your apartment, but you thought it was best to let the rain die down a bit before making that walk. Out of all the buildings nearby, you chose to dry off at the nearest bar. You could use a drink. 

     You scurried inside as the rain around you poured harder. You took off your coat, hanging it on a rack for it to dry. A quick survey of the bar made you realize it was more elegant looking than you were used to with its leather seats and mahogany tables. This meant any drinks came with a more elegant price. 

      Out of the blue, you recognized a laugh that echoed throughout the bar. There directly in your line of sight was James Buchanan Barnes drinking with some of his work buddies you happened to not recognize. It was like the universe and fate aligned for you in that exact moment. If he had forgotten about your previous deal, well, you were there now to refresh his memory. 

     As you approached him, he locked eyes with you and frowned. He then excused himself before walking over to you.

     “ You stalking me now, doll?”

     “ No, this is just a coincidence.”

     “ Yeah, one hell of a one.”

     You rolled your eyes,” Think what you want to, but I swear I only came in to dry off. I had no idea you were here, but I’m glad I caught you. We have a deal, Buchanan, and it almost seems like you’ve forgotten.” You alluded to the fact that he hadn’t contacted you and therefore, you were now slightly suspicious of him. His eyes darted to his friends before grabbing you by the arm and dragging you towards the back of the bar where the restrooms were. His friends hollered and chanted at the two of you. 

     “ Will you let me go?! Your friends are going to think something’s up,” you tried to shake yourself from his grasp, but he didn’t budge an inch. “ Just ignore them. Some of those friends work in the same industry with me and they already saw me with you. If they find out who you are, they’ll ruin me.” At that point, you were out of sight and he let you go. You took a few steps back from him and noticed, to your left, there was a couple making out at the other end of the hallway. 

     Great. Now you knew exactly why his friends were cheering him on. 

     “ Easy for you to say. Besides, now your friends just think I’m another one of your conquests,” you motioned over to the couple and he didn't have to look to know what you were talking about. “ One of my conquests? I have conquests now?” His eyebrows raised, amused at the idea. You gave him a deadpan stare,” Bucky, let’s just say if you were a star, then I’d have a lot to write about you. You can’t imagine the stories I’ve heard about you.” Your response only entertained him. 

     “ I don’t have to imagine, Y/n. If you want, you don’t have to imagine either,” his tone turned seductive and the energy around you both shifted. His eyes found their way to your lips before meeting your eyes again. He took a step closer to you and your hand went up like a reflex to keep him at a distance. You were used to his flirtatious remarks, so it was easy to not take them too seriously. 

     “ Let’s leave all that to your imagination. Anyway, you haven’t called me to tell me anything. I have a deadline, you know.” You reminded him for what felt like the millionth time. His smile fell,” You might have mentioned that before,” sarcasm dripped from every word,” I might have something, but you did ask for evidence, so I’m getting you that before I say anything.” He clarified his silence on the matter. You nodded in approval, “ Well, then just let me know when you have it,” you began to walk away, but his hand took hold of your wrist. “ Wait, you’re not staying right?” He asked and you raised an eyebrow quizzically,” If I was, do you have a problem with that?” His eyes searched your face for an answer.

     “ Do I have to remind you who’s out there.” 

     “Oh, you don’t have to remind me. I just want a drink before I leave.” 

     “Doll.”

     “ Buchanan.”

     He knew there was no point in arguing with you, so he let you go. When his friends were finally in sight again, you noticed they had been staring in the direction where you both were the entire time. You also noticed they had an array of untouched shots scattered all over their table. 

     An idea popped into your head. You knew it was a risky idea, but you had to make him suffer a little for toying with you. 

     After all, it was the constant back and forth you both enjoyed the most. 

     “ Y/n, don’t you dare–” his protests in the distance went unheard as you wandered over to the table with an innocent smile on your face,“ Any chance I can have one of those?” You gestured to the shots and one of his friends gladly handed you one. You drank it happily before thanking him for it. You felt Bucky’s presence behind you. 

     You turned to him with that same innocent smile you had plastered on before,“ I told you I was getting that drink, Buchanan. Enjoy the rest of your night.” You tapped his chest twice before turning to leave. You missed the dazzled look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, impressed, or both.

     “ Doll, wait–” You didn’t stay to listen to him and instead went over to the rack where your coat was hanging. It was still a little damp, but nothing compared to how it was when you first came in. 

     “ Hold up,” Bucky rushed over to you. You were already coming up with rebuttals in your head to his potential arguments when he placed an object in your hand. It was a black umbrella. 

     You frowned  waiting for an explanation, even though it was a simple and clear gesture. “ Don’t look at me like that. You’re going to need it, it’s pouring out there,” with his other hand he touched the collar of your coat,” You can take my coat too. Yours isn’t dry yet.” He let go of the umbrella and reached behind you for his coat. The entire time you just stood there dumbfounded, your hand still extended out holding onto the umbrella. 

     Bucky had never left you speechless before, but in this moment he had. He was being attentive and caring—a side you never got to see directed at you. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen it with anyone else either. The look of concern for you on his face made your head spin. Was this another one of his attempts to get a reaction out of you? You couldn’t find it in yourself to believe that. Everything felt genuine and that had you slightly rattled. 

     Bucky had flustered you for the first time since you met him. 

     “ Here. I’d offer you a ride, but I came with one of the guys,” he draped his coat over your shoulders. It was then that he noticed what a reaction he had caused in you. He smiled, but it wasn’t smug or hiding an ulterior motive. It didn’t say I finally got you or anything of that sort. It was just a real smile. You surprised yourself, wanting to see more smiles like that from him. 

     You responded with a thank you and a smile to match his. 

     The next day you decided to go back to the office. Now that there was a possibility you could meet your deadline, you weren’t as anxious to come in. Your venture there didn’t last long as Debbie informed you, the moment you walked in, that Bucky had left you a message. It was an address you didn’t recognize, along with a time to meet him. You wondered what kind of location he chose.

     Let’s just say it wasn’t what you expected. 

     “ I can’t believe you brought me out to a passion pit.” You looked around at all the couples in their vehicles and it made you highly aware of the fact that it was only you and Bucky in his car.

     He laughed,” Doll, it’s just a drive-in theater. It’s not like I brought you back to my place for a night in. That could be an option, though.” He winked at you, teasing you further. There’s the Bucky you knew.

     You gave him a stern look,” In your dreams, Buchanan. I can’t believe you thought this was better than the bar.” You didn’t understand why of all the places he had to choose here. A drive in theater where no matter what car you looked at, the couples were playing back seat bingo. You hid your face, hoping no one you knew walked by. 

     He shrugged,” Maybe I just didn’t want to come watch a movie alone. I heard they were showing Roman Holiday tonight.” He spoke so casually about the subject he almost had you convinced you planned this out with him before as a friendly outing. You could no longer tell if he was playing with you or not. You thought back to the way the night ended yesterday. Whatever you felt then was foreign to what you were feeling right now. 

     “ Bucky, please stop with these games, I don’t have time for this. Just tell me the information you have for me. I have to write this article by the end of next week.” You pleaded running out of patience. He side eyed you,” You’re no fun, doll.” He sulked in his seat. You found yourself not being able to look at him, and instead stared at the blank movie screen. 

     Suddenly, he leaned his body towards you until your faces were mere inches away from each other. Not this again.

     He rested his right arm on the passenger seat and placed his left hand on the dashboard, caging you in. A glimmer of mischief flashed across his eyes. You knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of you, and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

     “ What are you doing?” 

     “ Nervous, Y/n?” 

     You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you was. Bucky was handsome, there was no denying that. You could usually overlook that considering you two would only ever exchange quips trying to outwit each other. Even so, he had never been this close to you in such a small space before. There was always room for you to back away and avoid whatever feelings you felt him provoke within you. Everything felt more intimate right now and after the way he managed to get you flustered yesterday—you weren’t sure your body wouldn’t freeze up again. You had to do something quick to make sure that didn’t happen. 

     You glanced down at the tie he was wearing and his smile grew conceited. “Thinking about undress–” you didn’t let him finish as you pulled him in by his tie until your noses were a centimeter away from touching.

     Now he looked nervous. 

     “ James Buchanan Barnes, I am all for our usual banter on any other day where my position at my job isn't in jeopardy. So either tell me something I can write about, or I’ll leave and find that story elsewhere,” you laid everything out clearly. His eyes found your own trying to read you. You stared back showing him you weren’t playing around. You were so focused you even held your breath unintentionally. 

     The stare down lasted for at least a minute. You felt like it had been longer. 

     The click of the glove compartment box brought you back in the moment and you realized you still had a hold on his tie. You let go as he grabbed something from inside the box. He closed it before handing it to you,“ Was only reaching over for this.” You delicately took hold of the roll of undeveloped film. You examined it carefully,” What is it exactly that I’ll find here?” He moved away from you and relaxed into the driver’s seat. 

     “ Let’s just say Hollywood’s it boy, Thomas, isn’t as innocent as we thought.” 

     “ What does that mean?”

     “ He’s dating Janet Clark in public. In private, he’s also dating her sister Susan. Word is, neither of the sisters know.” 

     Your eyes went wide at this. This was definitely something you could report on. If the film in this roll backed up what he said, then you’d have your story. Something like that wouldn’t be hard to write about either. You could make your deadline with time to spare. 

     “ You certainly don’t disappoint. I’ll have to get started on this right away,” You started to collect your things. “ That’s it? You’re really not going to stay to watch the movie?” He looked hurt by this. You were taken aback by his reaction.

     ” Sorry, Bucky, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. It’s just I have to get this film developed as soon as possible to get started on the article and meet my–”

     “ Your deadline. Yeah, I get it, doll. Let me at least drive you home.”

     You didn’t speak to each other the whole ride to your apartment. No witty banter, no teasing, and no flirtatious remarks of any kind. The only sound in the car was the voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the radio. A moment like this would have brought you peace before, but not in this instance. No, instead, you felt awkward and an uncomfortable tension filled the air. It was palpable and suffocating. 

     When you got to your apartment there was nothing more that you wanted to do, but run inside and disappear until this new article was finished. However, you remembered you had his umbrella and his coat from yesterday resting on your kitchen table. You told him to wait for a second to return his items to him.

     You slipped out of the car and it wasn’t until the outside air grounded you that you realized your heart was racing. It calmed down with every step you took—until you came back to hand him his belongings.

     “ Thank you. Not just for lending me your umbrella and your coat, but for also holding up your end of the deal,” you fiddled with the strap of your bag as you thanked him. A ghost of a smile played at his lips,” Of course, doll.” His gaze was focused on the dashboard of his car. You felt like you had done something wrong, but you weren’t sure what. All you knew is that you wanted this uncomfortable feeling to go away. 

     “ Bucky wait,” you stopped him from pulling away. “Yes, doll?” This time he turned to face you. There was an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes.“ I just need you to know that if it weren’t for the pressure I’m under right now, I would have stayed and watched the movie with you,” you decided to be honest. Maybe just this once it was better to not hide what you were feeling or what you thought. 

     You were right. 

     His lips curled up, a tender look on his face, “ That means more to me than you’ll ever know, Y/n.” He then drove off leaving you wondering what he meant by that. 

     You spent the following days preparing the article. It was the only thing keeping your mind off of Bucky. If you let your mind wander enough, it would return back to the bar, to the drive-in, and to your apartment street. You didn’t know why your mind was so stuck on replaying these instances in your head any chance it got. It only served to make you overthink things and sit in feelings you weren’t sure of.

     Once your article was done, you sent a final copy to your boss who was over the moon with it. He was curious to learn more about your source, but you assured him it was someone very credible who wished to go unnamed. He was okay with not knowing, as long as you continued to write pieces as good as your last two. 

     When the magazine hit the shelves, all anyone could talk about was the audacity of Hollywood’s it boy. You’ve lost count how many times you turned on the radio and the topic of conversation was your article. All you could think about was how you could have never done it without Bucky. 

     Who, speaking of which, hadn’t contacted you since the night of the drive-in. Debbie had brought up in conversation that Bucky had recently signed on a new client, Sam Wilson, and Steve had gotten one of his biggest roles yet. You assumed he was most likely preoccupied with work and he would call you once he wasn’t so busy. It was strange to think you were waiting in anticipation for the phone to ring and to hear his voice on the other line. 

     You had to admit a part of you missed him.

     He called you three days after the article was released. You were in your office looking over the first draft a coworker of yours had personally asked you to review. You would usually say no to these things, but you had the extra time to kill, so you agreed. 

     That’s when the phone rang.

     “ Bucky? Hi, how have you been?” 

     “ Hey, doll. I’m overwhelmed. I took on another friend as a client and Steve got this big role, courtesy of yours truly, of course. I haven’t had time for anything else.” 

     “ I heard about that. You’re a busy man, Barnes.”

     “ I’m not the only one. I actually called to congratulate you on the article. I saw you made the front page. I finally got a copy of it this morning, and I think it’s your best work yet. You did a great job, Y/n,” he sounded proud of you. You felt your face get warm,” Thanks, Bucky. I couldn’t have done it without you. We make a good team,” you said, fiddling with the telephone cord. 

     “ Speaking of which, do you think you could meet me for lunch later? Around 2? I have another developing story I think you should investigate further.” You thought about your current schedule and for the most part it was empty. Even if it wasn’t, you weren't going to pass up the opportunity to work on something new. You also wanted to see Bucky. 

     “ Lunch sounds great.” 

     “ Good. Make sure you wear something nice.”

     You dismissed his comment as another one of his typical remarks. You were at the office and you were too lazy to go home and change, so you decided to go straight from work to whatever place he had planned for lunch. 

     He shared the details of where to meet him and you wrote it all down on a piece of paper. You stayed on the phone with him for a few more minutes with a bit of small talk. That was until he had to go to a meeting with some executive producer. He said it shouldn't be too long, but in case it did, he just wanted to give you a heads up. 

     Once one thirty rolled around, you took a cab to the address written on the paper. You were earlier than you’d like, but you had gotten so bored waiting for two o’clock to roll around you decided to leave early and explore the place. This way you could also get a look at the menu. 

     The lunch location ended up being this beautiful Italian restaurant that opened up fairly recently called Castello. Debbie had talked your ear off about it being her new “go to date spot” not too long ago. You wanted to see if it was as good as she made it seem. 

     Inside you confirmed it was even better than it had been described to you. You felt like you were in a palace garden in Venice. The artwork that lined the white walls gave the perfect pop of color amongst the vines that decorated the ceilings and walls. Replicas of famous Italian sculptures were placed throughout with a beautiful fountain in the middle of it all, it was breathtaking. 

     Now you wished you had gone home and changed. 

     You gave the hostess Bucky’s name for the reservation and she sat you in a booth with a beautiful vase of freshly plucked dark red carnations in the middle as a centerpiece. Not long after, a waitress came by,” Would you like to order anything first, honey, or are you going to wait for your boyfriend?” She asked, opening up her server pad. You giggled at the boyfriend name drop,” Oh no, he’s not my boyfriend, and I’ll just wait till he gets here.” She looked surprised, “ Sorry, honey. I just thought since he asked for the couples setup, you two were dating. It’s pretty pricey, so we don't normally have anyone else order it. Anyway, excuse my mistake. I’ll come back once he gets here,” she sent you an apologetic smile before walking over to another table. Why would Bucky order a couples setup? 

     You looked around the booth and noticed you had been oblivious to what was in front of you. The napkins were red and folded into hearts while two lovers were painted on the vase holding the carnations. You didn’t want to misinterpret the situation, but it was starting to get hard not to. 

     Wait a minute. He also asked you to dress nice.

     Then it hit you. This was a date.

     A date disguised as a professional meeting, but still a date. Bucky’s true intention of this get together was to take you out on a date. You had mixed feelings about this. It wasn’t until recently that you thought of Bucky in a romantic way-–that you actually considered being more than friends. 

     The more you thought about it, however, the nicer the idea seemed. You imagined what it would be like to get to know Bucky on a deeper level. To get to know his biggest dreams and be there to support him when they felt out of his reach. To find out his biggest fears and be there to comfort him when he was drowning in them. To get to know his darkest secrets, and in spite of them, love him dearly. 

     What it would be like to kiss him. You were wondering that the most.

     Your thoughts were getting the best of you, and reality sunk in. You weren’t ready at this moment to be on a date with him. You looked down at your work clothes and felt overwhelmingly self conscious. For your first date you wanted to look nice and feel confident. You weren’t feeling either right now. 

     You also wished he had been more direct about things. Looking back at your previous interactions, maybe he had been hinting at something more the entire time, but you interpreted things differently. Either way you concluded you just weren't ready, yet. 

     He still hadn’t arrived by the time you decided your first date would have to be another time. You wanted to hear Bucky say to you that this is something that he wanted. No more back and forth teasing. Just an honest answer and a genuine I like you. You wanted reassurance that this wasn’t just some another one of his plays. 

     You tore out a piece of paper from the notepad in your bag and wrote down a small note. 

     Here’s my real number. xxx-xxx-xxxx. Call me and ask me out on a proper date, Bucky. How about we catch that movie we missed? Popcorn’s on me. ;)

     p.s. my favorite flowers are y/f/f :)

     Xoxo, 

     Y/n 

     You grabbed a carnation and rolled your note around its stem. You placed it on top of the heart shaped napkin in front of you. You then went home, crossing your fingers hoping things worked out in your favor. 

     Not too long after, as you arrived home, Bucky entered Castello, scanning the room to spot you. When he couldn’t find you, the hostess informed him you had already left. He felt a slight sting in his heart until the hostess gave him the carnation with your note tied around it. He looked at it curiously, before getting the courage to open it. He read it over and beamed at the contents written inside. He knew he should have asked you on a date more directly. He was scared you would say no since you still thought all of his advances were just a way to tease you and get a reaction out of you, but it wasn’t.

     His feelings for you, were the realest thing he knew.

     This was no longer a ‘see who could outwit and outsmart the other tug of war’ anymore. This was something more. He knew it the moment he found himself buying all the Empire State Exposé magazines just to read your work and the way he somehow managed to find a longer route to his apartment, and yet he took it every day because it passed by your office on the way. He never worked up the courage to visit it until that article about Steve. He started to understand Steve’s feelings for Peggy now, because he felt the same way about you. He couldn’t put it into words how gorgeous and striking he found you.  He wanted to get to know every bit of you and have you be proud to call him yours someday.

         He made a choice to skip lunch and instead head home. He had two very important calls to make. The first, a call to a florist to make you the grandest bouquet of your favorite flower. The second, to you. He wanted to hear from your own lips that you wanted this just as much as he did. 

     Long story short, your love story was just one call away.

[mercy-burning]

Page Turner

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Y/N becomes a little impatient while Spencer is reading... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Thigh riding, thigh fucking, cum play Word Count : 2.5k

MASTERLSIT

NOTE: this is just FILTH FILTH FILLLTHHHHH, and it was supposed to be a blurb but i got kinda carried away so it’s a little longer than that... so enjoy your porn with no plot 😊😂 And shoutout to @broken-stardust for beta-ing this for me!! we originally talked about the idea for this fic months ago, so i’m glad you finally got to see it ❤

———

She was in the mood for a little trouble.

Well, it was more like she was in the mood for a good fuck, but at the moment, with Spencer's strong desire to finish this incredibly long book series he'd just discovered, the mood for trouble came as more of a... fun little footnote that would most certainly add to the experience she was looking for.

So she strode up to Spencer, who was sitting comfortably on the couch with his book open and his glasses perched cutely on the tip of his nose, and straddled herself on his right leg wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton underwear and a t-shirt.

"Hey," she said, low and seductive as she planted a wet kiss into his neck. Her hands clutched his shirt, willing herself to be closer and with every intention of him putting the book down and paying her some attention.

Either he truly wasn’t in the mood, or he was teasing her.

"Hey," is all he responded with, clipped and distant. His eyes scanned the pages, albeit slower than usual due to the woman clinging herself to him and begging for attention.

"You've been reading all weekend," Y/N half-whined, pressing herself into him and attaching her lips to his neck again. "Can't you at least take a little break?"

"It won't take me long to finish this book, and then we can, okay?"

She knew it was fair. It was more than fair, actually, but that didn't help the fact that she was still incredibly horny, and if she took care of it herself, it wouldn't have been enough. Maybe that was selfish, but she didn't care.

So she whined for real this time, more like a disappointed child, as she gripped his shirt and pulled herself closer to him. "Spencer..."

She expected him to warn her, to tell her to wait or something—anything—but instead he opted for the exact opposite.

He did nothing.

Y/N promptly decided that wasn't the correct response and rolled her hips, grinding down on his leg for friction. Her tongue drew a messy line up the side of his neck as she circled her hips and sought out the stimulation she so desperately wanted. And at the way his body tensed under her, obviously wanting the same things but holding out in favor of restraint, she knew her plan was close to working.

So she let out a long, content sigh and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging it gently and continued to ride his thigh, moving quicker and harder with each second as she felt her body start to unravel. Her lips attached to his neck and mumbled all sorts of little noises that should have gotten him to fucking do something...

And still, even as she felt herself cling to him and her body recover from a short (and quite frankly unsatisfying) orgasm, Spencer remained in his position, still flipping pages in that godforsaken book.

"Spencer," Y/N grunted. She was exasperated, and strongly hoping that she wasn't giving him any satisfaction in her need for attention.

However, instead he seemed a little defensive. "Wh—You're distracting me! I can't finish the book as quickly if you're distracting me..."

"Fine," she sighed, peeling herself away from him and trying one last thing to get him to submit.

Y/N slid the underwear off her legs and tossed it gently at his face, watching it fall into his lap in front of the book.

Still nothing. His eyes roamed the pages, and he was clearly highly invested in whatever story was written on them. And god damn it if he still wasn't the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

So she slunk back to the bedroom and plopped herself down on the bed with only a t-shirt, laying down and crossing one leg over the other. And when she tossed her head to the side with a sigh, she noticed the other books in Spencer's current interest scattered along his side of the bed.

Well, I'm not particularly in the mood anymore, and there's really nothing else to do...

"Why the fuck not," Y/N sighed, reaching out and fishing for the book that had the number 1 printed on the spine.

***

With the final paragraphs of the story swimming through his brain, the book settled closed and neatly on the cushion beside him, Spencer looked down at his lap and noticed the bundle of cotton sitting there, next to a small damp spot on his pants where his girlfriend had been just under a half hour earlier.

He felt bad, ignoring her like that. It was hard resisting her when she was literally there, in his lap and getting herself off on his leg. And while he could practically hear Morgan in the back of his mind, telling him with disappointment in his voice, "It doesn't matter how important you think something is, that is always gonna be the most important thing,"... Spencer really couldn't help it. The book was so good he couldn't put it down. Not even for sex.

And now that he'd finished, he was focusing on what his brain decided it couldn't handle before, remembering her wet, hot breath on his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair as she rode his thigh, begging him for attention.

He was feeling guilty.

And he was going to spend the whole rest of the weekend making it up to her. He swore it, no matter who called, no matter what came up, he wasn't going to pay any attention to it unless it was his girlfriend's limbs tangled with his.

His hand reached for the book so he could return it with the others, but he thought better of it, wondering if Y/N would say anything. Instead, he figured walking in empty-handed and announcing how he was ready to give her his undivided attention for the rest of eternity if she'd let him would be a better option.

Spencer was feeling good about his decision, but when he opened the bedroom door and saw her, he felt even worse about ignoring her.

Because there she was, one foot pressed flat into the mattress and the other crossed over her knee, exposing her bare cunt to the world as she held a book in her hands. She looked statuesque and absolutely delectable, and he'd turned her down for a book he could have easily finished tomorrow morning.

Oh, he was definitely going to make it up to her...

"H—Hey, babe," he got out, trying to get her attention like she hadn't already heard the squeaky door open.

"Hey," she responded, similar in tone to how he'd answered the same greeting earlier, and it made his stomach turn.

Was she doing it on purpose?

Spencer took cautious steps towards her, stepping around the bed and clearing off the books scrambled on his side so he could take their place. "What are you reading?"

Rather than speaking, she tilted the book so he could see the cover and then returned to her position, eyes scanning the pages, and he couldn't tell if she was doing it to mess with him or if she was truly invested.

"Okay... Well, um... I'm finished now, i—if you wanted to, um..."

When Y/N finally took her eyes off the pages, she looked at him up and down as he sat on the bed... She took in his apologetic eyes, the slight pout on his lips that she could never resist...

And then she resisted him. Sort of.

"Eh, sure. Just let me finish this chapter first."

She sounded utterly bored.

And once again, Spencer wasn't sure if it was genuine or if she was just doing it to get back at him. But either way, it made him feel bad about before. He wanted to respect her wishes, grant her the time to finish reading just as she'd granted it to him... But he also wanted to make sure she knew just how sorry he was.

"Oh... Okay." He laid down next to her and watched her face as she read, her eyes occasionally blinking, mimicking the butterflies in his stomach at the sight before him. Even if she was mad at him, she was still absolutely stunning, and he was never going to take it for granted.

His fingers reached out to brush some of the hair from her eyes so he could see her better, and despite herself, she smiled a little, gently leaning into his touch.

That's my way in...

"I'm really sorry, Y/N... For ignoring you. I was just really caught up in the book and I—"

"Babe, it's fine," she dismissed, like it wasn't ever a big deal in the first place. "Trust me, I totally get it now. This is so good..."

As soon as she finished speaking, her eyes were roaming the words again, her bottom lip tucking gently between her teeth as she turned a page.

Oh... so she wasn't just messing with me, then...

Spencer's eyebrows raised and he sighed a little, truly unsure where to go from here. "Oh... Well... I'm glad you like it?"

She hummed, barely acknowledging him, and it amused him to his very core. So much so that he couldn't help but lean forward to kiss her cheek out of habit. And when she scrunched her nose, barely brushing off his touch, he started feeling a bit more devious. So he kissed her again, this time on the jaw, and then again and again trailing down her neck. And he stayed there, sucking small marks into her skin while she remained in her position.

He remembered what he saw when he opened the door, and the thoughts swirling around in his head begged him to utilize it.

He really wanted to be polite and let her finish reading... But also...

Spencer shifted, leaving the bed only to return on the other end, with no pants as he crawled up in between her legs on his knees. Seeing as she wasn't going to move her legs at all, he settled for running his hands gently over them, tracing every dip and curve they took, all the way down to the back of her thigh, which was out and exposed as it was aiding in resting her ankle over her other knee.

When he got close to her exposed pussy, she shivered a little. "You're distracting me..."

The obvious teasing that laced her words sent a smile to his lips. He couldn't see her face for a moment, but then she angled the book down and peered over it, giving him eyes that challenged, Do it and see what happens...

So, without breaking eye contact, Spencer gently ran his finger along the opening of her wet cunt and watched as she flung the book back up to her face, hiding it from view. He played with her clit for a while, circling it gently with his thumb while his middle finger slowly slipped in and out of her.

Y/N whined. "That's not fair... At least when I was interrupting you, I didn't try to give you a handjob..."

Spencer hummed in agreement, removing his fingers from her and bringing them to his lips. "Hmm, I suppose you're right..."

So how am I going to make it even...

He took his dick out of his underwear then, holding it in his hand and resisting the urge to slip it inside of her. Instead, he settled for the small gap between her thighs, a whine escaping him once he realized it was nowhere near the amount of stimulation he'd get from anything else.

His hips snapped forward urgently as he chased some form of release, frustrated at how it felt good, but not nearly good enough.

"Not so fun, is it?" Y/N sang, flipping a page amusedly once he'd let out another exasperated whine.

"What's to stop me from just fucking you?" he hissed, gripping her legs and trying his hardest to be patient.

"You won't... Because you won't learn your lesson otherwise."

Now she was messing with him. She was punishing him for ignoring her, and he breathed a laugh, knowing he should have seen it coming. But he wasn't going to argue with her, not when he was well and truly aware that he deserved this.

Still, it didn't make it any easier.

Spencer's whimpering increased tenfold, though, once she took a little pity on him and squeezed her legs tighter, giving him more friction and bringing him closer to the edge.

"O—oh my g—od..."

It happened so fast. One second he was relieved at this new wave of pleasure and the next he was pulled underneath it, his lower half tensing, pulsing, and burning hot. God, she was warm... And wet, and tight, but in a completely different way than normal, and it all was too much.

Her thighs and lower stomach were covered in cum, and that thought alone was enough to keep him going. He was overstimulated and probably should have refrained, but the silky, warm skin of her thighs just felt so good gliding over his dick, he just couldn't.

By now, Y/N had completely tossed the book aside, watching in awe as Spencer seemed unaware of her actions. His eyes were shut tightly, so focused on coming again, and the head of his cock peeked out through the gap in her thighs with every thrust forward, glistening and nearly red...

And then he was coming again, and she watched as the milky substance spilled out over her skin. A strand of it dripped slowly down the front of her left thigh, and the sight made her whine.

Spencer opened his eyes then, an overwhelming kernel of love and adoration blooming through his chest as he watched her watch him.

And then everything slowed.

He shoved the book off the bed and laid down beside her, looking down to admire his work.

"Fuck," is all he said, in one huff.

He was clearly pleased with himself, a fact which made Y/N beam. "Oh, you like that, huh?"

With a vigorous nod, he reached a hand out to spread some of the mess around, his fingers gliding slowly and softly over the planes and curves of her still-crossed legs.

"We have to do that again... Though, I could do without the 'you punishing me' part..."

Y/N let out a laugh, grabbing his wrist and bringing his fingers to her mouth. She darted her tongue out to taste, slowly dragging the tip along the underside of his middle finger before taking it fully in her mouth.

"Don't give me a reason to punish you, then," she quipped back after letting his finger go with a soft pop and tilting her head to look at him.

That look in her eyes, the one that always gave him butterflies, elicited another heavy nod.

"Deal."

———

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[battybubs]

Are You Insane?

Authors note: this fic was written with male readers in mind. He/Him pronouns are used along with the term “boy” when referring to the reader. Please do not interact with this post if you are a female or feminine aligned person. also requests are open, and if anyone would like to request, I would love to write something for you :)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Male! Reader Type: Romantic (implied)

Warnings: Slight swearing, talk of vehicles and driving ~~~~~~~~~~

While you loved Eddie, you didn’t love being in a vehicle with him. He could drive, but whenever he did, it was way too fast, and definitely not the best technique for operating a car. 

During lunchtime at Hawkins high school, you sat in the cafeteria with the tall brunette, and your friends from the hellfire club. You were quick to draw the attention of Eddie as he noticed you had been sitting with your arms crossed, refusing to speak to him. After a while of pondering what he had done wrong, he remembered he was supposed to drive you home yesterday, but, in complete Eddie Munson fashion, he forgot and drove off without you. You were given no choice other than to walk home, and it didn’t help that it had started raining. 

He apologized profusely, and promised to make it up to you. What you didn’t seem to realize, was that you would have to endure his foolish driving if he was going to “make it up to you”.

Silently hoping that Eddie had forgotten about the whole ordeal, you quickly made your way to the front of the school. You tried your best to avoid anywhere that Eddie may have been, opting to pitch a ride with Steve. Hell you would’ve probably asked Billy Hargrove for a ride, had he been alive, to avoid driving with Eddie.

After finally making your way to the parking lot, you were about to run up to Steve’s car, but before you could even take a step, he was pulling out of his space, Dustin sitting next to him in the passenger seat. You decided to look around to find someone to save you from that god awful van that belonged to your beloved boyfriend. As you stood on your tip toes looking for any familiar faces, you heard the sound of a certain someone’s van pull up behind you. 

“Hey, pretty boy! Looking for us?” That was another thing that bothered you. Eddie addressed his van as if it were a person. You briefly thought about turning and darting away, but eventually gave in and climbed into the old van. You could hardly put on your seatbelt before Eddie was speeding out of the parking lot as if you were being chased. 

It wasn’t too long before you reached a curvy tree-lined street. You clutched onto your seat, knowing that if your boyfriend followed his usual faulty logic, he would speed up, instead of slow down. Before you know it the van is turning so quickly it could give you whiplash.

Almost as if he had been listening to your inner pleads, you heard the sound of sirens, and looked back to see a police car. Hopper’s police car. You heard Eddie huff out a curse to two under his breath before pulling over and rolling down his window. The sound of boots hitting pavement neared as Hopper moved closer to the van, before he finally stopped at Eddie’s window.

“Now as much as I hate to pull you boys over, it is the law I do so when someone is caught speeding. So this story better be good.” Before Eddie could open his mouth to answer Hopper, you began to speak. “So you see, Hopps, Eddie here got a call from his uncle, who said he needed Eddie home now because he fell an hurt himself.” 

Hopper let out a small chuckle before turning to look down the road at a passing car. “Now I know this isn’t a true story, considering I just stopped by to see him at work, and he was perfectly fine, but I like you kids too much to give you a ticket. Just be safe, and I’ll let you off the hook.” Eddie nodded gratefully before getting ready to begin driving once again, but before he was able to drive off, Hopper stoped to say something, with a stern look on his face. With a sigh he said “Oh and Eddie, please be careful driving with him. You’re gonna give the poor boy whiplash.” 

“Eddie Munson, are you insane?” Was the last thing Hopper heard before the two of you drove off.

[wincore]

field day | jung sungchan

pairing: sungchan x fem!reader

synopsis: when you, as cheer captain, are best friends with the pride and joy of the soccer team, rumors are bound to fly around.

genre: high school au, soccer au, bff2l, fluff

words: 7.5k

warnings: language, jung “the risk i took was calculated but man am i bad at math” sungchan

request: sungchan + ball + “ everyone is looking at us. is that a good or a bad thing? ” (from the first option) ^__^

song recs: after school - weeekly / pleaser - wallows / some - bol4 / sweet talk - saint motel / love so sweet - cherry bullet

a/n: i tried recalling some hs memories for this and im hoping i wasnt the only one that went through the “shipped with a random dude” ordeal LOL. i haven’t written shorter fics in a while so i’m glad i got to. tq for requesting, lovepie <33

In high school, peer pressure tends to come in different forms. For you, it’s taken the shape of this.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” 

You look around your classmates, scanning each and every face chanting with glee like you’re a star player scoring the winning point. The tall figure shifts beside you, glancing at you like a blinking idiot. You’re not even on the losing team but it feels just as frustrating.

You glare at the boy beside you. The trouble is Jung Sungchan. The trouble has always been Jung Sungchan. 

“Come on!” Chenle calls with a teasing grin from the buzzing crowd. The little shit. It’s getting hotter with each minute you spend by the green soccer field and its dusty chalked lines, just at the tip of the bleachers. You didn’t even get enough time to breathe before you were surrounded, the soccer team pushing a stumbling Sungchan onto you. It’s too sunny for this today.

“The star soccer player gets a kiss from the lead cheerleader after a winning game! That’s the rule.” Chenle announces.

Sungchan looks at you and you turn to him, the both of you looking at each other like fish out of water. Even though you’ve clarified at least a hundred times that you’re just friends, your peers don’t seem to be satisfied. (“Famous last words,” they say.)

“No,” you say, firmly. 

“No,” Sungchan agrees, nodding his head wisely.

“Don’t copy me,” you say, smacking his chest, and a quiet ‘oof’ escapes his mouth.

The fact that you’ve been best friends since Sungchan offered you a light green crayon in elementary school just fuels the idea that you have to date. There’s this difference between elementary school kids teasing and high school kids teasing—it was so much easier back when boys were afraid of cooties from girls. It was innocent too. Now, it’s more of nudges and sly grins, teasing with unnecessary innuendo. (What else do you expect from teenagers experiencing puberty?) It doesn’t stop you from being best friends though. Sungchan still visits on Fridays to get on your mom’s nerves and help you with homework (or try to). You still have all the little trinkets he’s gifted you over the years and the lock to his phone is still your birthday. You’re best friends and strictly that. 

When you got into the same middle school though is when it started going downhill. Holding his hand was awkward, touching him in any way was awkward and god forbid you compliment him on something. The kids around you would run across the halls saying “(name) likes Sungchan!” or the other way around sometimes. Heathens, the lot of them. But at the very least, he wasn’t too fazed and you wonder how he could be that even-tempered. If it was just you feeling that way, then maybe you did like him more than he did you. 

You shake it off. 

Sungchan’s much more grown now and at least a foot taller since his awkward adolescent years; he looks handsomer too but you wouldn’t be caught dead saying it out loud. After all, it’s only going to spark another debate on the anonymous school forum. (“(name) finds Jung Sungchan attractive, they’re totally dating.” “I knew it. A boy and a girl can’t be friends, especially if they’re both good looking.”) If you’re being honest, you hate the rumours so much—it’s one of the reasons, apart from puberty, stopping you from being as close as before. However, you do understand that this is how the passage of time works. You’re not going to be spending all of your time with each other, yes, but you still regard him as important. Your life is too busy now, with exams and practice—and you’d think a busy bee would get some honey as reward.

Sungchan’s curls stick to his forehead, unruly after he wiped at them with a towel. The sunlight plays with his eyes when he looks at you intently and you shrug. The smell of sweat is starting to make you nauseous. You remember that you too need to take a shower.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you mumble.

“Not today?” He asks.

You shake your head. “The girls have a plan.”

It’s not just the sweat. Or the crowds. You don’t like being here at all. There’s one more problem with this place.

You hate soccer. 

And by hate, you mean you despise it. Like you’ll throw up at the sight of it. What’s so riveting about a bunch of smelly, sweaty guys excited about chasing a patterned ball? You’ve tried to understand it but every time your dad explains the rules, you find yourself zoning out of whatever alien language he speaks. 

Sungchan has been the closest to getting you to understand the game and even then, you refused to learn. It’s not like you’re society’s definition of girly—but you’re not a tomboy either. The school has granted you the “ice queen with a warm interior” stereotype so you’ll just go with that. To be honest, you’re just a little more awkward at open affection than your friends. (And Sungchan has the “friendly beagle” stereotype which you’ll agree is partly true. He’s more of a retriever though, with that size.) It’s just funny how you can never seem to know who you are but other people see so clearly.

You hurry up to the locker rooms and hope for a better evening than this afternoon.

-

The sky burns blue and you wipe the sweat off your brow once you step out of the changing room. Cooling off from your shower has gone to waste. Adjusting your school skirt, you take your usual strides to the school gates. 

Ryujin seems to be showing Yuna a very flamboyant dance move while the latter hypes her up. Ryujin is in her gym uniform because she has no care for her reputation apparently, but she makes it work. Yuna’s about to show her own move when she notices you and waves at you vigorously enough to make you jog towards her and stop embarrassing herself in front of the after school crowd. But then again, she’s too cute for that.

“We got bored waiting for you,” Yuna explains, voice hoarse from her cold. Poor thing wasn’t let into performing because of it. “Do you wanna see our cool new move? Ryujin came up with it!”

Ryujin rolls her eyes. “You’re trying to advertise me to (name) so she can recruit me into cheerleading, aren’t you?”

You smile and cross your arms, facing Yuna who’s been caught mid-act. She smiles sheepishly and pats your shoulder like she just said a funny joke.

“Actually…” You begin and Ryujin holds up her arms in a cross.

“No. Never. I’m already part of the hip-hop dance club.”

“I was going to say that I’ll join you instead.”

Yuna gasps in betrayal, big eyes widening, and Ryujin grins before sticking her tongue out and potentially ruining her image with that expression. She doesn’t care, however.

“Anyway, I can’t wait to get to college and join a dance club.” Ryujin looks at the two of you excitedly. “I keep getting snaps from Yeji and feel so jealous.”

Yuna pouts. “Don’t be so happy about leaving me.”

“Aw, is the baby afraid of not getting any more sisterly doting?” Ryujin teases and you laugh at the disgruntled expression on Yuna’s face. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryujin continues with a sly grin. “Taehyun’s here to keep you company for another year.”

Yuna turns red in the face, a high pitched complaint emitting from her throat. “I told you to keep quiet about that!”

“Oh, what’s this?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “We’re starting boy talk early today.”

Yuna huffs. “At least, mine’s just a crush. I don’t know what relationship status: complicated you have going on with Mr. Soccer Captain.”

You flush hotly. “There’s no relationship status to be complicated about! Seriously, why does everyone think we’re a thing?”

“You’re cheer captain and he’s soccer captain,” Ryujin answers logically. “Plus, you’re best friends.”

“You have a lot of sexual tension,” Yuna answers honestly.

You make a face, slipping your arms into theirs and pulling them along the sidewalk. You better get something to drink before the sky starts to turn purple from pink tinged blue. 

“Ooh, another desperate attempt from (name) to not get teased,” Ryujin leans back to whisper to Yuna.

You stop walking. “Wait. Where are we going?”

Yuna shakes her head. “I’ll lead the way.”

Skipping over the concrete sidewalk, you laugh at your friends and their stories (read: Ryujin gushing over Yeji’s college dance club and Yuna’s newfound crush on Taehyun). The blue sky has tinged orange by now but it’s the sort of colour that sits in between more significant timeframes, like night and evening. Passing by a city square, you eye the people with wonder. A girl in a pink skirt skateboards smoothly over the concrete, her boyfriend filming her with a loving smile. 

“We’re here!” Yuna announces.

You look around the large open plaza, with people of all ages and in different attires trying out skateboarding and rollerblading over the grey concrete. It’s been getting popular lately, with idol pop stars taking to it too but you never knew there was this big a community. There seems to be a few stalls renting out skateboards too. The wind caresses your hair, evening cool settling in nicely on your skin. The sky is purple but it’s lit up with the city buildings and street lamps flickering on. It’s not a bad day at all.

Someone catches your attention. A boy that sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes. 

“Sungchan?!” 

Your eyes somehow always settle on his figure, tall and standing out in the crowd of teenagers. He clutches his blue bag, the one he’s had since third grade, close to his chest and looks more like a tourist in this place than a frequent visitor. He’s not the only one in school uniform now that you’re here.

“(name)!” 

You hate how you love the way his face lights up when he sees you. You’re not actually into him. It’s your friends brainwashing you.

“I was going to invite you,” Sungchan says, a sorry smile on his face. 

Ryujin and Yuna frown at each other but you can’t exactly ask the reason for it.

“Isn’t it great we had the same plans?” he beams at the three of you.

Yuna suppresses a smile and you wonder why. It’s not like your friends would know he’d be here—you’d know first as best friend.

"How did you guys come across this place?" He asks, eyes round with curiosity. 

"Somi's Tiktok," Yuna answers, smiling. "We thought she works here but if she really was, guys would be swarming this place."

Ryujin raises her eyebrows. "Speaking of which, I can clearly see why there are so many girls here."

Sungchan beams, turning to you for affirmation and when you don't give him any, he drops his grin to a more polite smile.

“I don’t work at the stalls though,” he answers. “I’ve just been here a few times.”

“You’re trying to learn, aren’t you?” Ryujin asks, raising an eyebrow.

He nods. However, you furrow your eyebrows at her. How does she know? Eyes widening, you realize it must be the school forum. You remember reading a post about a student wanting to learn skateboarding and the wording felt familiar but you didn’t think much. How they figured it out, you will never know.

“Oh! Oh, I think my nose is bleeding. Oh god.” Yuna sniffs vehemently, her finger at her nose. “I think I’m going to need Ryujin to get me to a clinic.” 

Linking her arm through Ryujin’s, Yuna makes an apologetic expression and runs off into a particularly crowded area.

You blink. The realization dawns. 

"They just left me," you tell him, exasperated. "How could they just leave me?"

He shrugs. "My team left me at a rival school's field once."

Great. Your last outing before midterms and your friends have abandoned you. If this is the case, you wonder why they complain about you spending so much time with Sungchan and allegedly ignoring them.

You regain a sense of your surroundings and turn to him. "Wait. They really left you?"

He nods diligently, eyes trained upwards as he tries to recall the memory. "I told you, didn’t I? On the plus side though, I made friends with the opposite team."

"That's so… cute."

Your cheeks heat up at saying it out loud. If Sungchan is affected by it in any way, he doesn't show it. Instead, he has his usual smile on. 

“Do you wanna try?” he asks. “Skateboarding. Or rollerblading but I personally don’t recommend that.”

He curls his lips, shaking his head slightly. You laugh. Of course this beanpole has trouble balancing on skates.

"I- I figured you'd be good at skateboarding. Since, you know, you're so balanced and all."

You raise an eyebrow. "You wanna add skateboarding to your resume or something?"

"Yeah, that and the ability to imitate dog sounds. Wanna see?"

"No, thanks. I’ll pray this weekend to cure your furry behaviour."

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted by a whirlwind of colours and excited calls. A few girls run up to the two of you, younger and probably in middle school, flocking to Sungchan like bees to honey. Never in your life have you felt so ignored as in this singular moment.

You blink, turning to Sungchan who looks like a rather helpless, flustered eye of the hurricane. The winds don't seem to be stopping any time soon.

You clear your throat trying to get their attention. 

"Wow, you brought your girlfriend?" One of the girls exclaims, sounding disappointed.

The other girls make similar whines of disappointment and you have half the heart to whack them over the head and tell them to focus on their academics instead of boys. 

"You're so lucky to have him as your boyfriend," a girl comments, round eyes brimming with jealousy. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you declare sharply.

Sungchan looks at you with his doe eyes, blinking cartoonishly. You nudge him with your elbow.

“Yeah!” He agrees, with far too much gusto to be believable. “I’m not (name)’s boyfriend. I have no idea why everyone keeps saying that.”

“Let’s go, babe,” you say, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at the girls. They’re younger than you and you have high school dignity, you remind yourself.

Slipping your hand into his, you take a few long strides away from them before you realize what you said.

“I- I did- I didn’t mean to call you babe,” you sputter, pulling your hand from his to look at him with wide eyes. 

“It’s okay though?”

Sungchan raises an eyebrow and slips his hand back into yours, smiling. 

“I don’t mind the rumours, you know?” He says honestly but his smile feels all too teasing. “Maybe we should go out for real.”

You huff, separating yourself from him again. “Maybe you just love attention. Disgusting.”

You point an accusatory finger at him and he bites at it playfully.

“While you're here, wanna see a cool trick I learned?" He straightens only having to tilt his head to look at you.

"If it's you falling on your face, then yes."

"I mean, hey, I could totally do that. Done that several times actually."

You smile despite trying your hardest not to. You like this about him—that he’s easygoing enough to make you look at life less seriously. If it’s with him, you could quit everything that makes you unhappy and start everything you love. 

“So where is your skateboard?” you ask, walking side by side with him, who has finally learned to match your pace.

“It’s with one of my friends,” he answers, and points to a tall girl with long brown hair, wearing a pair of tomboyish shorts and T-shirt. Another girl with short hair and a bucket hat accompanies her, wearing a long hoodie and shorts, but she leaves before you reach them. They must be from a different school because you’ve never seen them before. The first thing that pops into your head is that they’d be good replacements for your cheerleading position if you were ever to leave. You shake your head. Now is not the time.

“That’s Jimin!” he introduces, and you wonder how he’s this way—how he makes friends so easily.

Jimin waves at Sungchan and then proceeds to ask if you’re his girlfriend with a big smile, like a script being followed everywhere you go.

She seems a little disappointed at the answer. “Well, I was going to suggest one of the couples skateboards.”

You flash her an awkward smile. 

“But those are pretty difficult! I’ve been here for a month and my idea of skateboarding is still sitting on it while Soeun pushes me around. That’s my friend, by the way.”

“Ah.” You nod. “This is my first time skateboarding, actually. The only ‘sport’ I’ve ever done is cheerleading.”

Jimin furrows her eyebrows before her eyes widen. “Wait a minute. You’re the cheerleader best friend that Sungchan wouldn’t shut up about!”

Sungchan flusters, in the subtle way he usually does, and waves his hands robotically trying to explain. “I was just saying- that- that you’d be good at skateboarding. Because of the cheerleading.”

A boxy grin accompanies his explanation. 

“Right.” Jimin covers her face and sends an obvious wink your way. “Anyway, you can have my skateboard for the day.”

She hands over a smooth black skateboard with white wheels, but on closer inspection you find that they’re light-up wheels instead. It’s oddly fitting for someone like Jimin even if you’ve known her the entirety of ten minutes. Sungchan is good at finding friends, rather. Soon enough, she runs off after making Sungchan promise he’ll deliver the skateboard home.

The trick Sungchan wanted to show you was a failed kickflip. At the very least, it made you laugh so hard you almost spit out the strawberry milk he’d bought you. Sipping his own banana milk, he sulked for a moment or two, telling you to try it out and see how difficult it is.

On the contrary, Sungchan was right. You are good at balancing on skateboards. But that’s where it ends. You don’t think you’ll be naturally good at kickflips, though being able to glide through the plaza while Sungchan runs after you with the drinks puts a big smile on your face. It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while.  

Accompanied by Sungchan’s panicked “oh no”s and “oh we messed up”s, the two of you try the couple skateboarding move too; no one’s watching you here. It’s fun to see him stress over a skateboard because frankly, you’ve never met anyone as easy-going as Sungchan. (“I’ll figure it out along the way,” he says when you ask if he’s studying for finals, and proceeds to get a decent enough score). Suddenly the wandering gap is closed again. You’re not going to worry about stupid rumours from now on. 

But for some reason, ‘you like him as a friend’ doesn’t sound right either. Despite having said it so many times, you might not believe in it. You shake off the thought. This evening, at least, you’re going to enjoy with Sungchan without thinking of teenage drama and hormones. 

"You still don't think you and Sungchan make the perfect pair?" Yuna pouts. 

You narrow your eyes. "I don't take opinions from traitors."

Chaeryoung leans back on her chair, and whispers to you asking if you’re okay. At least someone is concerned about you.

“It hurts to be left by my own friends but—”

“No, I meant, are you okay? Why aren’t you dating Sungchan already? You’re so cute together! And you’re best friends—Netflix writers literally daydream of this.”

You groan, throwing up your hands in defeat.

“And,” Yuna adds, knocking her chair closer. “Who’s really the traitor here? Us who ditched you with the love of your life—or you, who runs off every time she gets a call from her boyfriend?”

“Sungchan is not my boyfriend.” You cross your arms.

“She even shares her lunch with him more,” Ryujin complains from the side. “And they’re not even in the same class. Unlike me, by the way. Class 1 Shin Ryujin. Same class as you, (name).”

You slump, resting your forehead against the desk. At this point, you wish the teacher would walk in and start the class already. Unfortunately, lunch break isn’t over for another ten minutes and lady luck clearly isn’t smiling upon you. 

“Speak of the devil!” Ryujin announces monotonously, leaning against her desk.

Sungchan and a few of his friends from the soccer team wave at you and the girls from the classroom door. Noticing Taehyun, Yuna quickly fixes her hair and you would tease her if Sungchan hadn’t casually strolled up to your desk and sat down on the chair in front of you. Long legs barely contained in the space, he adjusts himself by resting his arm on the headrest and his chin upon it. It’s all normal. However, when he leans down to match your eye level, you hear the sudden pit-a-pat of your pulse in your ear. At this proximity, you can even see the mole on his lip that he’s pointed out before. The sunlight from the open windows is pulling golden strings over his eyelashes and his lips aren’t dry as a desert like you expected. You know he uses the watermelon flavoured lip balm. 

“Too close,” you croak. Embarrassed at your own voice, you rise sharply and glare at him.

“Is your heart fluttering?” Sungchan asks, smiling as he looks up at you.

You roll your eyes. 

You can hear Yuna’s giggling and before you can shoot her a glare, Sungchan calls. 

"Do you have any bandaids?" 

He points to a rough scratch at the base of his palm, fingers slender and less calloused than what you'd pictured. Then again, soccer players don't use their hands much, do they?

You blink. "You came all the way here for bandaids?"

"Well… I remembered you keep band-aids in your phone case. And the nurse hates me."

You giggle.

Yujin mouths from behind Sungchan, “He just wanted to see her.” 

You would feel flattered if you didn't know these people and their shenanigans. They'd do anything for some drama (and to get two innocent people into the dating trap).

“Why would I waste my cute band aids on you?” you mutter under your breath. “They’re limited edition, you know?”

No way are you sticking Ice Bear on your urban hazard of a best friend. A tall, cute, surprisingly polite hazard but he still annoys you nonetheless.

However, Sungchan's pleading smile has grown on you.

You reluctantly take the band-aid out of your clear phone case, the pink panda doll attached to it swaying with the movement. Proceeding, you take Sungchan's hand and lay it on your desk. With careful focus, you place the band-aid, admiring the size difference of your hands before snapping to reality.

Enough with the pink cloud of thoughts, you scold yourself.

When you look up, the proximity makes your heart skip a beat despite the logical part of you saying you shouldn't. Your faces are too close and this time, you don't even have the energy to croak it out.

"Thanks, (name)," Sungchan smiles at you. 

Right then, the sound of a chair sliding harshly against the floor makes the two of you jolt away from each other. All of your friends and his friends seem to be sporting Cheshire cat grins and you don't like it one bit. You don't like not being in on the gag.

"Anybody up for gaming after this? My treat." Chenle looks around. “Sungchan is banned from the arcade soccer game though.”

"'Ey," Sungchan complains.

"Hey, Jisung and Ryujin are banned from DDR too but that's because they almost broke the handles off last time."

The memory makes you smile. Sungchan was there too, and you don’t know why you’re only just recalling all the memories with him in it, carefully and in detail. Every one of them seems to have been amplified, the little interactions suddenly coming to mind. 

“(name)? You’re coming?”

You take one look at Sungchan and give up. Even if this is another childish ploy by your peers, you don't mind spending some more time at the arcade with infuriatingly addictive games. A tiny part of you is even willing to go along with them and see if it turns out the way they want it to.

“I’ll go,” you mumble, and the rest of the group cheers. 

“But I have cleaning duty today.”

The group groans. 

“Just get someone else to do it. Like a junior.”

“Isn’t that bullying?” You ask, frowning.

“Ask nicely. Anyone would be willing to do your bidding, (name).”

“Chenle, will you do it?” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “You’re class president after all.”

Chenle wrinkles his nose. “You’re getting stupider every day, (name).”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask one of Yuna’s classmates then.”

“By the way,” Chenle announces. “Only twelfth graders are invited—”

A bunch of groans interrupt him. 

“Quit whining.” He crosses his arms, glaring at them. “What do you even have to worry about? We’re preparing for the exam of our lives. Oh, and Jisung is an exception.”

“We’re only two years apart,” Yuna mutters under her breath.

���Oh, and from class 5, only Sungchan is invited.”

Another round of complaints pass and Chenle breaks into laughter. “Just kidding.”

Your friends are and will always be an odd bunch. Sungchan has previously proved to be the weirdest (several times) and it makes him the most lovable too. But then again, you don’t have free space in your timetable to put in teenage crushes, much less falling for your best friend. What you do have time for this afternoon, however, is relaxing at the arcade. 

-

“Let’s go! I am so good at this. Think I’d impress your Steve Curry?” Ryujun gloats, after having scored three hoops in a row at the arcade basketball game.

“It’s Stephen Curry,” Chenle corrects. “And no, let’s focus here. Our goals are—”

He points to the two figures by the DDR machine, looking like a real couple. He’s been acting as damage control for the rumours and making sure you don’t drift apart because of it. They really don’t make guys like him anymore, Chenle sighs. He should get a friendship award or something.

“—those two.”

Really, Sungchan better be thanking him by the end of this. He’s never met anyone quite like Jung Sungchan, especially because Chenle cannot picture himself liking the same person since elementary school.

“Man, now I wish I had a girlfriend,” Chenle mutters.

Ryujin snorts. “Who’s going to date you?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend either,” Chenle reminds and gets a basketball to the shoulder.

“Why are you playing that when you don’t even know how to use it?” Your voice rings through to them.

“I said I’ll figure it out!” Sungchan reasons.

Chenle and Ryujin stare at the two of you blankly, as you bicker over a claw machine game and they share a look.

“Do they need our help?” Ryujin whispers.

Chenle shakes his head. “I think they’ll figure it out from here.”

Soon enough, you were laughing at Sungchan’s failed attempts and trying to outplay him. Your friends have already given you the shove. Chenle and Ryujin share a high five and that’s where the new story begins.

You finally know the thrill of a teenage crush. It makes you so damn infuriated that it had to be Jung Sungchan. 

Now every time he waves at you from the field or hands you a bottle of strawberry milk or explains the calc notes you missed or does the bare minimum, you need to deal with the quickening of your pulse and a few butterflies loose from their cage in your stomach. It doesn’t help that you’re almost always together.

The two of you currently sit by the school field, Sungchan tying his shoelaces while you cool off with the water bottle he offered you. Practice ended a while ago for you and the girls have receded into the air conditioned indoor gym. The indoor gym is apparently occupied by the gymnast club and you couldn’t be more disappointed that you didn’t join them instead. 

If anything, however, you’d rather leave this whole thing and focus on your academics. Hobbies shouldn’t be draining you—they should feel like skateboarding on a lilac evening with the wind in your hair.

With a friend you like very, very much.

“Sungchan,” you call quietly. 

“Hm?” 

When he looks up, you can’t hold in the urge to fix the hair out of his eyes. You’ve never been very physically affectionate so it might have come off strange. Sungchan looks at you quietly, stars in his eyes and you clear your throat.

“How long have you been playing soccer? It was before we met, right?”

He hums, eyes traveling up and then back to you when he remembers. “Since I was six. You were there at my first soccer match actually.”

“I was? Oh my god, was it the one you lost horribly and the whole team started crying?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

You giggle. “Six year old you would be so in awe now.”

Sungchan beams at that. 

“Who knows?” he smiles, looking into your eyes with firm determination. “Maybe I’ll be the next Son Heungmin.”

“Even I know who that is so… no.”

Sungchan pouts and you make a face in disgust. “Don’t act cute, it gives me hives.”

“Okay, maybe not Son Heungmin. I could definitely be the next Park Jisung—and I don’t mean him.”

Sungchan points to a boy passed out on the benches, his exhaustion typical of any high schooler while another boy sits beside him, fanning him with a bunch of assignment papers. Jisung and Chenle really are more entertaining than any game on this field. 

You turn to look at Sungchan, who’s moving his head around trying to catch their attention. When he finally does, he waves at them and gets big grins in response. He’s not all that bad, you think. In fact, he’s quite possibly the most amiable boy in senior year.

“Just be Jung Sungchan,” you mutter. “Not Son Heungmin or Park Jisung.”

Sungchan turns to you, smiling wide. “Advice taken.”

You scoff. “Whatever.”

Maybe it’s just you but Sungchan has been glancing at your lips very frequently today and mentally thank Chaeryoung for letting you borrow her lip tint. You didn’t know something so subtle could get you this giddy.

“Are you… going to give the CSAT?” You ask, glancing at him nervously. Part of you is sad you only developed your first high school crush in the very last semester. Or if it’s comforting, you could believe you’ve liked him all this time.

“Nah. Sports scholarship,” he says nonchalantly. “I was going to tell you but… I’ve been scouted already.”

You gasp. “That’s… great. Your future’s all settled.”

Sungchan seems to dislike the idea, lips pursing. “I don’t think anything’s settled except for the next step.”

You nod, somewhat understanding. 

“What about you?” He asks. “Any university in mind? SKY? I’ve seen you study extra hours at the library.”

You look away, not feeling ready for the conversation.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what I like and what I want. I don’t even like cheer anymore.”

Sungchan gazes at you wordlessly but it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt talking about this.

“Maybe I should quit,” you mumble.

You don’t want to commit to something you no longer have passion for. But then again, you’ve spent so much time on it that it’s hard to leave. 

“You should,” he responds, honest. 

You scoff, shaking yourself from that moment of vulnerability. “But why would I quit something I’m good at?”

“If you don’t like it. If it hurts to leave but isn’t any better when you stay, you should leave.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re quite the philosopher.”

“I’m smart, right?”

You smile. 

“Oy, you two!” Chenle calls, making his way to you two with Jisung trailing behind. “I don’t mean to interrupt your flirting but you got a spare water bottle?”

“Are you two going out now?” Jisung asks as a follow-up, and you feel a hot flush for some reason, unlike the previous times you’ve been asked this question.

“No,” you answer. You don’t mind the idea though now.

“Don’t lie,” Chenle complains. “I saw that picture of Sungchan teaching you how to kick a ball. You? And soccer? Something’s up.”

You throw up your hands in exasperation. “Seriously, who keeps up posting to the school page? And where do they get the time?”

"Two people with this much compatibility will always be a hot topic."

"We're not compatible," you retort quickly.

"Wait," Jisung says. "I know how to resolve this."

You raise an eyebrow.

"How do you have your cereal?" He asks, looking from you to Sungchan.

"Cereal first, obviously," you answer.

Sungchan looks up, finger below his chin as he thinks. "I drink the milk first, then eat the cereal and then breakdance to mix it all together."

You pinch your nose. "I swear I question your sanity all the time."

"Hah! That means you're thinking about me all the time."

You look away, rolling your eyes. He responds with an open-mouthed smile and finger guns.

"See?" Jisung grins. "Compatible."

The gruff voice of Coach Lee startles the four of you and Sungchan leaves with a sigh and a promise of meeting after practice. Jisung leaves with Sungchan and Chenle gives you one last teasing smirk before sitting down and going through the assignment papers he was using as a fan previously. You will never understand his miraculous ways of performing his presidential duties.

You don’t have a good feeling about the next match. The only reason you’re even sticking around anymore—as embarrassing as it—is to spend more time with Sungchan. Being with him puts you at ease, even if the school tries to wrap the two of you in a rope of uneasiness. This is your very last practice, for the next match is the final one of this year and then you’ll be back to spending even longer hours at the library with a stack of textbooks. It’s supposed to be a carefree age. At least, adults say that. Your high school life seems to be riddled with worries, and with that thought, you head into the air conditioned room to take a breather off your anxieties. 

Only one more match, you remind yourself. 

The pre-match buzz is driving you to the edge.

Your form is off, you can feel it already and Coach Kim isn’t as sunshine-as-rainbows as she usually is, courtesy to it being the last match of your life. She’ll never know though, how much you don’t want to do this. 

Sungchan waves at you as he usually does before a match, disappointing a third of his fangirls, but it helps you ease. One last time, (name).

Watching the crowd of people, parents and siblings and friends, all excited and talking makes you take a deep breath. You practiced but it wasn’t good enough. You can never do well at something you don’t like anymore. This time, you feel guilty for committing to things half-heartedly. You want to start that fresh new college chapter already, with all of this behind.

There’s ten minutes left. You go back to the empty hall outside the lockers only to pace. This isn’t helping.

“(name)!”

You turn around abruptly to find Sungchan’s tall figure, and you must be looking miserable because his smile falls.

He doesn’t even ask what’s wrong, only takes careful steps towards you. “Do you need water? Medicine?”

His hands hover over your shoulder but he doesn’t burden you with them. You put your face in your palms and sigh, sinking down to the floor in a crouch.

“I want to quit,” you whisper. Your voice comes off more brittle than you’d like, and you realize that Sungchan hasn’t seen you cry since seventh grade when you failed a math test. You didn’t tell him then but you appreciated him studying extra hours for math just to teach you.

“You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to,” he says quietly, dropping to the floor beside you. “I’ll stay with you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “Don’t be ridiculous! They’ll lose without you—you’re the ace, Sungchan!”

“There will always be an ace,” he retorts. “Maybe Jisung will finally get to shine. Or anyone else. I don’t mind spending an hour with you alone.”

You feel a hot flush spread over your cheeks. Looking away to the side, you mumble an ‘alright’ and only glance from the corner of your eye to see him smiling. Jung Sungchan is the most unreasonable boy you’ve ever met. Perhaps it makes him somewhat loveable too.

“It’s your last match,” you whisper helplessly.

“I’ll join the college soccer club and get to play more matches.”

You sigh, giving in. If he’s so adamant, you think that perhaps there is something in you worth sacrificing his game over. It makes an oddly warm feeling bloom in your chest. Sungchan is so damn convincing with his words. You wonder if it’s really okay.

With shoulders touching, an awkward silence takes over in the next second. You turn to him and open your mouth, watch him do the same and close it at the same time he does.

“You know,” he begins, “I was kind of lying about not worrying because I get the feeling coach will evaporate me tomorrow but—I can handle it. Mostly.”

You stare at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Sungchan. I’m the one running away.”

You slouch, pulling your knees closer to your chest and burying your face in them. The urge to scream is boiling within you but you can’t get caught. Not now.

“Sometimes to run is the brave thing,” he responds, insightful. “If you’re not up for it, it’s better to quit early than to regret it in the long run.”

You don’t know if it’s the fact that he just quoted Taylor Swift or spoke like your old school counselor—but you find yourself laughing. He makes sense. Sungchan, in his weird, oddball ways, always makes sense. And in that same way, he feels like home.

“You’re so good to me,” you say, looking up at him and at a proximity you’ve never been before.

It’s his turn to fluster, though he doesn’t do so as visibly as you do. He clears his throat, shifting his eyes around before meeting yours. “I- This is bad timing but… I like you. I really do. Since third grade when you drew that birthday card for me. I have it in my bedside drawer, by the way.”

He looks away and makes a face, probably wondering why he said that out loud.

You press your lips tight to prevent the smile that tugs at them. He looks at you with a wobbly smile, trying his hardest to resume his usual dignity—but he’s just a boy, after all. 

“My type is dumb and pretty, though?” You tease, the smile escaping. “You said it yourself.”

He blinks. “Well, I am pretty but if you want me to be stu—”

You shake your head. “I like you too. You don’t have to act cute.”

He pauses, thinking. “I have never acted cute in my life ever. I was born cu—”

You hold his face between your thumb and forefinger. “You do that again and you die.”

He breaks into a smile. 

“I’ve never met someone quite like you,” you whisper, embarrassed of your own feelings bubbling up from the bottle you had kept them in.

He laughs, open-mouthed and pretty. 

“Actually, hey, I didn’t like you all this time from fifth. I liked you and then I didn’t like you and then I liked you again��”

“Okay, I get it.”

His shoulders relax and he smiles at you. You look up at the clock on the wall by the entrance to the field and bite your lip. You don’t love performing anymore but you know all the girls do, even the stand-bys. Jisung might not have to take over Sungchan’s position but you bet one of those tenth graders would love to take yours, the same way you did back then. They’ve practiced harder than you too and it’s only a matter of deserving.

You take a deep breath and get up, pulling up Sungchan by the hand. He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive eyes scanning over your face and you smile at him, strengthening your resolve. You should have done this way sooner.

-

Sungchan plays. You don’t let him sit it out with you. 

Halfway through, you cheer the hardest you ever have, plastic decorative gemstones stuck by your eyes borrowed from the other girls cheering. It’s much more fun, you think. You’ve never experienced soccer like this. You’d love to sit at stadiums and join in victory chants. There’s enough weight off your chest to yell your lungs out.

Sungchan scores a goal almost immediately after and sends a thumbs up over to you. You laugh. This is the best break you’ve ever taken from cheerleading. 

“Ooh, is this perhaps the (name) effect?” Chenle’s voice rings through the speakers and you feel yourself shrink slightly under the eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your homeroom teacher signal very angrily to the commentator box. You shake yourself off it. So what if everyone’s looking?

Sungchan places his hands on his hips, chest heaving and sends another signal to you before beelining for a straight goal. You whoop and the girl with a notebook beside you is visibly annoyed at this point but you don’t care. 

Without doubt, your school wins and you watch as Sungchan runs to his team, a big smile on his face. The second he’s done getting pet by the team, however, he rushes to the bleachers, skipping over the steps to you, panting when he stops. The risk he took was definitely not calculated. He holds up one finger while he heaves.

“My cheering worked best this time, it seems,” you say to him, laughing.

His face is flushed from the exertion but he laughs heartily. “You could be yelling profanity at me and it’d still encourage me.”

You shake your head at the cheesy line. He takes a step forward, well inside your space but you don’t mind. He leans in.

“Everyone is looking at us,” he says under his breath. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

You look behind him to find the whole team, along with your girls sharing furtive glances and giggling at the sight of the two of you. A few of the junior girls slap each other’s arms, bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement. You’re not a celebrity. But everyone wants to cheer things on once in a while, don’t they?

“Good,” you answer, before pulling him by the shirt into a chaste kiss. When you pull apart, Sungchan’s face is so struck with awe that you want to look away but instead you bite back an obvious smile. It’s about damn time, someone from the soccer team yells.

“Woah. I think I scored a goal either way,” he says, an offbeat smile on his face.

“Oh come on, we didn’t even get to chant ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ yet—oh shit, the mic’s on.”

Chenle is definitely getting an earful from your teacher after this. The two of you wave at him at the box and end up laughing at him trying to hide behind the desk. 

As expected, the whole crowd surrounds the two of you in less than a minute’s worth of time, with several congratulations and “good score” offered to the two of you. The boys mess up Sungchan’s hair while the girls compliment you on how cute a couple you are. There’s also the question of when you started dating that pauses the buzz and makes everyone look to the two of you for an answer. Sungchan turns to you and you turn to him, and there’s no way you’ll tell half the school that your confession came in a private hallway outside the field—teenage imaginations run wild. 

Instead, you slip your hand into Sungchan’s and run down the bleachers and towards the exit, laughter spilling from your lips. There’s only one place you can think of going to spend a cool blue late afternoon with.

“Skate plaza?” He asks.

“Skate plaza,” you answer.

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

[comfortbucky]

Hey! If requests are still open I was wondering if I could request a fluffy fic where reader is having a bad day and Bucky notices and cheers them up? 💗💗

HELL YEAH!!!

REQUESTS!!! ARE!!! OPEN!!!

𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗲𝘁 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚

pairing: bodyguard!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack

tags: grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, fluffy bucky!!!

A/N: okay i have never written bodyguard!bucky before but i just thought it would be such a sweet concept to see him being soft🥺

sorry if the ending is kind of bad😭 i didn’t know how to quite wrap it all up, but i hope u enjoy!!!!!!!! <3 i had so much fun writing about bodyguard!bucky!!!!!

word count: 2.9k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

Y/N groaned as her phone alarm went off and hit snooze for the fifth time. She reached her hand out, head facing away and resting on her pillow, fumbling for her phone to turn off the incessant sound. Before she could shut it off, the noise stopped. Y/N turned her head slightly to see a large, dark figure in the corner of her eye. She turned her head fully to see her bodyguard with a frown on his face as he shut her alarm off.

“Your alarm, it’s annoying,” Bucky grumbled. “You should get up anyways, busy schedule today.” He walked out of the room before she could respond. Super soldier hearing was no joke if he was able to hear her alarm from his bedroom down the hall. Y/N sighed as her face planted into the pillow.

She was not looking forward to the events planned out for the day. During the day, there was a slew of interviews she had, back to back, and at night, a gala she was being forced to attend by her father.

Being the daughter of a wealthy tech tycoon had its perks for sure, but Y/N did not consider all of the press she did as a part of them. She never liked being in the spotlight but was forced to be, a birthright she had. Growing up with her dad, she’d developed a fascination for tinkering with computers, game consoles, and everything in-between. She spent a lot, practically all of her free time, with her dad when her mom had passed away. Her dad ended up throwing himself into his life’s work and she worked with him closely in the beginning, but slowly started to drift apart from him as she started to make a name for herself.

Earlier that week, her dad had sent her a text, informing her that a big announcement would be made at the gala. Big parties and large crowds weren’t really her thing, but it seemed like she didn’t have the option to avoid this one.

She got ready for the day, walking down to her kitchen to see her bodyguard, Bucky, sitting at the table, reading a book. As soon as he heard her come down the steps, he stood up and put his book away.

“C’mon, we’re already running late,” he mumbled, making his way to the door. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, grabbing a granola bar as she briskly followed behind him.

When her dad became a big name in the world of tech, the last thing Y/N thought she needed was a bodyguard, but her dad felt otherwise. It took one, very close call, of her almost getting mugged for her dad to immediately assign a personal bodyguard for her. She insisted that it was unnecessary, seeing that she was a fully grown adult, but her dad refused, as he was the one paying for Bucky’s salary.

Bucky had always been rather closed off since the beginning, and not much had changed since he was first assigned to her a little over a year ago. He kept their relationship very professional, only speaking when necessary and leaving the room whenever he wasn’t needed. She had tried to get him to open up more, learn about his past, but he always shut her questions down by either ignoring her or changing the topic to discussing something work-related. He was an enigma to her, which only left her wanting to solve the mystery that was James Bucky Barnes but couldn’t seem to crack the code.

Her first two interviews went smoothly, exactly what she was used to. A couple of questions about her current projects at work, some about her dad sprinkled in, and what she had planned for the future. It was a format she was used to and had come to appreciate, not exactly enjoying being the center of attention. During her last interview, however, she was caught off guard by one of the last questions she was asked.

“I know this might be an awkward question to ask, but I just have to! The people want to know: do you think your dad’s ever going to return to the dating pool?”

Y/N choked on her saliva. She knew her dad was an attractive man, seeing posts on social media of people fawning over him. Although she found it to be very weird and uncomfortable, she just brushed it all aside, not wanting to think about it as it only led to her thinking about the loss of her mom, a sore spot for her.

Y/N cleared her throat and forced out a chuckle. “I think that’s a question only he can answer, I don’t always know what’s going on in that crazy head of his.”

The interviewer laughed and proceeded to transition into the next segment. Y/N quickly thanked the interviewer and left, Bucky swiftly following behind. He had a feeling that something was off, as Y/N would typically stay behind to chat with the interviewer, crew members, even the service staff, whenever she finished an interview. It was always something he admired about her, how down to earth she remained, despite all of the privileges she had. She went out of her way to thank everyone on set, no matter how small their role might seem. He always told the drivers to pull the car up a little later than originally planned, just so she would have the extra time to talk.

Y/N pushed the doors open, only to find an empty street. She turned around and gave Bucky a curious look.

“Sorry, the driver just texted me,” he said, as he sent a text to the driver, telling him to come now. “He’s running late.”

Y/N nodded and leaned against the wall, looking down to fiddle with her hands. Bucky leaned against the opposite wall, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You okay?”

Y/N looked up at Bucky to find a gentle look in his eyes, slightly taken aback at the sight. She always found herself drawn to his piercing blue eyes, but they usually had a colder glint to them. This was a look she’d never seen before.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” she replied, averting her gaze down as she felt her cheeks flush at the sight of Bucky’s soft gaze.

The car arrived, cutting off Bucky’s train of thought as he was thinking of what to say to her. For a moment he debated on continuing the conversation in the car but figured she already had a long night ahead of her and didn’t want to push any further.

After a quick pit stop back to Y/N’s place, allowing her to change into an evening gown, the car headed to the venue of the gala. Bucky got out of the car before her, walking around to the other side to open her door. Before she stepped out, Y/N took a deep breath in and exhaled, plastering a fake smile on her face as a surge of flashing lights from cameras greeted her. Bucky watched, seeing her seamlessly transform from Y/N, the girl who needed to set a million alarms before actually waking up, to Y/N, tech extraordinaire, one of the most powerful people in the tech world.

Once they were inside the venue, Bucky stuck to his usual routine. Scope out the exits, look for any potential threats, and make sure Y/N was in his eyesight. Bucky kept close by but also kept his distance. He wanted to make sure that he gave her enough space whenever they were out, knowing that having him around was her dad’s idea and that she wasn’t too fond of having security detail in the first place. So he did everything he could to make himself blend in with the crowd, allowing her to roam freely, only following her when she moved out of his line of vision.

Y/N walked around, not knowing a single soul but making polite small talk with the rest of the guests. She became accustomed to knowing how to act at these types of events over the span of her adult life. Food, drinks, more food, home. Crowds made her uneasy, but she always felt calmer when she saw Bucky in her peripheral vision. Y/N would never admit it out loud, but over the last year, he had become a constant source of relief at these public events. Just knowing that he was there if she felt uncomfortable, unsafe, or wanted to leave early made her public outings much more bearable.

“Hey, sweetie! I’m so glad you made it.” Y/N turned around at the sound of her dad’s voice and smiled, moving in to hug him.

“Yeah well, you said you had a big announcement, so I figured I’d stop by,” she joked, eliciting a chuckle from her dad as they pulled away from each other.

“I’m about to make it now,” he started, placing his hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “And I was wondering if you could join me on stage for it? I know that’s not your thing, but it would mean so much to me, Y/N.”

While she absolutely hated the idea of having to stand in front of thousands of people, she reluctantly nodded. Y/N and her dad had slowly grown apart the past several years, only talking a couple times a month to catch up. With both of their busy schedules, they always seemed to miss each other. Despite their growing apart, she would do anything for her dad, especially if it meant so much to him.

Bucky slowly followed behind, as Y/N and her dad walked up to the stage. Y/N glanced behind her to give a slight smile to Bucky, to which he nodded back. He stood backstage, watching them from behind the curtains.

“Hi everyone, thanks so much for coming out tonight,” Y/N’s dad spoke into the mic. She was standing beside him, hands clasped in front of her, trying to look calm and not totally anxious.

“Since the success of my brand, people have said that I am a man who has everything. And I definitely have a lot to be thankful for, my company, my friends, and most importantly, my daughter.” Her dad extended a hand out to point to Y/N and the crowd cheered. Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. Despite his brooding attitude, he had come to grow fond of Y/N, being able to see her for who she truly was. She was smart, witty, and had a heart of gold.

“The only thing I’ve been missing,” her dad looks down at the ground for a second, before looking back out at the crowd. “Is someone to share it all with.” Y/N’s smile faltered and felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t fully register the words coming out of her dad’s mouth.

“After Sarah, my wife had passed, I didn’t think I would be able to love again. Until I met Alyssa.” Y/N was frozen in place upon hearing her dad’s confession. She’d never heard of anyone named Alyssa during any of their catch-up calls and now he was saying he loved her? Y/N quickly turned as a woman walked out on stage. The woman walked over to her dad and he wrapped one of his arms around her waist before speaking.

“Now I feel complete, now I have everything.” He pulled Y/N to him and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, smiling for the cameras ahead. There were a lot of strategies Y/N had devised over the years to deal with potential unexpected and uncomfortable situations in a composed manner to avoid having a PR nightmare.

She didn’t have one for this.

Tearing herself from her dad’s hold, she ran off stage, heading towards the exit that led to the outside. Y/N took in the fresh air, trying to stop her hyperventilating. It wasn’t working. Her chest felt tight as she began gasping for air, struggling to take in oxygen.

She was having a panic attack. It was nothing she hadn’t experienced before, but it had been so long since she’d had one. The last time she remembered, was at her mom’s funeral.

Her mom. Her dad. Alyssa.

Her thoughts were pushed aside as her vision blurred, her eyes swelling up with tears. Y/N felt like she had no control over her body and shut her eyes, allowing the panic to consume her.

Then, a firm, but gentle, warm feeling in her hands.

Y/N blinked her eyes open to reveal Bucky, standing in front of her. She looked down and saw that it was his hands in hers, holding them tight.

“Can you breathe for me, honey?”

His voice came out in a soft whisper, accompanied by the warmest and welcoming smile. She shook her head, unable to control her quick and rapid breaths. Bucky squeezed her hands a little tighter, rubbing his thumb in small circles on the back of her hand.

“Yes you can, just breathe with me, okay?”

He started to breathe in and out slowly and eventually, she was able to follow his lead, deciding to focus on his eyes. There was that look from before the ride to the gala, the gentle look in his eyes. She’d always felt that his blue eyes reminded her of stormy seas, but now, now they made her think of the calmness of the ocean in the early morning, waves crashing softly on the shores.

As she regained her composure, she realized she’d been staring into Bucky’s eyes for, probably, far too long. Bucky felt her tight grip on his hands loosen and reluctantly let go of her hands. He immediately missed the softness of her hands and how small they were in comparison to his much larger, calloused, hands.

“T- Thank you,” she stuttered out, her gaze locked on the ground, as she placed her hands to her sides.

“It’s no problem. I get them too,” he replied. She looked up at him as he clarified. “Panic attacks. PTSD from serving overseas.”

Y/N face drops, her stomach churning at the thought that Bucky had ever experienced panic like she had. She returned her gaze to the ground as a silence washed over them.

“He didn’t tell me about her,” she spoke in a quiet voice. “Never brought her up once. But I guess she must be pretty special for him to do all of this.”

Bucky stood a couple steps in front of her, seeing teardrops fall from her face. She lifted her head up to wipe away her tears, her hands shaking from anxiety. Y/N placed her hands on her face and started to sob.

She was slightly hurt by the idea of her dad loving any other woman than her mom but knew that he’d have to move on eventually. What hurt her the most was the fact that he didn’t tell her, not until they were on stage, standing before a crowd of people. It was too much for her to handle and she reached her breaking point.

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sight. He cautiously stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly. Something his PTSD had taught him was how pressure from a hug could help relax the nervous system and calm him down. He held her firmly in his arms until he felt her breathing slow. She looked up at him, remaining in his embrace, her eyes glassy from crying, nose red and sniffly. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat and immediately pushed the thought away.

“You wanna leave, honey?”

She nodded in response, staying in his arms for just a second longer before pulling away. Y/N longed for his warm touch, feeling like a child who had their security blanket taken away. It didn’t help that it was also cold outside, sending a chill down her spine.

Bucky noticed and shrugged his suit jacket off to wrap around her shoulders. She beamed a smile at him and he smiled back.

The pair walked around the outside of the venue to find the car when they ran into a mob of paparazzi, shouting questions at Y/N about her sudden exit. Like a reflex, she grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand and he gave her a comforting squeeze as he cleared a path towards the car.

Bucky and Y/N were sat next to each other in the car, which was not the typical seating arrangement they usually had, usually sitting on opposite ends of the car. But Y/N hadn’t let go of his hand, not quite ready to separate herself from his warmth. Bucky had absolutely no problem with that, mindlessly rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. She felt safe. She always felt safe with Bucky around.

Y/N felt her eyelids become heavy, struggling to keep them open. She was exhausted from her long day, and her panic attack had taken most of her energy away.

Bucky felt a weight on his shoulder and turned his head slightly to see Y/N’s head resting there. He felt a warmth rush to his cheeks and smiled, resting his head on top of hers.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed. “You always make me feel so safe.”

Bucky felt a surge of tenderness rush through him. That was all he ever wanted to do. He wanted to keep her safe. He kissed her forehead, causing her to snuggle closer to him.

“Of course, honey. I’m here, always.”

[charleswaterloo]

AGREED DO THE ULTIMATE FIC REC

Thank you so much for asking!! Okay, here we go!

DC fics that I got a few paragraphs into and already KNEW were going to be AMAZING:

1. The Jason Project by loosingletters

Warnings: Major Character Death

Jason had just wanted to see his autopsy report, he had only wanted to know what information Bruce had about his death. And when Bruce hadn't given it to him, he had stolen it. He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the bucket list of a dead child and the footage of a grieving father crossing one item after another off the list.

My thoughts: I don't often cry (which isn't healthy lmao) but this fic made me cry (happy tears!). It is absolutely wonderful and while angsty it has such a beautiful ending. I can't recommend it enough!

2. Little bird by Ididloveyou_once

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Tim knew he was fucked if only for the way that his brain was chanting Jason, like a litany. So he definitely didn’t need to hear the cold, mechanical chuckle or the chillingly delighted 'lucky me' to know that this was not good.

He took a second to look down at his coffee mournfully.

Then, he threw it at Hood’s helmet and bolted down the Tower corridor.

Or: Tim is supposed to be at Gotham Academy for a parent-teacher conference. Hood has other plans (Titans Tower AU).

My thoughts: One of the best Titans Tower AU fics I have ever had the pleasure of reading. The ending is to die for and so fluffy - it never fails to warm my heart <3

3. Straight to Voicemail by cabbagetop

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

“Red Hood. I need you to incapacitate Timothy Drake-Wayne.” “Aw, man,” Jason sighs, shouldering through the old wooden doors and out into the street with his books under his arm. “You and half the northern hemisphere. What’d he do this time?”

Jason's phone is blowing up about one Timothy Drake-Wayne (who is Jason's responsibility since when, exactly?). Jason comfort-eats. Jason suffers long. Jason reluctantly tries to keep this Raphus cucullatus of a human being alive, and maybe finds himself sidling back into the family while he's at it.

My thoughts: I was crying with laughter by the third sentence. If you want free serotonin, you will find it here folks, I guarantee it. Brilliantly written and hilarious and such a fantastic interpretation of Jason's character. Please read this lmao <3

4. miss me? by envysparkler

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Jason’s plan to observe his family’s reactions to his resurrection…does not go as intended.

My thoughts: I think I've recommended this one at least once before, but I will do so again because it is one of the best stories I have ever had the honour of reading on AO3. It has a happy ending, but was another fic which actually made me tear up. It is just beautiful and I'm sure some of you have read it before. Read it again even if you have - it's that good.

5. No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?”

Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

My thoughts: I know of only about 3 or 4 fics featuring Tim absolutely high out of his mind on some drug or another and this has got to be one of the absolute best of them. Whenever I feel the Depression(TM) crawling in and I need to laugh INSTANTLY I read this. It has not failed me yet. I can't recommend it enough it's so funny and a great read <3 The line below from the fic makes me scream laugh EVERY TIME:

“He’s not in his right mind.” “So? Neither are you half the time but you’re still in charge of everything.”

6. The Ouija Boy by SunnyBlue

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Timothy Drake was a stillborn baby. He was born dead, stayed that way for a solid five minutes, and was then resuscitated in the delivery room. He was a child who grew up alone, but for his imaginary friends. He had so many imaginary friends, in fact, that his parents sent him to get evaluated several times over the course of his childhood, which was spent with Tim as the only heartbeat in that house.

But that didn’t mean he was alone.

---

Tim sees dead people. When a Batboys murder investigation is going nowhere, he realizes his only chance at solving the case is to speak to the ghost of one of the victims. He has to reveal his secret to his brothers -- or risk the killer getting away.

My thoughts: STAND BACK FOR POSSIBLY ONE OF MY TOP TEN FAVOURITE FICS OF ALL TIME. I'm pretty sure I've recommended this one before but I will do so again. The story is impeccable, the mystery is ELITE and everything about it is literally perfect. I re-read this at least once a month so I can bask in its greatness and become a better person for having read it.

7. there but for the grace of god by TheResurrectionist

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

From a tumblr prompt.

AKA, "A Justice League fic where everyone argues about who's the most beautiful and intimidating sexy from the Big Three and everyone has valid points."

My thoughts: I'm going to let the note I added to the bookmark I made of this fic speak for itself. Here's what I wrote: "This was so funny - shoutout Jason for undeniable lad vibes plus the fact he felt he needed to neatly organise and write down the big three's sexiest traits."

8. American Ninja Worrier by DangerBeckett

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

It's just like Tim to give a poor college student a start in the business world. Kid's a bleeding heart, and usually, that's the sort of thing Jason avoids at all costs. He prefers his bleeding hearts on the literal side, and despite Bruce's best efforts, he's never had a head for business.

Unfortunately, though, this time the business is ninjas, and that's the sort of thing that makes Jason take notice. Because Bruce is useless, and someone's gotta make sure Tim's new internship program doesn't take down all of Gotham.

That's Jason's job, after all.

My thoughts: Please GOD just read the first few paragraphs. You'll know exactly what I mean when I say that this fic is it. Hilarious, badass and adorable. I mean, see the title of this fic rec. I just knew this fic was going to be amazing from the first line.

I have many, many more of course, but I'll leave this here for now as it's getting to be a pretty long post. Anyway, these are all fics - short and long! - that I knew were going to be absolutely perfect within the first few moments of reading. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

[hyungieyoongi]

See You

Pairing: Professor!Hobi x Professor!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers + fluff + angst + Hobi and Reader have some personality conflicts at work but should really just make out or something and stop acting like they dislike each other + this entire fic is inspired by Hobi’s look in that gum commercial I mean he screamed professor with that turtleneck and plaid blazer (thank you @moon-write​ for encouraging this vision)

Word Count: 3.2K+

---

“No, no, please tell me you’re joking,” you groaned, eyes scanning over the classroom assignment list posted on the faculty board in the hallway over again, hoping you were seeing things wrong. A third look at the paper confirmed that your fears had in fact come true – you and Hoseok were teaching next door to each other the entire fall semester.

Hoseok was the History of Dance Professor in your department. He was hired at the beginning of last year, three years into your career as one of the youngest faculty members in the Music & Arts program at your university. While he was bubbly and energetic, you were the more typical academic – down-to-earth, a little bit serious. He was beloved by his students for his positive personality and passion for teaching; you were well-regarded as being a natural talent who wanted to hone your students’ abilities.  

It wasn’t that your students didn’t like your course. No, it was well-reviewed and relatively popular considering it was an elective. But once Hoseok arrived, you felt like you were competing with the star of the program. Every student, even the ones who didn’t like dance, were lining up for his course, pushing your class and others into smaller classrooms with dwindling numbers. He, of course, got the large lecture hall this year.

He was the pain in your side, constantly flashing his bright smile to get his way in the department, dazzling your colleagues. Students would often be buzzing in the hallways about how they didn’t have to take an exam in Professor Jung’s class like they did in Professor Y/L/N’s. They got to go to a local show instead and analyze the dance performance. Hoseok was creative and intelligent – that much you could agree with – but you rolled your eyes every time you saw another one of his students attempt to flirt with him.

Hoseok and you figured out you got on each other’s nerves pretty quickly. He would always play music too loud in his office while you were grading papers – he timed how long it took you to show up at his door to tell him to turn it down every afternoon. You would make it a point to have your students play samples of their pieces they’d written on the piano while he was in the middle of a lecture, leaving your classroom doors open so the notes of the instrument would float down the hallway to the lecture hall. You’d have a satisfied grin on your face when you heard the telltale noise of the lecture hall doors slamming shut.

The entire department knew about this little game the two of you would play with each other, not to mention the sarcastic comments from you and teasing jokes from him that were on repeat any time you were in the same room. The bickering was bound to get worse with the two of you in such close quarters all semester.

“Y/N!” you heard a loud voice call down the hallway. You hadn’t heard that voice in two and a half months thanks to your summer vacation. You gritted your teeth, turning with a tight-lipped smile toward your least-favorite coworker.

“Hoseok,” you greeted with a nod. As usual, your semi-chilly behavior toward him didn’t faze him.

“Y/N, come on, I thought I told you to call me Hobi!” he said cheerfully, his eyes squinting from his smile. He was wearing a cream turtleneck tucked into his khakis, plaid blazer over his shoulders. He had dyed his hair from the black you were accustomed to, his strands now a platinum blonde. You realized, begrudgingly, that he looked more attractive than he did last year.

“Well would you look at that, we’re neighbors,” Hoseok said after scanning the list on the board.

“Try to keep the gaggle of screaming fans away from the hallway when I’m teaching, would you?” you said sarcastically. Hoseok’s hand flew to his heart, acting like you had personally attacked him.

“Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse my students of being so frivolous,” he said dramatically. “Just because we have more fun in my class, doesn’t make it any less serious than yours.”

“Oh, please, save the theatrics for the students who signed up thinking your class would be an easy ‘A’. I know for a fact that you gave out four D’s last semester.” Hoseok’s eyes twinkled at your challenging tone.

“And how many did you give out, Professor Y/L/N?” Hoseok asked in a sweet voice.

“None, thank you very much. Since my students actually learn something in my class, I don’t have to give out such low grades,” you quipped. Hoseok chuckled, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair.

“Maybe I should sit in on one of your classes this year. Learn a thing or two,” Hoseok said, stepping toward you. You flushed momentarily at his low tone, immediately stepping back. He smirked at your reaction.

“It’s invite only to audit my class, Jung,” you said before turning on your heel to walk toward your office down the hall, “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not!” you yelled over your shoulder.

You heard Hoseok laugh, and you cursed yourself for giving him the satisfaction of knowing that his teasing had gotten to you.

You had promised yourself at the end of the summer not to play into it this year – you were going to be professional, courteous. But the first time you see Hoseok, bam, it goes right out the window. 

You would just have to avoid Hoseok as much as possible.

You sighed once you closed your office door behind you. It was going to be a long semester.

---

Two months into the semester, the leaves had turned to burnt oranges and red, signaling the return of fall. Hoseok was sitting in one of the auditorium seats, his legs crossed over each other, looking down at his fingers with a soft smile playing at his lips. The delicate notes of the piano were playing from your classroom, the noise piercing the thin walls separating your classroom from his.

His class had been dismissed half an hour ago, and, based on the lack of students having straggling conversations in the hallway, yours had, too. He often waited after he was done teaching to see if you would play when you thought no one was listening. The notes you played sometimes indicated your mood; the music was soft and flowing, other times dark and intense.

Today it was, melancholic? He couldn’t quite place it, but it made him think about the change in seasons. He wondered if that was on your mind. The song was fluid, making him want to choreograph a piece to it, the dancer’s body matching the tempo of the music. He shut his eyes, picturing the movements behind his closed lids.

He’d never admit that he indulged in this as often as he did – he knew you wouldn’t be playing if you found out he was your only audience member. You had been avoiding him this semester. He had tried all of his old tricks – the loud music during office hours, teasing comments during staff meetings. But you wouldn’t blink.

He opened his eyes, the song transitioning into something light and happy. It made him think of sunshine.  

---

You stopped playing, your hands lifting off the keys like they burned you. You had been playing mindlessly, your fingers starting to pluck away at the keys in the melody that you had thought of when you would think of Hoseok.

The more you avoided Hoseok, the more you seemed to miss his overly positive personality. You would see him at staff meetings, always giving you a big smile. One day you came in late after a meeting with a student ran long, and you came into the room to see that he had saved you a seat next to him, the last one left empty in the room. 

He was still playing his music too loud, but you had stopped bugging him about it, and you noticed that it was gradually getting quieter.

You closed the cover over the keys, willing the thoughts about Hoseok to go away, packing up your papers and laptop. He was just your annoyingly happy colleague; there was no reason he should be taking up this much space in your mind.

---

“Are you honestly suggesting that the music composition class shouldn’t be considered a prerequisite for all music program students going forward?” you questioned angrily. You and Hoseok were at a standoff in the department meeting, his normally pleasant features tense, arms crossed in front of him.

“If that means that it prevents funding from getting diverted from the dance program to the instrumental students, then, yes, that is what I’m suggesting,” Hoseok countered.

“That’s ridiculous! Music composition is a fundamental building block for all students – including dance, Jung!” your voice had risen, and the department head looked between you both, deciding that the meeting had gotten too out of hand to continue.

“Professor Y/L/N, Professor Jung – why don’t the two of you take a walk around the building, get some fresh air. The rest of you, dismissed. We’ll resume this conversation, civilly, next week,” the department head declared.  

You were fuming, angrily shoving your notebook and pen in your bag before storming out of the building. You felt someone else’s presence, and you turned, groaning when you saw the last person you wanted to see standing behind you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“Give it a rest, Jung, I’m not in the mood,” you said grumpily.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the bookstore to grab a coffee and put this behind us,” Hoseok scoffed, smile wiped away. “But, I guess not.”

“Not everyone wants to just roll over and play nice when you flash them a smile, Hoseok.”

“Well, not everyone wants to act like they have a superiority complex, either.”

Your lips pursed, hands beginning to fidget with how angry and upset his comment made you. The two of you had been annoying last year, sure, but you had never been mean to each other. Until today.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said quietly, heated tone still evident despite the low volume.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hoseok said harshly. “It’s not like you’ve even tried to get to know me. You immediately disliked me from day one. You never even gave me a chance!”

“That’s rich coming from you. All that shit with the music and the comments – it’s like you wanted me to dislike you,” you replied.

“I wanted you to talk to me, Y/N,” Hoseok said, exasperated. “Forget it, I can see now that it was useless to try.”

“I was trying to play nice this semester,” you said, glaring at Hoseok. “You came in like a damn bulldozer last year, disrupting everything in the department. And everyone just did what you wanted because you’re ‘mister nice guy’, and you make people laugh and people just think you’re perfect. Well, I don’t buy it.”

You took a deep breath, leveling your gaze at him.

“Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” your voice was stone-cold. Hoseok’s eyes flashed, lips in a thin line before he responded bitterly.

“Perfect.”

---

Things had been quiet between you and Hoseok since your fight outside of the building a few weeks ago. You politely nodded at each other in the hallway when you passed by, avoiding eye contact. You would grimace when you heard his laugh during lectures next door to yours, wanting to block the sound out.

You couldn’t get what he said to you out of your thoughts – you really didn’t know Hoseok very well. All you knew is what he presented to the rest of the world. He was bubbly and positive and optimistic; he probably thought you were just some brooding, academic stiff.

Hoseok noticed the songs you were playing lately were rather intense. Sometimes he would hear you smash against the keys like you were angry with the piano for not producing the sounds you wanted to hear.

He knew the feeling. He was spending more time in the dance studio lately, dancing aggressively to loud hip hop music, trying to drown out the frustration he was feeling at not being able to make you crack and talk to him.

That’s where he found himself tonight, trying to get rid of his stress. You were stubborn, but you were also beautiful, intelligent, passionate, tenacious. He turned his music up louder, drowning out the thoughts of you.

---

You had re-read the same sentence four times, red pen poised in your hand ready to edit the student’s paper. The loud beats were still audible from the practice rooms. It was late, and the building had been closed to students for the past two hours.

You decided to go down there. You weren’t going to get them in trouble for staying past close, but with finals coming up, you were sure the students needed a gentle reminder that sleeping was just as important as practicing.

You walked down the dark hallway, going down the steps to the practice rooms on the floor beneath the faculty offices, finding the one with the light on, music blaring through the glass panes separating the space from the hall.

You glanced into the room, seeing Hoseok dancing. You had never seen him in his element before, and it was captivating. He was wearing a black pair of sweats, an oversized yellow t-shirt adorning his slender frame. The music seemed to be moving through his body. He was grounded in the floor, an intense expression on his face as he hit heavy movements on the beat, fluidly moving through other parts depending on the music. You felt like this was personal, like you weren’t allowed to be watching, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Hoseok looked into the mirror, his eyes looking toward the shadow in the hallway. His eyes met yours, his gaze burning into yours through the glass. You gulped.

He turned, grabbing a bottle of water and pausing the music. You figured that was your cue, opening the door to the studio and stepping inside.

“Was it too loud?” Hoseok asked, voice light despite the obvious tension in the room.

“No, it’s okay uh – I was grading papers, and I thought a student was still down here,” you explained softly. “I thought I’d tell them to go home, get some rest.”

Hoseok had a curious expression on his face. If he was surprised to hear why you were down here, he didn’t mention it. You felt the need to fill the silence, so you spouted the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re really talented, Hobi,” you said quickly. His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the nickname you never called him. “Hoseok – sorry, I meant Hoseok.”

“Watch out, people might think we’re friends,” Hoseok joked, but it came out strained.

“Hoseok – Hobi. I’m sorry about what I said a few weeks ago. I was heated, and I apologize,” you said, looking down at a scuff in the hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry, too. What I said was uncalled for, and I didn’t mean to upset you. Last year, this semester. Anything I’ve done that has made you mad or annoyed. I’m sorry,” Hobi said sincerely. “I-um, well…”

You looked up, waiting for him to continue.

“I just wanted your attention.”

“What?”

“I wanted your attention. I wanted you to want to talk to me. I wanted you to get to know me. Not the version of me that I show my students. I wanted you to see me. Really see me.”

You gulped, Hobi’s vulnerability making you nervous. He took a step toward you, and you willed yourself to stay in place.

“I know you do the same thing; you hide. Hide behind this persona you’ve created. I think it goes away when you play piano.”

“How do you–what do you mean?” you asked incredulously.

“I hear you play. After class. I never told you because I selfishly wanted to keep listening. Your music it – it tells a story. About your day, your feelings. If you didn’t tell me yourself, at least your music did.”

Your cheeks burned knowing that he was audience to all of the time spent in your classroom, working out your feelings on the piano like it was your therapy.

“Everything goes away when I play,” you stopped, thinking about how distracted you had been lately trying to compose. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s how I feel when I dance,” Hobi admitted with a gentle smile. You nodded, realizing that the two of you had this in common, at least.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you said, backing away from Hobi toward the door.

“Wait –,” Hobi said, slightly flustered. “Dance with me.”

Your eyes widened. Hobi laughed, and you hated to admit that you had missed the sound.

“Come on, just trust me, Y/L/N.” You waited while he picked out a song, holding out his hand. You placed your fingers in his, and he pulled you close to him, leading you around the studio floor to the song. He made you feel light on your feet despite your lack of dance experience, his hand tightly gripping yours, his other floating over your waist. Your skin tingled from the contact.

He spun you around twice, your hands landing on his chest as you tried to regain your balance. You looked up at him, genuinely enjoying yourself. His bright smile you used to roll your eyes at lit up his features, causing your smile to match his.

“Can you see me now, Y/N?” Hobi asked, referencing his earlier confession. “Because I see you when you play. When you tell a student crying in your office that everything is going to be okay. And I see you now when you’re dancing with me like this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember when you said I didn’t know anything about you?” You nodded, recognizing his reference to your fight outside of the department building. “I don’t think that’s true. But I know there’s so much more to know. And I want to know everything.”

Hobi’s hand came up to your cheek, softly placing it on the side of your face.

“I want to know you, too, Hobi,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, his breath fanning over your lips, “Want to start now?”

You gripped his t-shirt in your hand, pulling him the last few inches to your lips instead of answering. You felt him smile against your lips, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him.

He pulled back, his forehead resting on yours as you caught your breath.

“Does this mean I can start playing my music loudly during office hours again?” Hobi teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, brushing against your skin.

You made a face at him, causing him to laugh. He kissed you on the forehead, then on the lips again to make you smile before answering.

“Not a chance.”  

---

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