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mercvry-glow · 3 months ago

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all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them.

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand.

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work.

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss, “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high.

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight.

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now.

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?”

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.”

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.”

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass.

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right.

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn.

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already.

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again.

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone.

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants.

He’s aching, he’s so hard.

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt.

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you.

He was going to fuck you like you needed it.

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time.

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state.

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.”

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard.

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to.

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second.

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air.

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello.

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him.

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist.

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss.

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different.

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release.

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs.

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public.

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…” you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes.

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,”

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you.

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!”

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.”

mercvry-glow 2025

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbott x reader #dr. jack abbott x you #shawn hatosy #❥ - Jack Abbot

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cinnasite · 2 months ago

Text

what NOT to do with your brother's best friend

by: someone who absolutely did all of these things

꩜ pairing: modern!au abby anderson x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 700 (ish)

꩜ synopsis: a cheeky, steamy confessional from a girl who’s broken every rule in the book.

(i) Don’t flirt with Abby Anderson.

Even if she could probably bench-press your car. Even if she’s got that annoyingly sexy jawline and calls you "pretty" in a voice that makes your brain short-circuit. Especially not if she’s stretching in front of you after sparring with your brother and lifts her stupidly tight Henley to wipe sweat off her face.

That was the first time you imagined her between your legs. Certainly not the last.

(ii) Don’t let her stay the night.

Her apartment’s getting fumigated. You don’t question why she asked you instead of your brother. She offers to sleep on the couch. You’re not an idiot—her legs don’t even fit on that sad excuse for a sofa.

So yeah, she ends up in your bed.

No.

No, it’s not like that. Except... you’re still panting from when she rolled on top of you at 2 a.m. and asked if you were dreaming about her. And then her thigh had slotted between yours.

You don’t remember how it started, just how it felt when her hand slipped under your shirt as her teeth found your neck.

She made you come with two fingers and her lips over yours. You clawed the sheets and came again five minutes later when she pushed your knees back and murmured, “Wanna see how loud you really get.”

(iii) Don’t let her teach you how to fight.

“You’ll feel safer walking alone at night,” she says. What she really means is: “I want an excuse to pin you to the mat.”

You’re on lesson #3 when her legs bracket your sides. She leans close, smirking, “Giving up already, pretty?”

You buck your hips and somehow manage to flip her, but make the mistake of getting too cocky. She flips you right back.

When your brother unexpectedly walks in, you’re red-faced, trying not to look like you’re seconds away from jumping his best friend.

Later, after he’s gone, she keeps you under her, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You like being tossed around, huh?”

Lord give you strength.

(iv) Don’t drink with her alone.

You pour one glass of wine. Then another. You're laughing too much, sitting too close, your fingers brushing hers. She traces your collarbone with her thumb, "You always get this flirty when you're drunk?"

You answer by climbing into her lap. She drinks you in like it’s the only thing that’ll actually get her intoxicated. Your fingers tangle in her hair. Her hand slips under your skirt, and she hisses when she finds you soaked through. She eats you out on your balcony. Your climax hits you with your back arching to the stars and her mouth still on you.

She doesn’t let you go down on her until you beg.

You do. Twice.

(v) Don’t go with her to that weekend cabin trip.

You think: Separate rooms, separate boundaries. She thinks: One bed. No clothes.

By the time Sunday rolls around, you’ve had sex on the porch, in the shower, and bent over a countertop while she whispered, “When I'm done with you, you’re not gonna be able to sit right for a week, baby.”

You thank her by dragging your tongue down her abs until she forgets her own name.

(vi) Don’t fall for her.

This. This is the most important.

Because it's not part of the plan. You were supposed to just have fun and sneak around.

But, it’s her bringing you your favourite snacks without asking. Her hand drawing circles on your lower back when you’re anxious. Her grin when you make her laugh so hard, she snorts.

She tells you that you look good in her hoodie and you almost black out.

It’s the way she kisses you like she’s trying to remember every inch of your skin. The way she touches you like she’s memorising every bit.

It’s you realising she’s the safest place you’ve ever been in a long time.

It happens slowly. Then, all at once.

You fall. Good thing she catches you.

(vii) Definitely don’t tell your brother.

You do.

He only blinks, much too smugly informing you that "the way you two look at each other" made it plenty obvious from the get-go.

“Just don’t make me walk in on you guys dry-humping or something gross,” he groans, then goes back to his video game.

Abby kisses you breathless later in your apartment that evening and says, “Told you he’d be cool with it.” You punch her arm with a glare, embarrassed. She kisses you harder and happily lets you drag her to your room.

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iydiamartinx · 3 months ago

Text

— DC ONE-SHOTS ✯

— 𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚.

Your quick-access guide to all my DC Universe one-shots.

From Gotham’s shadows to the halls of the Watchtower, these stories explore love, angst, redemption, and everything in between.

Genre: ❥ Fluff / ✿ Humour / ☾ Hurt-Comfort / ☠ Angst / ⛧ AU / ⛓ Smut

✦ 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌’𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓

✧ Jason Todd / Red Hood

❥ Fluff

↳ Riddle Me This, Hoods Got a Girl

↳ Moral Middle Ground

↳ Always Within Reach

↳ The Way I See You

✿ Humor

↳ The Todd-ler Problem

↳ Pan-demonium | II

☠ Angst

↳ God Save the Prom Queen | II

↳ The Last Laugh

⛓ Smut

↳ Guilty Pleasures

☾ Hurt & Comfort

↳ Just A Bad Day

⛧ Alternate Universes (AU)

↳ Jason (slasher au)

↳ His Soul To Give

↳ When Love Met War

✧ Dick Grayson / Nightwing

❥ Fluff

↳ Falling For You

✿ Humor

↳ Stake Out at Table Nine

↳ Dinner Was Not Served

☠ Angst

↳ Break Point

⛓ Smut

↳ Borrowed Time

⛧ Alternate Universes (AU)

↳ Scream For Me (slasher au)

✧ Bruce Wayne / Batman

❥ Fluff

↳ Professional Boundaries

↳ After The Night

☠ Angst

↳ All it Takes is One Bad Day

⛧ Alternate Universes (AU)

↳ To Love A God

✧ Tim Drake / Red Robin

✧ Damian Wayne / Robin

❥ Fluff

↳ Drawn to You

↳ A Study in Rivals

✿ Humor

↳ Red Handed

☾ Hurt & Comfort

↳ Three Seconds

✦ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄 & 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

✧ Kyle Rayner / Green Lantern

❥ Fluff

↳ Not Without Approval

↳ Wine & Paint Night

✧ Roy Harper / Arsenal

☾ Hurt & Comfort

↳ Drowning In The Dark

✦ 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈-𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑

Bat Family Dynamics

✧ Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

❥ Fluff

↳ Brief Encounters

✧ Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne

❥ Fluff

↳ Territory, Marked | II | III

✧ Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne

✿ Humor

↳ Chronologically Incorrect

Partners In Crime

✧ Jason Todd & Roy Harper

⛓ Smut

↳ Say You're Sorry

↳ This is Why There's Only One Bed

✦ 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

✧ THIS MEANS WAR

Dick x Reader x Jason

Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated.

↳ Part I: Caffeine, Regret, and Joker’s Greatest Hit

↳ Part II: A Pole, A Profile, and a PHD

↳ Part III: Mass Market Disaster

↳ Part IV: Criminally Persuasive

↳ Part V: Second Impressions

↳ Part VI: Revelations

↳ Part VII: This Meant War

↳ Part VIII: Sabotage Protocol

↳ Part IX: Artfully Screwed

✧ THE ART OF RESTRAINT

Bruce x Reader

They’ve always known how to win. But when a charity photoshoot puts Gotham’s most ruthless CEOs in each other’s arms, in nothing but their underwear—they’re forced to face the one game neither is willing to lose.

↳ The Art of Restraint

↳ The Art of Restraint II

↳ The Art of Restraint III

✧ SOMETHING BENEATH THE DARK

Dick x Reader

After a brutal fight leaves Nightwing broken and sinking beneath Gotham’s black waters, something finds him as he drowns.

↳ Something Beneath the Dark

↳ Something Beneath the Dark II

✧ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬

Comfort after long days; Batfam men finding peace in their lover’s arms

↳ Jason

↳ Dick

↳ Bruce

↳ Tim

↳ Damian

✧ UNEXPECTED GUESTS

Jason x Reader ft. batfam

Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls.

↳ Part I: Unexpected Guests

↳ Part II: You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me

↳ Part III: This Is Not The Batcave

↳ Part IV: Dinner at the Manor

Divider Credits: strangergraphics & cafekitsune & omi-resources & thecutestgrotto

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months ago

Text

unashamed

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, tit play, protected (woo!) sex, mentions of semi public sex

you flop down on the sunbed next to rafe, propping your head on your hand as you stare at him.

you start at his chest before dropping lower to the swimsuit that's tantalizingly low on his hips. it's a chore to drag your eyes away, up to his face.

you admire his cheekbones first, slightly shining in the bright sun before you move to his lips, pink and pouty, the bottom one just waiting to be kissed.

you follow the slope of his nose up to where sunglasses cover his eyes, reflecting the gentle lapping of the water.

“you know im not asleep under these shades right?” rafe says.

“oh, ive grown long past being ashamed of admiring you.” you giggle, sitting up in your lounge chair, pressing your breasts together with your arms, knowing it'll entice rafe away from his relaxation.

“don't you think you need to get out of the sun for a bit? you're looking hot.”

“you drive me crazy.” rafe removes his sunglasses and tossed them to the sand, a smirk stretching across his face.

“come on.” he stands up swiftly, like he can't wait a moment longer, extending his hand down to yours, which you eagerly take.

rafe practically pulls you inside and up to his bedroom, your bodies immediately melding into one the moment the door locks shut.

“i want you so bad.” you whimper against rafes lip, not giving him time to respond as you kiss and suck at his bottom lip, running your tongue across it, desperate to taste more of him.

“yeah, baby.” rafe chuckles, pushing your hips back, forcing you away from him. “you make it real obvious.”

you just smile as you lie back on the bed. none of rafes quips affect you anymore, and the combination of the perfect weather outside and rafe climbing onto the bed on top of you makes a smile stretch to your cheeks. nothing could ruin this moment.

rafe kisses your lips, but pulls away before you can deepen it, mouth coming to your neck, gliding down your chest to the swell of your breast.

you know rafe likes to do it himself, but you have no patience, arching your back and pulling the ties of your swimsuit apart so the cups fall away from your chest.

rafe tsks, his displeasure only evident for a second as he mouth latches around your nipple.

you let out a moan, hands coming to his hair, needing the physical connection to him as he tongues and plays with your chest before switching to the other nipple, long strokes of his tongue coaxing it to peak hardness.

rafe moves back up to your lips, letting you kiss him and hold his face as he rearranges your body so his hips can slot in-between yours.

you instantly begin to grind against him, feeling the hard length concealed beneath his swimsuit bottoms.

“just insatiable.” rafe laughs, moving away from you only for a moment to grab a condom from where a whole pack is thrown on the nightstand, ready to use.

you loosen your legs around rafes hips, allowing him to tug down his swimsuits, cock rising to stand tall and ready. he slips the condom out of the foil and wraps it down his length while you undo the ties on your bikini bottoms to get them off too.

“after this…” rafe trails off, losing his train of thought as you wrap your legs around his hips and tug him closer again, no clothing interrupting your grinding this time.

“after this what?” you giggle when rafe gives you a look, one that's slightly sheepish and won't admit that he completely forgot where he was going with the sentence.

“hm?” you goad him on as the head of his cock rubs between your thighs, teasing at your clit before running over it as well.

“boat.” rafe finally says. “we should go out on the boat.”

“you just wanna see me in a bikini for longer.” you laugh, the noise making rafes eyes shine in admiration. he never thought he'd like a sound so much until he heard your laugh.

“yes.” rafe nods, and as he sees you open your mouth for another quip back, he sinks his cock into you. “ive grown past being ashamed of admiring you.”

you let out a moan, head falling back against the pillows as he echoes your words from earlier back to you.

rafe wastes no time in building up a fast rhythm. despite the little foreplay, you're both desperate for each other. your bodies calling out constantly for the others touch.

you let rafe continue thrusting into you until you can't help it any longer, wanting to show him pleasure back, so you put all your weight and strength into flipping over so you're on top, his cock not leaving you the entire time.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe grunts out, his hands coming to cup your tits as you begin to bounce on his cock, hips swirling and pumping as fast as your legs will allow.

“im- shit.” rafe tries to grab at your hips, to hold you tight and get you to slow down, but you overpower him, wanting to make him cum now.

“come on, baby.” you moan out. “give it to me, i want it.”

rafe gives up on trying to last, pumping his hips up into you as he lets out a moan, your name tumbling out of his lips as he cums.

you bend forward, hips gyrating slowly as he works through his orgasm. your chests press together as you watch rafes face, his mouth ajar and wet from kisses, his blue eyes glazed over in pleasure.

you can tell in his expression when he snaps back to reality.

“fuck.” he chuckles as you climb off, running his hands through his hair as he blinks rapidly, before looking for you.

“wait-” rafe grabs your wrist, trying to stop you from getting your swimsuit back on.

“hm?” you ask, shaking his loose grip off to continue tying the strings back together.

“what about you?”

you just smile and toss rafes swim trunks at him. “you can finish me off on the boat.”

you've never seen rafe move faster.

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jaysbaefie · 5 months ago

Text

nerd | pjs

synopsis: in which you push the schools nerd past his limits, resulting in you being bent over his desk with your hands behind your back and your butt gleaming red.

genre: highschool au

pairing: nerd!jay x bully afab!reader

warnings: where to begin… mean dom!jay, bratty!reader, sub!reader, egotistical!reader, dubcon(ish), teasing, name calling, reader punches jay, tormenting, spanking, oral (m and f rec.), choking, gagging, slapping, orgasm denial, forced submission, restraining, pussy spanking, fingering, usage of ‘sir’, titty sucking, rough p in v, hair pulling, marking, slapping, blackmail, threats…i think that’s it :D

wc: 12.1k

a/n: new big fic out. i can’t lie ive been procrastinating so hard but this is a small make up fic because i wont be very active for the next few weeks because of finals :( uni is kicking ass rn so hopefully this will keep yall satisfied for the next few weeks! thank you for over 350 followers that’s so insane. i am also looking for an editor/proof reader for fics because i hate to proof read. if ur interested pm me! anyways, enjoy <333

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

you walk down the semi-busy hallway, clutching your books to your chest in a tight and unforgiving grip. your day had already started off rough, with your little brother slamming his fist into your cereal causing the milk to splatter all over you.

you had to remember that he was 5 years old and your brother in order to not lose your shit on him. simply brushing off the incident and changing into your spare old school shirt which fit you a little to tight.

"fucking math class is going to be the death of me," you mutter to yourself with a scowl as you take a right and walk past the seemingly never ending line of lockers.

stomping through the door you're met with several familiar faces, one particular face causing an almost evil grin to take over your face.

jay park.

the school's biggest nerd, but your favourite play thing.

oh how fun it is to bother him and get him all flustered and shy, and suddenly your mood has shifted. "at least i have some entertainment," you think to yourself as you makes your way towards the boy.

passing by him you make sure that he sees you, his expression dropping as you watch his adam's apple bob.

cute.

you brush up against his arm as you walk by, deciding to sit right behind him. you lean back, placing your books onto the table with a soft thud.

"uhm, hi?" the girl who you hadn't noticed sat beside you uttered. you mentally roll your eyes before giving her the fakest smile you could muster up.

"hi, uh.." you take a second to look the girl up and down, trying to figure out her name. your eyes eventually land on a worksheet of hers which laid on the desk, "vicky..?" you question with a squint of your eyes as you attempt to read the name that was messily printed on her paper.

she nods before smiling brightly, bringing her hand up to shake yours, only for her to be turned down.

"not interested," you quip your eyes squinting as your fake smile extends, "so, stay in your lane vicky."

yes, that was a bit harsh. but you had a reputation to live up to and you weren't going to let this irrelevant girl be comfortable with you.

the girl lets out a small gasp, her mouth falling agape unattractively before letting out a small 'hmph', turning her head away. it almost insulted you that vicky thought that you'd even consider being friends with her.

"dramatic bitch," you mutter, rolling your eyes as you rest your cheek on the palm of your hand.

you pull out your phone, noticing that you had a few minutes before class started. a small smirk graces your face, you had time for some fun.

you peer up from your phone, staring down the back of jays head. his hair was dark and neatly brushed back, all you wanted to do was run your hands through it to ruin it as he scrambled to fix it.

slowly lifting your leg you rest it on the back of his chair, making sure to give the chair a little push to make your presence known as if jay wasn't already hyper aware of you.

jay feels pressure on the back of his chair, letting out a small sigh before pushing up his falling glasses with his index finger—taking a deep breath through his nose as he tries to keep calm.

he already knew who it was and didn't bother looking up, continuing to scribble down on his work for another class.

your smirk stays intact, your foot tracing along the top of the cheap plastic chairs, knowing that jay could essentially feel your shoe on his back. you soon slip through the small gap in the seat, the tip of your sneakers gliding against his crisp white school shirt.

jay felt a shiver run through him, he held in his breath before shaking his head in annoyance—grumbling softly to himself.

he knew that you wouldn't stop until you got a good rise out of him, he was prepared for the worst.

"jongie," you whisper, leaning foreword against your forearms which were planted on the desk to keep you balanced and upright.

jay swallows harshly at his name coming out of your mouth in a low whisper, his hands clenching his pencil tightly as he continues to swiftly work through his sheets.

you knew that he was going to ignore you, which is why you decide to sit down again and lean back so your legs could reach further.

you kick the leg of his chair, which didn't end up moving much due to his weight holding the chair down firmly.

just before you could kick the back of the chair where his shirt was exposed, the teacher walks in. you pull your leg back under her desk and sit up straight, a low snicker being heard beside you. you turn your head swiftly, glaring down the girl that had tried to befriend you earlier.

"alright, class begins in," the teacher glances down at her watch before looking up again, "2 minutes, in that time please get out your work that should've been completed last night and have it on your desk ready to be handed in."

"crap," you murmur under your breath, realizing that you had only completed half of the homework last night before you decided to let sleep take over you. gnawing on your bottom lip you turn to your seat mate who was equally as flustered as you, you roll your eyes knowing that she too hadn't finished. useless.

you had only one option, slowly you reached your hand out to tap jays shoulder to ask for his homework. your chair screeching in the process but you paid no mind to that, however, the teacher did.

just as jay turned around to look back at you, he was stopped by the teacher.

"__, what are you doing? now is not the time to socialize, sit back down," she scolds, catching the attention of many other students who were now looking at right at you.

you flushed slightly at the sudden attention, remaining cool and intact on the outside but booking with rage on the inside. you clench your skirt in your fist as you retract your hand and sit back down.

how dare she talk to me like that.

if someone else had talked to you like that you would've put them in their place, but you knew better than to talk back to your teacher.

before you could cuss the teacher out mentally your gaze shifts towards jay who looked at you with pure amusement.

a small smile had crawled onto his face, his dimples making an appearance as he jaw line flexed, he was laughing at you.

you felt your blood boil as you watched him bite at his lip to stop himself from laughing. your eye twitched as you held in the urge to stomp your foot into his back. your pulled out of your thoughts when you see the teacher beginning to make her rounds to collect the homework.

"ah shit, my assignment," you say to yourself as you pull out your half-finished work.

you place the piece of paper onto your desk, glaring holes into the back of jays head as you wait for the teacher to reach you.

just watch what happens to you after class, nerd.

your hands gripped at your worksheet, almost ripping it in the process as you think of all the ways you'd make jay regret laughing at you.

the professor was right in front of you, standing at jays desk, "good job, jay. wouldn't expect any less from my star student," she praises softly before grabbing his work and the sheet from the student who sat next to him.

a disappointed look takes over her face when she walks over to your desk, wiping the previous happy smile off of her wrinkled face.

does she want to fuck him or something?

"incomplete."

"sorry ms-" you started but were soon cut off by the disappointed teacher, "i don't want to hear it __, detention."

you let out a small groan before leaning back in your desk, watching the teacher wear the same expression towards vicky before giving her the same fate as yours.

you continue to watch the teacher walk along the rows, anger bubbling in you.

with a sigh you snap your eyes back to the front, letting out a small gasp when you lock eyes with a pair of deep brown ones.

jay.

he looks at you with an almost smug expression, only fuelling your anger further. first, your little brother ruining your shirt, then jay laughing at you and now he had the the audacity to look smug about it? fuck no.

'your dead,' you mouth at him.

his eyes widen before he's turning around, leaving you fuming in anger as you begin to come up with ways to get back at him.

'oh god, save me,' jay thinks to himself, looking up as if god himself was staring down at him. if god was, he would be giving jay a look of pity.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

class had ended a few minutes ago and you were now making your way to your second class, english.

just as the bell had rung jay had made a run for it, he knew that he was in trouble and he was afraid for what was going to bite him in the ass.

you sat in your next class, plotting of ways you could get back at the boy. you smirk when images of jay looking up at you with apologetic eyes pop up in your head—punishing him will be fun.

if only you knew that you wouldn't be the one who would be doing the punishing.

you knew that jay was in your class and you knew that he was going to come in later than he usually would—even if it effected his perfect attendance record.

he was going to try and avoid you, try to run away from you—but you won't let that happen.

you mentally 'tsk' in your head, 'jay you can't escape me,' you think to yourself as you patiently wait for the boy to walk into class.

meanwhile, jay pants aggressively—trying to calm down his breathing from all the running he did. he had ran down the stairs and taken the long way to his next class, which he shared with you, trying to avoid running into you in the hallways.

he knew that you wouldn't bother him much in class, however, if you caught him the hallways who knew what you'd do to him.

he doesn't know what you're scheming but he wasn't excited. this was the first time that he had ignored you, typically he would just give you the work that you asked for—but this time he had chosen death. not only did jay not give you answers, he laughed at you.

this was the first time that he had gotten you angry, and he knew that you would take your anger solely out on him. he had seen you angry before, but never because of him.

he had seen you take out your anger on the people who caused the negative emotion, and it was brutal. to think that a girl your size was able to shit kick someone was scary and he hoped that he'd never be in the receiving end of that.

making his way into class he wipes the thin layer of sweat that had made its way into his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to slow down his breathing.

setting his backpack down onto the floor, he sits down and begins to unpack.

he could feel you burn holes into the back of his head, shivering slightly at the thought of turning around only to be met with your fist in his face and a black eye.

the teacher soon walks in causing jay to let out a small breath of relief, he knew that you wouldn't hurt him if the teacher was around.

'you're only safe for the next hour and a half, after that you're done for jay,' the poor boy thinks to himself nervously—sweating bullets.

"important announcement before we begin, starting tomorrow a new teacher will be coming in to teach for the next few weeks as you will be beginning your health unit. this unit will be a review about female and male anatomy and so forth, i beg of you all to be mature about this and not give the new teacher a hard time. please be on your best behaviour tomorrow", the teacher says quickly, the students not being able to understand half of what the she had yapped away.

you paid little to no attention to what the teacher was blabbering about, instead you glared down the boy who was sitting on the other side of the class. he held his book up close to his face, as if he was attempting to shield himself away from your scorching eyes.

snickering, you clenches your fists, a small smirk on your face as you lean foreword against the desk.

you can run, but you can't hide.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

"ow! ah! ouch!" the boy groans out, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

luckily, his arms had covered his face enough so he wouldn't break his jaw or mark up his pretty skin.

jay held in the urge to scream out in anger when he feels your foot on his back, pushing him down when he manages to get into a plank position in an attempt to get up.

the heel of your polished black shoes pushes into his crisp white shirt, leaving a smudge of dirt against the material.

you look down at the boy, feeling a sense of dominance seeing him at his lowest while you had all the control—just how you liked it.

were you a sadist? maybe.

"oh no! jay! i didn't see where i was going. silly me!" you coo innocently, a sly and evil tone present in your tone.

"didn't know i was so clumsy," you add on with a small snicker, your shoes still planted on his back.

jay grits his teeth, he knew that this was coming, but he didn't know that the humiliation would sting this bad.

he bit at his lip when he felt your whole foot slam him down onto the ground, as if he was a mere bug that you were trying to squash and kill.

"__, let me move," he grits out, harshly swallowing his embarrassment when he sees a few students walk by him.

the passers gave jay looks of sympathy, they all knew what it was like to get bullied by you, but they couldn't do much to help out—they didn't want to face your wrath any further.

if they intervened to help him out, they would become the next targets for your punching bags.

"hmm..how about, no," you snap back, there was no way you were going to let jay go after he had disrespected you. you didn't know where his sudden bravery had come from, but you were determined to shove it back where it had risen out from.

it was petty of you to do really, the poor boy hadn't even done anything besides laugh at you. however, you didn't take things like this lightly—and jay knew that.

he remembers how in junior year a girl had flaunted her grades in front of you when you told her what you had gotten on your science exam. the next day, her locker was stuffed with the frogs they had dissected in the class previously. to this day you passed her dirty looks in the hallway.

to simply put it, you held grudges—like really held grudges.

jay knew that if he didn't do something now, you would keep your foot pressed against his back the entire day while he laid on the dirty hallway floors for everyone to watch. he had to gather his courage before his thoughts would become reality.

pulling himself up he gets into a semi plank position, using all his strength to push up and off of the ground making you gasp in surprise.

standing tall his large figure intimidates your smaller one, the height difference making jay seem like the bully and you, the poor innocent victim.

stepping back slightly, you clenches your fists by your side, watching jay dust off his clothes.

"y-you-" you shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy. "argh," you stomp down with frustration before scowling.

jay takes a moment unintentionally to look over your smaller frame, your dark messy hair to your neat and polished shoes that were on his back a few moments ago.

he would've thought you were cute if it wasn't for your nasty attitude. who was he kidding, you were pretty, but your actions made him forget from time to time.

balling up your small fists you do something that he would have least expected at that moment.

jay lets out a grunt when he feels your fist jam into the side of his face, falling right back where he had gotten up from originally.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

the day was filled with torture. jay, to say the least, looked rough.

he was tripped, punched, shoved, and then he was smacked—but that was only the tip of the iceberg.

jay looked as if he was run over by a bus, his hair was messy and his usually crisp and neat attire and look was gone. the side of his face was bruised slightly, yellow and red marks splotched by his temple where you had landed your blow.

he was pretty sure that his glasses were broken, to afraid that if he took them off to inspect that they'd actually fall apart.

you had done it, you had made him miserable.

he ran out of class right when he was dismissed, not being able to take another beating—he just wanted to go home.

the bell rang and jay made a run for it, grabbing his books and heading out of the school doors and onto his bike—immediately cycling away.

he knew that this wasn't over just yet, he knew that there was much more in store for him—you weren't going to stop that easily.

if you had managed to make him so miserable in a span of a few hour, he only dreaded what you could do in an entire day.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

"hey! jongie! where you running off to? thought you were a good kid? we can't have you missing class, now can we?" you chirped with a plastic grin on your face, voice high pitched and squeaky.

jay had walked into school with his head held high up, he had science first block and he dreaded going in. he knew that you would make the 80 minute block last an eternity.

instead of walking in 10 minutes early like he usually would, he decides that he was going to walk in right when the bell rings. if you happened to be in class before the teacher arrived, a lot could happen in the short span of 10 minutes.

he didn't want to run into you in the hallways either, he knew you could have his way with him in the less crowded areas that lack teacher supervision. jay looked down at his watch, biting at his lip anxiously when he realizes that he still had a few minutes before class started.

he begins to walk to the boys washroom, thinking that he could hide out in the stalls to pass the time. unfortunately, he wasn't luck enough to make it there without being spotted.

you had found him, he gulped, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

" jongie," you start with a coo, your voice sickly sweet, "are you avoiding me?" you finish off with a fake pout.

you stood in front of him, not much distance between the two of you and he could smell your lavender and honey-scented perfume.

he lets out a shaky breath when you take another step forward, your chests brushing against one another's.

you reach your hand out to grab at jays black school tie, fiddling with it between your fingers, slowly looking up to see that the boy was already looking down at you.

your eyes widened for a second when you realized how handsome he was, his features sharp and clean which were ruined slightly due to the bruise by his temple.

the one you caused.

you could feel your face flush before your forcing thoughts about finding jay attractive out of your mind.

jay held in his breath when you took another step closer, your chests now touching. he was sure that you could feel his heart beat wildly against his chest.

you internally smirk, biting your bottom lip as you give him a cheeky grin, "jongie, it's not nice to ignore people you know," you drawl out, your eyelashes fluttering as you draw small patterns on his chest with your perfectly manicured fingernails.

jay knew exactly what you was doing, you were seducing him. he wasn't sure what your game plan was, but he was starting to feel hot.

the boy stutters out your name, his eyes widening when he feels you drag your fingers down his chest, nearing dangerously towards his crotch when you make it past his black belt.

"w-what are you d-," he tries again but his words didn't seem to leave his mouth. your fingertips lightly traced his bulge, he could feel himself getting aroused—his breathing getting heavier and quicker.

he wasn't going to let you play around with him so easily, jay knew that you were only doing this to get back at him.

swallowing harshly he reached down to clasp his hand firmly around your wrist, yanking your hand away from him roughly.

he pushes you away, hearing you gasp in shock, "__, stop," he states firmly, his eyes shut as he mentally prepares himself for another blow to the face.

you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, no man had ever turned you down—the guys at school falling at her feet left and right.

clenching your teeth you pushed at his chest, forcing a smirk onto your pink stained lips—faking confidence as you tried to push past the rejection.

"you didn't actually think that I would be interested in you, did you jongie?" you fibbed, hoping and praying that jay hadn't picked up on the waver in your voice.

"i would never be interested in someone like you," you spit before turning around to walk away, having the last word.

you walk away with your head held up high, confidently strutting down the hallway before you disappear from jays vision.

you feel your cheeks heat up from rejection, feeling strangely hurt deep down that jay had stopped her advances. you mentally scolded yourself for letting something like this effect you so deeply, it's just jay.

with a scowl etched on your face you flip your hair over your shoulder, fists clenched as you make your way to the next class.

jay stood in the hallway, his mind still processing what had just happened. he didn't know if you were coming on to him or if you were messing with him, regardless, his pants felt tighter.

shaking his head he let out a deep sigh, "it's just a way to get back at you jay, don't fall for it," he says to himself.

he looks down to see an indent in his pants, mentally scolding himself for popping one for a girl who makes his school life hell.

"just get to class," he murmurs out loud, slowly making his way to science—the same class he shared with you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

science class was an absolute disaster, the substitute was on the verge of crying. jay gave the woman a look of pity, watching her struggle to quiet down the classroom.

paper planes filled the classroom sky, students throwing scrunched up worksheets at one another, big groups of people talking loudly amongst one another.

a mess, to say the least.

a few minutes later the class settles down, the threat of giving everyone a zero caught the classes attention.

the substitute sat at her chair, a look of bewilderment on her face as she smoothens out her clothing and hair.

"good morning class, you may refer to me as mrs.jung and i will be your health teacher. i will be in the classroom for the next few weeks so, please, treat me well," she almost begs at the end, planting a small smile on her face.

she looked to be in her late 30s or early 40s, her black hair up in a sleek bun while she wore a blue denim dress that reached just below her knees.

"today we are going to be learning about the female reproductive system."

the class goes by like a blur, half of the students not paying attention to the substitute as she taught.

jay takes down basic notes, his thick black locks running into his eyes making him run his hands through his hair to slick his hair back.

suddenly, he feels something hit the back of his head. he looks down to see a pink eraser on the floor, already knowing the culprit without having to turn around to look.

picking up the object with a sigh, he places it on his desk—shaking his head in disbelief before he resumes his note taking.

it was quiet for a moment before your voice pulls him out of his trance, his ears turning a bright shade of red at your words.

"jays probably never made a girl cum before, never been able to find the clit," you snicker to your seat mate who looks around hesitantly when she realizes how loud you were.

you on the other hand gave no fucks about the volume of your voice, your laughter getting louder and louder every second.

you were so fucked.

the boy swallowed harshly, his hands gripping his pencil tightly—afraid that it would snap if he didn't ease his grip.

students near by heard the exchange, silent laughter being heard from around the room as they stared at jay. jay could feel his body flush, his cheeks hot as he purses his lips—staring down at his notes. he refused to look up, feeling embarrassed.

you watched jay closely, you could tell that he was uncomfortable but you felt no remorse for the boy—so you continued.

"he'd probably finish in seconds," you taunted, this time catching the teacher's attention.

"__, would you like to repeat that?"

you immediately sit up in your chair, clearing your throat before planting a small fake smile on your face, "no miss."

ms.jung gave her a knowing look, "thought so, now, please keep your comments to yourself."

you flush with embarrassment but the feeling soon fades, biting at your lip to hold in your laughter when you hear other students poke fun at jay.

you could hear whispers about the boy, some making fun of him while others expressed their sympathy for him.

you couldn't help but feel slightly guilty, you peek over to look at jay. you could see his fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white while his veins in his hands and forearms popped out. his thick muscles peeking from under his shirt as he flexed his arms tensely—your mouth watered at the sight.

jay then suddenly turns his head around, his dark hooded eyes looking into your. feeling flustered you try to avoid eye contact but were unable to, a small gasp emitting from your throat when jay gives you a bone-rattling glare.

you fist your skirt, heart beating quick when jay mouths, 'stay after class,' his lips curling into a smirk before he's turning away—tuning out everyone who was looking at him.

you look at him in shock, his sudden shift in attitude catching you off guard.

what the fuck just happened?

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

the bell rang and students trickled their way out of the classroom, leaving you, jay, and mrs.jung behind.

"jay, dear. are you planning on staying after class?" mrs. jung asks as she shuffles around the classroom, noticing that neither jay or you had packed your things.

jay forces a sweet smile, trying not to explode as he nods briskly, "ah yes, i have a few things to take care of."

she nods in response, "alright then, i trust that you'll be responsible. i'll give you the keys so when you're done, just lock the door," she says with a smile, before making her way out of the door—handing jay the keys.

she stops midway when she spots you still sitting at one of the desks, "and you, __? are you planning on staying as well?"

before you could open your mouth to answer, jay cuts you off, "yes, mrs.jung. __ here, needed help with some work so i decided to go aheadand tutor her. is that okay? it won't take us to long," he persuades, his grin cheeky as he tries to downplay his real motives.

mrs.jung felt as if she could trust the boy, so she nods.

"alright, just take care, okay? oh also once you've finished, close the blinds," she instructs, and with that, she waves goodbye to the both of you— walking out and shutting the door behind her.

you hold your breath, the sound of your shallow breathing sounding far to loud in the quiet classroom.

you and jay were sitting only a few feet apart, yet he made no attempt to move. the silence was beginning to get to you, rolling your eyes before you decide to break it.

"so nerd, why'd you ask me to stay?" you sneer out, placing your feet up on the table before faux inspecting your nails, you tried not to show it— but your 'tough' persona was crumbling by the second.

jays eye twitched at the name, "i'm sure you know exactly why, __," he seethes back, his head still looking at the front. the way he said your name made you shiver in delight, the hairs on the back of your neck standing as you felt yourself flush.

jay smirks when he notices you shiver from the corner of his eye, he knew that he had some sort of effect on you.

the way your name came out of his mouth sounded smooth and silky, the feeling making you jittery and restless.

you decide to act clueless, "no, actually. I don't."

jay could laugh, huffing before his chair is being pulled out and he's slowly making his way towards you—like a snake slithering to strangle its prey.

when he reaches you, you remove your feet from the desk, looking up at him curiously.

jays gaze made you feel small, looking away from him when you couldn't handle the intensity of his stare.

"it's not nice to comment on other people's sex lives,__. but I'm sure your bratty virgin self doesn't know better," he taunts, his thick arms coming to rest on either side of your chair so you were trapped in between them.

you gape at the name, "bratty?" you spit out, offended. "i'm not bratty, and i'm sure as hell not a virgin."

you swallow harshly when you turn your head to the side, your eyes almost bulging out of their sockets when you see his arms flex to show off his taunt muscles.

"oh really?" he fakes a gasp, lifting one of his eyebrows mockingly before grinning, "prove it."

your eyebrows shoot up in shock, uncomfortable with the switch in dynamics. not used to the confident and bold jay that was in front of her.

"w-what? how," you ask stupidly, unaware of what dirty thoughts had began to cloud jays mind.

he'd show you, he'll prove you wrong.

"get on your knees."

you stare up at him dumbly, failing to process his words. jay begins to lose his patience, threading his fingers into your hair before yanking your head back.

a small moan breaks out of your mouth, face flushing when you realize what you had just done. jays expression turning grim, "i'm not repeating myself brat. either you do it, or i make you do it."

your eyes widen at his words, a strange feeling of fear and excitements rush through you making you clench your thighs in anticipation.

slowly dropping down from your chair, sinking to your knees in front of the boy.

jay smirks, he had you right where he wanted you.

"what are you waiting for? unbuckle my pants and take my cock out, slut," he seethes, his eyes hooded as he stares down at you with pure lust.

you shiver at the degrading name, rubbing your thighs together as you shuffle closer so you could reach out to start taking off his pants.

your hands clumsily unbuckle his belt, letting the leather material hit the floor with a clack—flinching at the sound. you focus on the buttons of his slacks, hands shaking as you struggle to pop them open.

jay 'tsks' as he looks down at you with a faux frown, "useless brat, can't even unbutton my pants properly." with that he's popping open his own buttons and letting his pants fall.

his dark grey boxers came into view quickly before they disappear just as quick. jays hand yanks at your hair, pushing your head so your face was smushed against his hard cock. you gape at him, feeling his thick length grind against your cheek before you begin to struggle in his hold.

you try to show your protest but your words come out muffled, attempting to push yourself away with your thighs on his thighs—but your attempts went futile.

"what are you doing?" you try to squeak out only for it to come out as incoherent, making jay laugh mockingly.

"fuck are you waiting for whore?" he sneers his mood shifting instantly, his grip in your locks tightening making you hiss out— complying with his orders regardless.

he allows you to move your head back, your fingertips slipping past the band of his boxers—pulling them down all the way.

a small gasp left your mouth when his cock hit your cheek, his precum smearing against your skin.

he chuckled, watching you closely as you brings your shaky hand to grip at his girth—making him hiss.

your mouth salivates as you takes a few seconds to admire him. his tip dusted with a dusky rose colour and veins surrounding his thick and long length like a rose vine.

"go on then, take me into your mouth. prove me wrong brat."

that's all you needed before you engulfed his tip into your mouth before jay slams it in fully. you choke on it causing him to let out a deep and guttural groan.

the sound had you trembling, pulling him out of your mouth before slowly taking him in again inch by inch—trying hard not to gag.

he looked down, watching you bob your head back and forth, tilting his head back to let out small moans when he feels you swallow around him.

his grip on your hair tightened, thrusting his hips forward causing his tip to hit the back of your throat repeatedly—using you as a cock sleeve.

as embarrassing as it was, you were enjoying it far more than jay was. your thighs clenched together tightly as you attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs by pushing your gushing cunt against the floor.

"fuck, __! didn't take you for such a cockslut. thought you were more a receiver with your bratty attitude," he remarks, a choked groan echoing through the classroom when he feels you swallow around his cock again.

you look up at the boy, peering through your thick lashes as you hollow out your cheeks, your tongue running up his length.

your hand comes to wrap around the part that you weren't able to fit in your mouth, feeling his cock inch down your throat.

he felt your warm mouth surround him, the feeling smooth and velvety as he pushed his hips towards you causing you to gag.

you reminded yourself to breathe through your nose, your tongue lapping around his length as you pumps the remaining bit with your hand.

"oh-shit, keep going. just like that," he groans, bucking his hips as he desperately chases his high.

your eyes narrow, one thing was certain—jay wasn't going to cum. suddenly, you withdraw your effort and slow down your speed just when he was reaching his high.

jay stares down at you, frustration present on his face.

"did i tell you that you could slow down whore?" he sneered, his chest heaving and his face glistening with a sheen of sweat.

innocently, you peer up at him before going back to the pace you were at before, his eyes rolling back in pleasure instantly as he relished in the feeling of your warm mouth.

he was close, and you could tell.

your hand reaches up to cup his balls in your hand, slowly massaging as you try to get him closer and closer to his climax.

you held in your breath when his tip hits the back of your throat with each thrust, letting him use you like a rag doll.

the sound of jays moans and the wet sounds of his cock fucking your mouth echoed through the empty classroom—bouncing off of the walls.

"m'gonna cum," he grunts, a thin bead of sweat running down his face and then his neck, soon disappearing under his school shirt.

not on my watch.

you smirk to yourself , right when jay was about to bust you pull your mouth away completely—leaving him hanging and desperate for a release.

jays eyes snap open, "what the fuck!" he exclaims, his fists clenching and his face red in anger.

"you didn't actually think that i'd let you cum after the way you talked to me, did you jongie?" you tease, biting at your bottom lip to hold in your laughter as you start to get up from the floor—using the back of your hand to wipe away the spit and cum on your lips.

jay feels himself slowly lose his cool, he was being gentle with you even if you didn't deserve it.

"that's fucking it, __," he starts, his tone shocking you, never hearing him sound so angry. the once calm and collected boy was gone, his patience running thin.

"you've pushed me past my limits now."

he takes a second to look down you, you were now standing up with your face only a few inches away from his own.

"you're going to bend over the desk-" he grabs a hold of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair before pushing your body onto a desk so you laid on your stomach with your lower body handing uber the edge—your feet barely touching the ground.

a shriek leaves your mouth at the sudden change in position, trying to get your feet to touch the floor but fails when jay comes to stand to the side of you, "-and fucking count."

he flips your short school skirt up, which jay thought was pointless for you to wear. you hiked up the material to your upper thigh, leaving little to the imagination to whoever was behind you.

jay was guilty, he had peered up your skirt several times—his hands itching to grab at your soft flesh.

your behind was now exposed to him with your thin lace black thong being the only thing that covered you. it didn't cover much, actually, it didn't cover anything. he could see your cunt poke through the thin fabric, his mouth salivating as he watches you squirm in his hold.

"what the-" you start but are cut off by jay toying with your underwear, pulling it upward before letting it go so it would slap your skin.

you hiss at the feeling, trying to reach your arms behind you to push him away, only for him to grab ahold of both your arms and pin them firmly to your back.

"you've done this to yourself, __. if only you had behaved," he sneers, softly patting your underwear-clad core making you jolt up in surprise.

jay chuckles at the reaction, "sensitive, are we?"

"oh shut up you ne-"

smack!

you gasp, turning your head around to glare at him accusingly, "d-did you ju-" you get cut off again by another sting to your behind, your back arches as you unconsciously jut your behind out more.

jay smirks, watching your body squirm on the desk, his hand coming to softly massage your behind before he lands another smack down.

"i did, and you better get counting brat. you're far from getting out of this position."

"like hell i wi-" you try to protest only for him to lay another smack down, your body lurching forward with each hit. you suppress a moan when you feel jays hand roughly massage the cheek that he had hit, the feeling soothing but made your core ache.

"you want to try again? the more you act out the more hits i'll add on," he threatens lowly, his middle finger tracing down your covered slit.

you whine, feeling absolutely humiliated.

smack!

"i recommend that you start counting, brat," jay seethes lowly before he's landing another smack down.

"o-one."

smack!

"two," you mewl, eyes watering as you feel another smack lay down on you.

smack!

"three."

smack!

"four!" you shriek, that particular smack landing harder than the rest.

jay was taking out all of his frustration on you, his hand stinging at the intensity of the smack he laid down. it was as if he was getting his revenge for the torture he endured from her. he watched your ass bounce, landing smack after smack not letting you catch your breath in the slightest.

"ah, jay! s-stop," you cry out, your hands gripping the table tightly—knuckles turning white.

his hand grabs ahold of the back of your neck, pulling you up slightly as he bends down to catch your gaze. "do you really want me to stop, __?" he asks knowingly, a look of faux sympathy in his face.

"because-" he begins, his other hand snaking itself to your covered cunt—pressing against you. you were drenched, the fabric sticking to your folds as if they were a second skin. "-this tells me otherwise."

you hold in a whine, to ashamed to deny. jay had gotten his answer, letting go of his hold on your neck before he's going back to his original spot.

you look back at him, your eyes red and teary as you muffled a cry. jay holds in a groan when he sees your teary face, feeling his cock get harder—if that was possible.

"jay i-" you start but cut yourself off with a grunt when he lands his hand down on your behind once more.

"beg bitch," he sneers. this was the moment that all shame and self respect was let go.

"please jongie. i beg you," you cry out, jolting up when you feel his fingers circle your clothed entrance.

jay smirks, he had you wrapped around his fingers in minutes—literally.

"what are you begging for, hm?"

when he receives no answer he lands another smack down on to your behind making you whimper.

jay almost lets out a moan when he sees how red and bruised your behind was, splotches off blue and yellow complimenting your skin colour.

you look back at him, your face red and teary as you silently beg him to do something.

jay shakes his head at you, "you aren't getting anything from me till you ask me, nicely."

you whine, "jay, please."

"please jay what?" he mocks, his hand grabbing at your behind roughly—squeezing it making you let out breathless moans.

"please, fuck me," you wince, your bottom lip trembling as you look at him with big eyes.

jay feels his breath hitch at the look on your face, the faux expression of innocence you held making his actions stutter.

you were so full of shit and jay knew that.

he chuckles, "fuck you? so quickly? i don't think so slut," he says before he's flipping you over on the desk so your back was against the wood.

you gasp at the sudden switch of positions, holding yourself up by your elbows. you see jay in between your legs as you look up at him, his figure towering over yours.

you let out a pained whimper when your butt touches the desk, your behind stinging and sore after the amount of hefty smacks that he laid down on you.

"so wet.." he murmurs, running his pointer finger down your clothed folds, a shiver racking down your spine at the sensation.

he lets out a soft hiss when he notices how sensitive you were, "jay, please."

"i've been through this before darling, please what? what do you want me to do, be verbal," he commands, rubbing small circles against your clit.

"fingers, in me please," you stammered, clawing at the desk as you spread your legs wider—no shame.

"good girl," he praises lightly before he's pushing your underwear to the side to expose your sopping wet cunt. the sudden exposure of the cool air making you shudder, shutting your legs on instinct. jay scowls, slapping at your thigh before forcing your legs wide open.

you let out a small moan at the feeling of his fingers touching around you, his hands sliding to the apex of your inner thighs.

he takes his time, making sure to have you crying by the end of it.

"jay, please don't tease," you whine, trying to buck your hips against his hand to try and get him to touch you where you needed him the most.

he hums in response, his thumb coming to touch your bare clit softly, slowly rubbing against it making you arch your back against the desk at the sensation.

jays smirk stays intact on his face, making eye contact with you all while rubbing you slowly—teasing her.

you shy away from his eyes, looking anywhere but at him causing jay to stop his actions. his free hand comes up to your face, squeezing your cheeks so your lips jut out in a pucker.

"keep your eyes on me, brat. as soon as you look away, i stop. got it?" he threatens lowly. you nod in response, locking eyes with his deep browns ones.

he slowly pushes a finger into your aching core, feeling you clench around his digit as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you. he feels your walls tighten around him, "so fucking needy," he spits out.

you bite at your lip to hold back any moans that threatened to escape you, your hips bucking as he fastens his pace.

"don't hold in your moans, let them out," he demands, curling his finger in you before a second finger is poking at your entrance—threatening to be pushed in.

"ah-shit," you groan out when he inserts the second finger in, the thickness of his digit stretching you out. your eyes water at the pleasure, your eyes threatening to close to relish in the feeling—but you don't dare.

he holds your panties to the side so he could see his fingers pushing in and out of you, your hips bucking as you try to get him to sink his fingers deeper into your cunt.

"so wet and needy," he croaks, his thumb adding into the mix as he continues his pace—his thumb rubbing small yet firm circles on your clit.

you shut your eyes for a moment only for them to snap right open when you feel jay land a slap on your throbbing pussy. you squeal at the pain, trying to move away from his grip, his hand coming down to slap at your clit again. "behave," he warns before he's resuming his previous position with two of his thick digits buried inside you.

you couldn't believe the position you were in. sprawled up on a desk with your hair dishevelled, your shirt wrinkled and your school skirt hiked up to your hips while the boy you use as a punching bag has his fingers buried into your aching cunt.

if someone had told you that this would be the position you'd end up in by the end of the day, you would've had them on the floor.

you could feel every stroke of his fingers inside you clearly, desperately chasing your high as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten deliciously.

jay curls his fingers in you in a 'come here' motion, feeling you clench around his digits as he fastens his pace—he knew you were close.

his thumb starts to rub faster circles on your throbbing and aching clit, not giving you a chance to breathe as he feels your body twitch at the close release.

"ah, shit! j-jay m'close," you mewl, your eyes rolling to the back of your head—eyes white. you feel him stroke past a certain bundle of nerves, your head tilting back in pleasure as he continue to stretch out your gummy walls.

just as you felt your high approach jays pulling his fingers out of you , leaving you feeling empty and unsatisfied. you cry out in frustration, attempting to kick your legs at jay only for him to catch and stop them with ease—tossing you a stern look.

you watch him pop his fingers into his mouth, his tongue coming out to circle his digits all while maintaining eye contact with you.

"for a dirty bitch, you sure do taste good," he praises, a sly grin in his face as he digs his fingers into the plush of you thighs—making you wince.

when he gets no response he chuckles, "what? didn't think that i'd let you cum so quickly, did you?" he asks, using the same phrasing as you earlier.

you whine, "please." your legs shook with impatience.

"i'm taking my time with you, __. i've been waiting to get my hands on you. do you know what i go through whenever you open your goddamn trap and spit out insults at me, hm? it takes everything in me to not bend you over the nearest desk and fuck the attitude out of you, but not anymore. i'm having you whatever way i want, and you'll let me, isn't that right?" he hisses into your ear, the feeling of his cool breath making you shiver.

you look at him with red cheeks, your mind whirling with ideas of him taking you on the desk, against the wall, in the school closets, in the staff room.

jay grins, "you'd like me fucking your pretty little cunt, hm? wanna feel my fat cock stretching your bratty pussy out, yes?" he purrs as he gets up from his position in between your legs, looming over your smaller body.

"mmm, y-yes," you reply, still dazed from your denied release as you stare up at him with big eyes.

jay lets out a small groan before he's wrapping his hand around your throat, pulling you up so you're off the desk and standing in front of him.

you grab onto his shirt, not trusting yourself to stand properly as your legs trembled.

you let out a small moan when the grip around your throat tightens. "what a desperate little whore you are, __. who would've thought that the school's bully begs for cock, begs for my cock," he jeers as he weaves his other hand into your hair—yanking on it.

you mewl at the sensation, letting him use you as he wished—complying with all his actions.

"are you going to behave for me, hm,__?" he coaxes before he presses a quick peck to your lips, trailing small kisses starting from your tear stained cheeks, to your jaw and soon down your neck.

"yes," you respond, your voice coming out breathy and your vision hazy—the sensation of his lips on your neck leaving you trembling with need.

jay nips at the sensitive skin on your neck, a moan slipping out of your mouth as he continues to bruise up your skin.

"yes, what?"

"yes, sir."

jay immediately pulls away from you, his eyes widening in shock as he stares at you in disbelief. you on the other hand hadn't even realized what name you addressed him by, the thought of his cock plaguing your mind.

he soon came to the conclusion that he didn't mind the name, his mouth pulling into a sneer as he fists your hair harshly before yanking it back—your head tilted so your marked up neck was on full display for his hungry eyes.

"good, now—strip."

you immediately comply with his order, your hands fumbling with the buttons of your shirt, struggling slightly as you lean against him for support.

jay watches you struggle, his eyes narrowing impatiently before he's taking matters into his own hands.

"such a helpless little slut, can't even unbutton her shirt without my help," he murmurs angrily before he's helping you unbutton your school shirt.

his fingers graze your supple skin as he makes his way down your shirt, helping you take the white material off.

once he gets to the last button he yanks the shirt off completely, throwing it onto the floor making you gasp.

without a second to waste, he reaches behind you to unclasp your pink bra, the lanky article of clothing falling off of you.

jay sucks in a breath when your pert nipples come into his view, his hands reaching out to mound against your chest.

"so pretty," he praises softly before he's kneading your breasts with both of his hands. your grip on his shirt tightening as he continues his assault before he's leaning down and taking one of your buds into his mouth.

the feeling of his mouth touching your skin made you moan out, jutting your chest out to savour more of the feeling.

"needy little thing aren't you, hm? tell me, __, do you want my mouth on you? want me to make you cum on my tongue? " he drawls as he twists your nipple with his finger making you whimper.

you nod enthusiastically, "yes, please sir," you beg, your hands coming up to wrap around his shoulder as if you were hugging him.

"begging so nicely for me," he praises before he's slowly sinking to his knees, his head coming to be level right with your covered cunt.

you trembled, jays hands on your waist before they drag up and down your thighs. he's reaching behind you to drag your skirt down so it pooled at your feet.

your thin underwear was soaked from your previously denied orgasm, his fingers coming to grab at the band of your panties to push them down so you were completely bare to his eyes.

jay sucked in a breath, his eyes glazing over you before he uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips.

your hands reach behind you to grab at the wooden desk to keep yourself from falling—spreading your legs slightly so jay could fit better in between them.

the boy smirked at your actions, moving closer so his breath fanned against your most intimate bits—making you shiver.

"why so tense,__?" he teases before his tongue flattens against the apex of her thigh making you squirm.

"j-jay, don't tease—please," you begged softly as you jut your hips so your cunt was closer to his face—desperate to get him to touch you where you desired the most.

jay smiles against her skin, "do you deserve my tongue, huh?" he blows softly on your clit making you whimper.

did you deserve it? no.

were you still going to say yes? yeah.

"yes, sir—please." you pant, your left hand leaving the desk as you could run your hand through his dark locks.

the boy lets out a small laugh, "you and i both know you don't deserve this, yet here we are," he says lowly, his eyes zeroing in on your cunt.

you scrunched your eyebrows, "wha—oh!" you shrieked. his tongue flattened on your most sensitive area, your head tilting back as your grip in his hair tightens.

jay holds in a moan, his tongue gliding through your soaked folds as he holds your thighs open to make sure you don't try to close them.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pant the boy's name, your body twitching with each touch as you force yourself to keep as quiet as possible.

his tongue did figure '8's on your clit, your arousal soaking his nose and chin. jay peers up from in between your legs, watching your face contort into one of pure bliss as you start to roll your hips against his tongue.

he tongue drops to your clenching hole, teasing the entrance while his nose nudges your clit repeatedly.

he had imagined this exact moment, as creepy as it sounded—he had fantasied about this moment.

have you choke on his girth as he fucked your bratty mouth as he pleased—using you like a doll before throwing you away. bending you over his knee, letting his palms smack against your round and soft bottom as you cried out for him—begging him to stop. letting his hands roam down your body as he marked you with small purple bites, letting everyone know that the school's tormentor had been fucked into her place.

he was ecstatic when you had stayed behind, following his order.

he knew he had you in his clutches the moment you were on your knees, knowing he had full control over your frail body—he was going to take full advantage of it.

years of torment had led them here, his tongue deep in you as you wailed out in pleasure—clutching on to whatever you could grab onto.

he inhaled deeply when your thighs started to close in on his face, his hands not being able to hold them open anymore as his tongue ran over your clit repeatedly.

you were trembling, your legs shaking violently as you screeched when his tongue brushes over a certain bundle of nerves.

"shit! jongie," you gape, your mouth in an 'o' shape as your eyes shut painfully tight.

"m'gonna cum," you wail out as you grasp at his hair tighter, his tongue working fast and firm circles around your clit—getting you closer and closer to your release.

after the way you treated him, you surely didn't deserve to cum. yet, here jay was—his tongue delving in and out of you as you beg to cum for him.

your stomach tightened almost painfully as you reached your climax, your body trembling as you cum with a loud moan—not being able to hold back your sounds anymore.

even after your high had passed, jay hadn't stopped. his tongue still rolling around your clit as he helps you ride out your high before finally pulling away making you let out a sigh of relief.

jay watches your red face, "filthy little girl, absolutely filthy," he tuts, his tongue swiping his lips to savour any remnants of you before he's standing tall—his hand reaching out to wrap around your throat once again.

you choke a whimper, your hands coming up to grab at his wrist when his grip tightens around your throat almost painfully. you struggle to breathe and although this should scare you, you felt yourself hush with excitement.

you twitch, "s-sir, in me. please," you whine out, begging to be filled to the brim with thick cock inside of you.

"you're still not satisfied?" he teases as he slowly strips himself of his briefs—letting them fall to the floor.

you shook your head, clenching around nothing as you watch the boy carefully.

"bend over then, let's see how good you take my cock."

and that's how you ended up pushed against the desk with your stomach pressed against the wooden surface and your hands pinned behind your back.

you could feel jays cool breath fan against your ear as his chest planted firmly against your back—disabling any movement from your behalf.

you could feel his length against you, his tip poking at your entrance as you whine in desperation.

"sir," you mewl softly, your head twisting slightly as you begin to wriggle in his grip.

jay chuckles lowly, his hand reaching out to firmly wrap itself around your throat to keep you from moving your head as well as serve as warning to stay still.

"so desperate for my cock," he keens, planting soft kisses on you exposed shoulder making you shiver.

"imagine what your little friends would think of if they were to find out that you were being fucked by me. fucked by the school's 'nerd.' what would they say, huh? their little friends getting put into her place by the boy she torments," he sneers as his grip on your neck tightens for a fraction making you gasp.

"you'd like that though, wouldn't you? being fucked into submission by me, letting your little friends watch?" he continues, his tone getting lower and lower.

"jay," you moan, he suddenly starts to push his tip into your entrance—your tight walls immediately fluttering around him.

jay shudders, your velvety walls comforting him as he slowly pushes in—inch by inch. he tried to move slowly so you wouldn't feel any pain or discomfort, but soon that idea was disposed of.

you didn't deserve to be treated with such care.

he slammed himself in without slowly coaxing you like he had originally planned, the sudden movement causing a scream to erupt from the back of your throat.

the stretch was painful yet so good. your walls fluttered ground him as he fucks into you, his balls slapping against your ass as the desk shook with each rough thrust.

jay groaned, your walls hugging him as he quickly uses his hand to cover your mouth— you were a moaning mess as he roughly thrusts into you.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you held onto the desk for support, mewls leaving your mouth every time he moved.

the stretch of his girth was painful yet pleasurable, the burning sensation only adding to the enjoyment.

"f-fuck, sir," you mewled, your voice coming out muffled due to jays hand covering your mouth.

he could feel beads of sweat roll down his chest and back as he picked up his pace, small groans occasionally leaving his mouth every time he felt your gummy walls clench around him.

you had your eyes shut as you took each thrust, your stomach coiling wildly as you clenched around his thick girth like a vice.

you could feel your stomach bulge with each movement, a high-pitched squeal leaving your mouth when jays hand comes down to land a sharp smack on your behind.

abandoning your mouth, his hands gripped your hips in a tight hold, holding them hard enough to leave bruises and marks.

"feel so good, __," he murmurs, his pace swiftly quickening as he watches your ass bounce against him with each stroke.

you trembled, your mind hazy as you searched through your brain to try and put some words together to respond—but nothing coming to mind.

"m'close," you finally says, your previous orgasm only adding to this one as you try to buck against him.

just as your lower stomach starts to tighten, a signal of her now close high—jay pulls out.

you gasp, your high dying down quickly as you turn your head around to look at the boy.

instead of explaining why he had pulled out so suddenly, he grabs your forearms. pulling you up so you were now standing—your legs shaking violently as you try to hold onto him for support.

he makes you face him, chests touching, before hooking his arms underneath your knees so you were no longer touching the ground—hiking you up onto the desk so he could stand in between your legs.

"it's sad how such a pretty thing has such a rotten inside," he uttered lowly, letting you wrap your legs around his waist.

in the moment you decided to not respond to him, letting his degrading words fly past as you whined—needy and desperate for a release.

his hand comes up to wrap squeeze in your cheeks, yanking your head close so your noses brushed against one another's.

he smirked when he felt you twitch in his grip, moving his face away slightly so he could sink two fingers into your mouth.

"suck," he demands, feeling your warm mouth engulf his digits—your tongue soft against his rough fingers.

he watches you carefully, his grip on her cheeks tightening ever so slightly making you whine as you struggle to take his digits in.

removing his grip from your face, he takes out his fingers before using that exact hand to land a semi-hard smack onto your cheek—your head flying to the side as you let out a cry of surprise and pain.

"a-ah," you cried, your teary eyes catching his own.

"pathetic," he stated, reclaiming his grip on your face to fish you in so his breath fanned against your face.

he could see it on your face, you enjoyed it.

jay laughs in disbelief, "fucking filthy bitch."

"is that why you hit others? you want to be treated the same way, hm?"

you moan at his words, clenching your thighs together before they're roughly spread wide again by jay—positioning himself at your entrance, slowly teasing you.

jay raises his eyebrows mockingly before pushing in, filling you to the brim once again as you struggles to take him fully.

"f-fuck..how are you still so tight," jay swears, shocked at why he struggled to push into your walls when he was fucking into you just a few minutes ago.

you hold yourself up by your elbows, letting him use you as he pleased—as long as you got off.

"you're fucking desperate, huh? needy bitch," he snaps with his top lip turned in a sneer.

you mewl when he snaps his hips a little too hard at one point, his grip on your hips bruising.

you tightened around him, clenching each time he moved making him hiss.

"stop clenching so hard slut," he hissed maliciously before reaching one hand over to tangle itself into your hair—yanking your head up so jay could press his lips against your own.

"t-to fast," you whimper in-between the kiss when the speed of his thrusts fasten, your body trembling and shaking as you hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself from collapsing.

"shut up, brat. you're going to take what i give you," his pace getting faster and his cock plunging even deeper.

he could tell you were close, the way your eyes shut and how your bottom lip wobbled—he knew.

he continued to bottom out, his high nearing as he lets out inaudible grunts. his stomach tightens with each thrust, the feeling of your tight velvety walls tightening around his girth making him go crazy.

"m'gonna cum...p-please can i cum?" you babble, unable to push out words.

"cum for me, brat. milk my cock, s-so good f'me."

he watches your head lull back, "i-i'm cumming..o-oh," you climax with a loud moan, your head tilted back with your eyes shut and your mouth in an 'o' shape.

"so good for me," jay mumbles roughly, his pace now punishing as he desperately chases his own high.

you begin to whine from overstimulation, clenching around his cock unintentionally.

he could feel his stomach swirl, you squeezing him tight only adding to his building pressure as he grips your hips in a punishing hold.

his eyes flutter before a loud groan pushes out of him, his orgasm strong as his pace slows down to slowly ride out his high.

you squeal when you feel him shoot his load into you, feeling his warm cum coat your walls.

you watch the boy with wide eyes, feeling him rub against your sensitive walls—watching how his eyes closed once he hit his climax.

you close your eyes, relishing in the feeling of being full. suddenly, you hear click. your eyes snap open, mouth falling agape when you realize that jay had taken a photo.

"w-wait."

you feel him pull out, suddenly feeling empty and hollow before your watching him pull on his clothes. you feel his cum dribble out of your worn out cunt, looking down to see it pooling out of you and onto the desk.

confused, you hop off of the desk.

big mistake, you immediately fall to the ground.

you whimper when you feel jays hand grip onto her bicep, pulling you up and letting you hold onto him as he continues to dress.

"d-did you just take a photo of me?" you ask desperately, your eyebrows furrowed and the pit in your stomach fills with dread.

"w-here are you going?" you squeak as you watch him button the last button on his previously wrinkle-free school shirt.

"home," he answers nonchalantly.

"b-but the photo?"

"and you should too, wouldn't want daddy dearest to file a missing person report," he teases, ignoring the questions regarding the photo he had taken.

you stare at him, "w-wait," you start only for jays glare to shut you up.

"shut up and clean yourself up, my cum is oozing down your leg you nasty bitch," he snaps before he's bending down to grab your clothes, handing them to you.

you hesitantly oblige, "w-what now?"

jay lets out a small sarcastic laugh, "what now?"

you nod, your body still shaking as you start to slide on your shirt—your bra long gone.

"now, you behave. you don't taunt, tease or bully, understand? or else-" he pulls out his phone, a picture of you fucked out with his dick still in you. your hair was messy and your lips swollen and read, marks scattered all of your upper body. "this gets sent around. got it?"

you nod slowly, swallowing harshly at his threat. your bottom lip wobbled as tears threatened to spill out of your eyes making jay coo. using two of his fingers to lift up your chin, he leans down to lick away the stray tears on your cheek, "don't cry sweetie, just don't be a bitch and you'll be fine."

he then grins, "i think i made you cum a few times, no?"

"h-huh?"

"'jays probably never made a girl cum before, he probably doesn't even know how to in the first place'," he mimicked with a lazy look.

"j-jay-" you start only for him to grab the nape of your neck to pull you close.

"listen to me and listen carefully brat, tomorrow you're going to apologize to me in front of everyone and you're going to do exactly as I say, understood?" he threatens, his eyes blazing daring you to defy him.

"or else, you know what," referring to the picture on his phone.

you whine at his harsh grip before nodding, "words brat."

"yes, sir."

"good."

he harshly lets go of you, your frail body toppling back slightly—bumping into the desk you were set on top of only a few minutes ago.

he starts to walk towards the door of the class, the keys that the teacher had trusted him with in his palm.

he reaches the door and grips the handle, stopping for a second to turn and look at you.

"oh, and don't wear panties tomorrow—i have a few things planned. have fun cleaning yourself up, __," he grins before leaving you behind.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

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cheers-to-you-th · 2 months ago

Text

Waterloo

Part 2 to Winner Takes it All

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Genre: Smut, humor, fluff Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), seft-doubt, idiocy, self indulgent nerdiness, STAR WARS EP 111, IV AND V SPOILERS, fingering, oral (f!receiving), raw (do not irl yall no dick is worth it), lmk if i forgot smthg Word count: 14.7k

Summary: Finally, he's yours. The game is over, and maybe you lost, but it feels like a win.

First dates, first kisses, first times w/Mingyu

tyty @supi-wupi @flowerwonu for betaing and fixing all my mistakes on such short notice, y'all are the best ily

It’s not like anything changes overnight. You don’t kiss in the café, don’t run into each other’s arms like the end of a movie. It’s slower than that—gentler. But somehow, it feels exactly right.

So when Mingyu texts you a few days later—“Picnic date?”—your stomach flips, but you don’t hesitate.

You just say yes.

The sun is out, the sky obnoxiously blue, and you’re sweating through your sundress—not because it’s hot, but because Mingyu just texted “I’m already here :)” five minutes before you even left the house.

You speed-walk to the park like you’re being timed for an Olympic marathon, clutching a paper bag of cookies you made last night in a panic (One batch is slightly burned. You brought them anyway).

When you spot him sitting on a checkered blanket under a tree, your stomach does a backflip, twisting even further when he looks up as you approach, grinning like he’s holding back from smiling too hard.

“Hey.” His voice is deep, smooth, and perfect as always, but it wavers slightly.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly forgetting how to use your legs as you sit down a bit too fast, almost toppling over sideways onto the blanket.

Mingyu blink, “Smooth.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks already burning as you smooth out your dress.

He grins and holds up a cute weaved basket. “I brought sandwiches and hors d'oeuvres, although one of them is slightly lopsided since I panicked halfway through making it.”

You can’t help but laugh at the contrast of the dishes as you raise your own paper bag. “Perfect, I brought slightly burnt cookies for the same reason.”

“Great,” he says, “we’re thriving.”

You eat in mostly silence, with a few awkward giggles when you both reach for the same juice box (he insisted on bringing them) or when a piece of lettuce escapes your sandwich and lands dramatically on your lap.

At some point, Mingyu finally breaks the silence, simply saying, “So…” before trailing off and staring so intensely at the sky that it looks like he’s trying to astral project.

“So.” You respond, cookie halfway in your mouth.

He glances at you, then quickly looks back up at the sky, “I, uh,” Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, “I almost wore a button-up for this. Like a real shirt, collar and all.”

You raise an eyebrow, “What stopped you?”

He shrugs. “I spilled coffee on it this morning, but it felt like a sign. Like ‘hey, maybe don’t try to impress the girl who already knows you panic-text giant paragraphs at midnight.”

He glances at your outfit, making you feel oddly exposed, “Kinda regret not wearing it now, since you’re…” His voice trails off as his eyes linger.

Your heart does a little hop. “I like this shirt better anyways.”

He glances at you sideways. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to be very interested in the juice box straw, “It's very… you. I like that. You.” You immediately regret saying it and look away, cheeks flushing.

Fuck, this is awkward.

Mingyu huffs out a small laugh, the kind that makes his nose crinkle adorably, then you both fall quiet. It’s not uncomfortable, just soft. Like neither of you quite know what to say now that feelings are out in the open and there’s no yelling or dramatic exits involved.

A very loud bird chooses that exact moment to chirp from a nearby branch. Mingyu jumps about three feet in the air, prompting you to laugh your ass off.

The silence settles again as you eat, this time more relaxed as you look at each other with warmth, familiarity.

Your hands brush as you both reach for the last cookie. You freeze. So does he.

Then, without looking at you, Mingyu quietly says, “I’ll split it with you.” You peek at him, mildly delighted to find his ears tainted red.

“Okay,” you say, voice a little too high. “Yeah. Cool. Sharing. Cool.”

He breaks it clean in half (which feels like some kind of divine sight—no crumbs, no crumbling chaos. Are you looking too deep into it? Probably.) and hands you a piece without meeting your eyes.

You expect to eat in the same silence as before, but Mingyu surprises you when, out of nowhere, he blurts, “I wanted to hold your hand earlier, but I got scared and touched a sandwich instead.”

You choke on your cookie.

“I mean—I didn’t touch the sandwich because I thought it was your hand—I just—”

You giggle, covering your mouth. “Gyu, are you okay?”

“No,” he says, wide-eyed, although his gaze softens at the nickname. “Absolutely not. God knows I don’t know what I’m doing, Fuck.” He groans, leaning his head on your shoulder like he used to before tensing at the realization of his casual display of affection. You chuckle softly and thread your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp (and trying to ignore your racing heart).

“Me neither, but… I’m having a good time.” You whisper the last part like it's a secret meant only for him, heart feeling lighter than it ever has.

He lifts his head to look at you, eyes vulnerable as they search yours. Then he beams. Not a grin, not a smirk, a full, sun-breaking-through-the-clouds kind of smile that makes you smile back because how could you not.

“Me too,” he says as your hand falls from his head.

You can’t help but smile brighter, nerves finally bubbling over and turning into laughter. “That was cheesy.”

“You want cheesy?” His eyes sparkle with mischief as he digs through his cooler bag.

You laugh harder as he offers you a mini Babybel, accepting it like it’s a rare and priceless gift and actively pretending he doesn’t look at you like you hung the stars in the sky whenever you laugh.

And just like that, the nerves start to fade. Not completely, but enough for you to lean into his side, sighing contently. He stiffens for half a second before melting, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. His shoulder fits under your head like it’s meant to be there, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

A little fast, just like yours, but calming nonetheless.

You both watch the leaves above sway in the breeze, the occasional bark of a dog or hum of a bike wheel floating by in the distance. But none of it touches the moment.

You study his face in the warm light, trying to memorize this version of him—the gentle one, with cookie crumbs on his shirt and emotions blooming behind his eyes. To you, the moment is perfect. It's not fireworks or grand declarations, it's softer. Safer. Something that wraps around your ribs and makes you feel steady for the first time in a long while.

He clears his throat. “Can I try again?”

You blink, confused. “Try what?”

“Touching your hand, on purpose this time.”

Before you can think, you respond. “You can touch me anywhere you want.”

There's a beat of silence.

You slap your hand over your mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my god. I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying to—”

Mingyu stares at you for a long second.

And then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not a nervous titter. An eyes crinkled, hand over his stomach, doubled over, full-body laugh. And you—well you’re dying. You look at him, mortified.

“I didn’t mean that.” You mutter through your fingers. “I didn’t mean that.”

Mingyu gasps through his laugh. “You can’t just say stuff like that mid-cookie!”

“I panicked!”

You duck your head, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you, or at least rewind the last ten seconds. But when you peek up at him, he’s looking at you. Not mocking, not teasing, just looking. Glowing. Like your chaos is his favorite thing in the world.

“I missed this,” he says, catching his breath. “You. Your mouth. The weird filterless thoughts that come out of it.”

“I should be admitted to a ward.” You mumble.

“No,” he says, more serious now. “Don’t.”

You look at him. “Don’t change. I know you’re joking, but don’t change.” He squeezes your hand. “I like this. Us. Even when you make sex jokes at inappropriate times.”

You look at him, “Especially then?”

He snorts and pats your head. “Sure, especially then.”

You roll your eyes, but the tension that’s been coiled in your chest since he first texted finally loosens.

You lean back on one arm, fingers still laced with his. The sun is warm, the leaves above rustling like background music, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels… okay. More than okay.

Comfortable.

You study him out of the corner of your eye, the way he’s watching you. Soft, kind and steady. Not amused. Not smug, Just open. Willing.

You sit there for a while longer, sharing silence like it's something sacred, like neither of you want to move, in case it breaks whatever spell you’re under.

But eventually, Mingyu shifts beside you, nudging your knee gently with his. “So… hear me out.”

You look at him, wary. “That’s never a good start.”

He smirks, chuckling. “There's a photo booth down the street, the kind that's black and white and makes you look vaguely haunted.”

“That's your pitch?” You snort.

“I just think,” he starts with a grin, “that we should commemorate our first date with haunted Victorian ghost photos.”

You huff a laugh, “That's… very on brand for us, actually.”

“Right?” He’s already starting to pack up the cooler. “One weirdly burnt cookie and a neat sexual harassment lawsuit later, what a way to remember it by.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

He stands, arm outstretched in an offer. “Liar.”

You take it, letting him pull you up with those ridiculously hot muscles of his, your fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary. “Fine, but if the pictures are cursed I’m blaming you.”

“Worth it.” He replies, smiling like a kid as you start walking hand in hand.

The photo booth is tucked away in the corner of a small record store, wedged between a rack of dusty mixtapes and a gumball machine with two broken legs. It smells of old vinyl and vaguely like popcorn. You don’t question it.

Mingyu feeds the coins into the slot with exaggerated care. “Okay, we have four shots. That’s like, two opportunities for you to regret ever agreeing to this.”

You step into the booth and sit beside him, knees bumping in the tiny space. It’s close, intimate, too much and not enough all at once.

The screen starts counting down from five.

“I don’t know what to do with my face!” you hiss.

“Be hot,” he whispers. “You’re great at that.”

Your head whips to him, eyes wide, “Wha–”

The first flash goes off, the photo probably catching your shocks and him mid-laugh, and honestly, that feels perfect.

“Now is when you choose to flirt with me for the first time?!” You complain, but the pink dusting your face discredits any real annoyance you may have.

The second flash hits as you both lean in, cheeks nearly touch, faces still buzzing with excitement from the last joke. You can’t help it when you smile. Big, bright, giddy, and real.

The third one comes too fast, Mingyu panicking and throwing up a peace sign while you do finger guns. It’s terribly amazing.

The final countdown starts, seeming slower somehow. You look at him. He looks at you. Neither of you move.

And then, with one second left, you lean in and press your forehead to his. It’s not a kiss. Not yet. But it’s close, and it’s honest.

The flash goes off.

You’re both slightly breathless when the strips print, you take one like it’s fragile, smoothing the curl of the paper as he takes the other.

“Geez,” you say, staring at the photos. “We look like idiots.”

“We are idiots,” he says, peering over your shoulder. “But we’re idiots with a photo now.”

You glance up at him. He’s already looking at you.

You fold the strip carefully and tuck it into your bag. “I’m keeping it. So you can’t deny any of this ever happened.”

He grins. “Good. I wouldn’t want to.”

The sky is melting into soft amber by the time you both leave the booth, a strip of blurry, laughing snapshots fluttering between your fingers. Mingyu’s arm brushes yours as he stretches after sitting down too long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, it just feels like him.

“Want me to walk you home?” he asks, already falling into step beside you like he always does.

You glanced at him, amused. “You do that even when I don’t ask.”

He grins, eyes flicking to the sidewalk. “Yeah, but now it’s a date-walk-home. Totally different category.”

“Right,” you say, pretending to be serious. “That changes everything.”

“I should have brought a rose. Or walked on the traffic side like a gentleman.”

“You always walk on the traffic side.” You point out.

“Oh,” he says before gasping, mock-scandalized. “Then I guess I’ve been courting you this entire time!”

You laugh, bumping your shoulder with his as the two of you fall into step like always. Same rhythm, same streets, same jokes traded over the same old cracks in the sidewalk, but now there's something quieter between you. Not tension, like before, just the awareness that what you used to call platonic has been rearranged, softened by truth and proximity and all the bullshit you two went through to get here.

“I used to think you were walking me home out of guilt,” you say after a few blocks. “Like, ‘well, I crushed her dreams of getting laid, might as well make sure she doesn’t get kidnapped.”

He snorts, “That was only part of it.”

You glance at him, taking in his faint smile, slightly shy eyes as he says, a little quieter now, “I just like walking with you, even when we were a mess. Maybe even especially then.”

You nod, because you did too. Back then, you never knew what to say when you felt too much, but just walking beside him, not saying anything, was always enough.

He holds the cookie container under one arm and keeps the photo strip neatly in his back pocket, like it’s worth saving.

You reach your street before you’re ready, both of you slowing your steps without saying anything. He stops at the entrance to your apartment, hands in his jacket pockets, looking up at your front door like it’s suddenly very interesting.

You can see that he wants to say something, so you wait, giving him time.

“Since we’re being honest with each other now,” He starts, “I almost kissed you earlier.”

You swallow, caught off guard. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, looking up. “Because… I didn’t want to mess it up by going too fast. I think—I know—if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop. I’ll want to do it all the time. And we’re taking things slow, so I don’t want to push too far too fast and lose this. Lose us.”

The light above you flickers in time with your hearts skipped beat as you nod.

“I’d let you. Kiss me, I mean.” You say softly.

“I know,” his voice catches slightly, “That was part of it too. Still in shock that this is real, you know? Like, I know it is but I still feel like… I’m gonna wake up alone.”

You know what he means. Know how your past words and actions had made him feel this way, so you offer whatever support you can give, looking down and nodding slightly with a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah. For the record, I’m 100% on board with going slow. I don’t want you to think I’m just in this to fuck you.”

For once, you hold your tongue, not adding the usual ‘although I wouldn’t complain if you did’. But you know he sees it by the way his lips quirk up in recognition, the way he squeezes your hand gently.

“We really are a mess, huh?” You say after a moment.

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, “I’m a perfect picture of emotional restraint.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You once cried because a bird stared at you too long.”

“It was a very aggressive bird!” He defends, making you both giggle.

You’re still laughing as you unlock your door, him standing a few steps behind you, like he always does. Like he’s guarding the space without pushing into it.

You turn around just before you step in. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Always.”

You hesitate, looking at him. The curve of his face, the familiar look in his eye that mimics your own, not wanting to part but not knowing how to ask. So you just do it without overthinking (too much).

“Star Wars marathon?” You offer.

And you know you won’t regret it as soon as you see the way Mingyu’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to ask all week, since we haven’t done our monthly rewatch.”

You jokingly scoff, letting him in. “You could have asked me.”

“Yeah, but then I’d seem too eager.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh yeah?” You snort. “And what reputation is that?”

He follows you inside naturally, “Cool. Untouchable. Mysterious.”

You guffaw before you can stop yourself, “You cry every time Anakin and Obi-wan fight on Mustafar.”

“Okay, first of all,” he says, toeing off his shoes, “that was a betrayal of cosmic proportions. You don’t just recover from that. Secondly, so do you, you cry about Anakin being—and I quote—‘too hot to be evil’.”

You laugh as you flick on the lights. “I think you just imprinted on Obi-wan too hard as a kid.”

“I was a noble child with a strong sense of justice,” he says, already heading to his designated spot on your couch. “Also, have you seen Ewan McGregor? He had really good hair.”

“Still does.”

“Exactly.”

After changing into comfortable clothes—sweats, and a soft T-shirt that definitely used to be his— you grab the stack of old DVDs from your shelf—because despite all your streaming subscriptions, neither of you trust the digital versions not to change scenes—and toss them onto the coffee table. Mingyu holds up one of your fluffy blankets like a question, you nod. The two of you set up, falling back into the rhythm you always have.

You settle in beside him and he drapes the blanket over both of your legs, knees bumping his in a way that feels familiar. Safe.

You nudge him when he steals the remote, and he just shoots you a cheeky grin and sets up the first movie without asking which one to start with, because you always alternate chronological and release order, ever since you argued over which is the superior option back when the tradition first started. Today is release order, your favorite.

The opening crawl rolls up the screen and you can’t help but steal a glance at him.

He’s mouthing the words. Of course he is.

You grin, sinking back into the cushions. He notices and turns to you.

“What?”

“You’re a huge dork.” You whisper with a smile.

He shrugs, not embarrassed in the slightest, “You like it.”

And you do. You really, really do.

Somewhere between Alderaan exploding and Obi-Wan dying you end up leaning into him, your head falling naturally against his shoulder. He tilts slightly toward you, resting his cheek on the top of your head. It’s quiet in the best way, no pressure, no expectations, just shared warmth and the low hum of the TV (and the occasional Wilhelm scream).

At some point, you realize he’s not mouthing along anymore.

You peak up and a small smile creeps onto your face. He’s asleep, mouth parted slightly, hair a mess, one arm loosely around your waist like it ended up there by accident.

You shift just enough to rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. He stirs a little but doesn’t wake, instead tightening his arm around you like he’s been doing this forever.

You smile, closing your eyes.

The next morning arrives with a soft, golden light filtering through your curtains, and the distinct realization that you’re not alone on the couch.

Your neck aches, your foot’s asleep, and Mingyu is half on top of you, snoring softly with his face smushed into your shoulder like it's a particularly comfortable pillow.

You blink, brain slowly coming back online.

The TV is still on, frozen somewhere in the middle of Return of the Jedi. There’s a crumb trail on the coffee table, a tangled mess of blankets at your feet, and Mingyu’s hand is dangerously close to your ass.

You shift, causing him to groan, barely stirring, and muttering something unintelligible about Wookies.

You stifle a laugh. Of course he’s dreaming about Star Wars.

You glance at the clock. It’s somehow almost ten, and—despite the fact that you’re sweaty, uncomfortably folded into the couch cushions, and slightly drooling—you’ve never felt more at peace.

Mingyu stirs again, this time blinking awake slowly, brow furrowing as if waking up requires deep mental effort.

“…Are we dead?” he croaks, voice rough with sleep.

“Only emotionally,” you say, shifting under him. “You’re crushing my spine.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he rolls off you with all the grace of a tranquilized elephant. “I had dream about turning into a blueberry and getting eaten by chewbacca.” He says as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

“Sounds like a pretty accurate metaphor for your emotional state.”

He squints at you through messy hair. “Do you ever shut up in the morning?”

“Nope,” you stretch your arms lazily over your head, wincing. “God, how are we not paralyzed after that?”

“I’m built different,” he says, groaning as he sits up and immediately regrets it, judging by the look on his face. “By which, I mean stupid.”

You both sit there for a moment, blinking at each other in disheveled silence.

And then he smiles.

It’s slow. Easy. Sleep-soft and fond in a way that turns your stomach into warm mush.

“You look good like this,” he says, nudging your socked foot with his, “all cute and tired.”

You flick a crumb at him to hide your flushing face—you don’t think you’ll ever get used to him flirting back. “Don’t start flirting with me before I’ve brushed my teeth.”

“No promises.”

He stands and stretches with a noise that might belong to a dying walrus, then offers you a hand. You take it, even though you don’t need help, because it’s just the thing now, apparently. Finding those little excuses to touch each other (not that you’re complaining).

“I’ll make coffee?” he offers, already padding toward your kitchen like it’s his.

“Wait,” you call, following. “You remember where everything is?”

He throws you a smug look over his shoulder. “Babe. I’ve made coffee in your kitchen like a hundred times. The only difference is that now I get to kiss you, if I want to.”

You pause in your tracks.

He doesn’t look back right away, like he didn’t just drop that on your morning like a bomb. But then—just as he pulls the mugs down—he glances over his shoulder.

A question in his eyes.

You don’t answer with words.

You walk up behind him, stand on tiptoe, and press a kiss to his shoulder blade through the fabric of his shirt. You can feel the way his breath hitches as you rest your cheek against his back, arms loose around his waist.

“That okay?” you whisper, smiling when he nods. You hug him tighter, just for a second, before letting go.

He doesn’t move for a beat, just stands there with your warmth still lingering on his back, his hands frozen mid-reach toward the coffee pot like his entire system’s short-circuited.

Then he says, quietly, almost reverent, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s more than okay.”

You hum and slide onto the couch, tucking your knees up beneath you. Watching him try to regain control of his body after one shoulder kiss is possibly the highlight of your entire week.

He fumbles the coffee grounds a little, doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You’re blushing,” you sing-song.

“Shut up,” he mutters, ears practically glowing crimson.

You rest your chin on your knees, grinning. “I thought you were gonna be cocky, considering your reputation.”

“I was cocky before. Now I’m terrified.”

You snort. “Of what?”

“That this is a dream,” he says, flicking on the coffee machine. “Or that I’m gonna say something dumb and ruin it.”

“Statistically speaking, that second one’s a very real threat.”

He throws a dish towel at your face.

You catch it, laughing.

The apartment fills with the smell of coffee and comfort—like home, but warmer. Messier. Better.

Mingyu hands you a mug the way he always has—but this time, your fingers brush on purpose. And when he sits down next to you, he doesn’t try to hide the way he leans in a little, like gravity’s stronger now that you’ve crossed that line.

It’s quiet for a moment, both of you sipping and stealing glances, the hum of the machine fading into the background.

Then he says, cautiously, “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You turn your head to look at him, eyes softer than before, waiting for him to continue. He sighs, running a hand through his hair like he’s pulling the truth up from somewhere buried.

“I’ve…” He frowns, eyes fixed on the swirl of coffee in his mug. “I’ve never really done this part. The actual serious, wake-up-next-to-you-and-make-coffee kind of thing.”

You stay quiet, just listening, letting him find the words.

“I usually screw around. You know that. I know you know that,” he says, glancing at you with a brief, wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve always kept things light. Easy. No promises, no strings. It’s safer that way.”

He sets his mug down and laces his fingers together, elbows on the table. His tone shifts—honest now, like a confession.

“I’m good at the beginning part. The flirting. The jokes. The late nights. But once it gets real? I bolt. Or they do. I don’t think I’ve ever really given someone the chance to stick. Not because I didn’t want them to—but because I didn’t trust myself not to ruin it.”

You tilt your head, watching him with something gentler than surprise. You’ve known Mingyu for a long time. You’ve heard the stories, seen the aftermaths. But this is different. Raw.

“I never wanted to risk losing someone just by being… me. Stupid, flirty, kind of reckless me. I thought it’d be easier to never try. Keep it casual. Keep it fun. I mean, I know why people sleep with me, it’s not for me, it’s for,” he gestures vaguely at himself, not cocky, just… almost tired, “me. After a while that became what everyone expected, so that's all they wanted. The casual flings, the one night stands. That's all I could get and it’s all I wanted.”

He glances at you again. This time, he holds your gaze.

“But then you—you made it impossible not to care. You snuck in when I wasn’t looking, and now I’m scared in a way that I don’t know how to deal with. Because I do care. Fuck, I care so much, and I don’t want to mess it up by rushing into something I don’t know how to do without running away after.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So what do you want to do?”

He exhales through his nose, smiling faintly. “Go slow. Learn how to do this right. I want to kiss you like I’ve got time. Hold your hand like it matters. Wake up next to you a hundred more times and make coffee even when I forget the right ratio.”

You huff a laugh, tears stinging unexpectedly at the corners of your eyes at the confession.

“I want to figure it out with you,” he says, softer now. “Even after everything, you’re still the most important person to me. Always have been. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to get it right for.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—thick with everything unsaid and understood. Your heart feels like it’s expanding and cracking all at once.

You reach over and slide your fingers over his, sure but gentle.

“You’re already doing it right.”

He squeezes your hand, eyes going glossy before he blinks it away with a sheepish grin. “Don’t say that. I’ll cry and ruin my cool morning-after image.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “You’re wearing socks with Baby Yodas on them. That image was never happening.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, “Grogu is timeless.”

You squeeze his fingers again, and he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—slow, deliberate.

After a moment, you smile softly. “We can go as slow as you want, Gyu. I know it may not seem like it because of my… history, but I can wait. I want this for more than just sex. I want you for more than that.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want to go slow. I want everything with you, and that scares me shitless because I know that once I start, I won’t be able to stop wanting.”

Your breath catches.

Mingyu’s voice is low, not dramatic or pleading—just honest, in that helpless, almost-shaking way that only someone who means it could sound.

He looks down, like maybe saying too much is a risk he’s already halfway regretting. “I’m scared that once I let myself have this, I’ll want it all. Not just mornings and coffee and slow kisses—but holidays. Fighting over which movie to watch. Grocery shopping. All the boring, real shit. I want that with you.”

You don’t interrupt—you can’t, your heart full to the brim.

“And if I get it,” he continues, “I’m terrified I’ll mess it up. That you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not worth it. Or worse—realize I’m just the guy who never learned how to be serious until he risked ruining the best thing he’s ever had.”

You shift closer, turning so your knees bump his and you’re facing him.

He doesn’t look up until you’re there beside him, fingers brushing his knee. His eyes are glossy again, and yours are burning now too.

You lean down—because just sitting felt too far away—and cup his face in your hands.

“You’re not ruining anything,” you whisper, voice steady and confident. “You’re trying. That’s everything. That’s more than most people ever do.”

He leans into your touch like he needs it. Like he’s afraid you’d pull away.

You press your forehead to his, voice softer now. “And I’m scared too. Of wanting too much. Of losing it before we even get started. But you’re not just some guy I’m experimenting on. You’re—” You break off, breathe out. “You’re it for me, Mingyu. Okay? I don’t care if it’s too soon to say that, because it’s the truth. Whatever pace we move at, whatever we figure out along the way—I want it with you.”

“I love you.” He whispers.

You smile softly, unable to resist responding with, “I know.”

His face brightens as he chuckles, “Are you trying to Star Wars your way into bed with me again?”

“That depends, is it working?”

His hands come up to cover yours, gently pulling you in until his lips meet yours. It’s warm, soft, just the faintest brush at first. When he pulls away and looks at you, your breath hitches. His gaze searches yours for a moment before his lips are on yours again, this time deeper. The second you sigh into it his hand finds your jaw and tilts your face up like he needs it.

For all his past resistance, Mingyu kisses you like a man drowning.

It turns desperate and slow and hungry, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way your lips move on his.

When his thumb brushes your cheekbone and his other hand grips your hip like he doesn’t trust himself to stop, you can’t help the small moan that slips from your mouth into his.

And when he pulls back, just enough to murmur, “You’re it for me too,” you know neither of you is going anywhere. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer as you sink into his lap fully. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly into your mouth. It’s messy, a little breathless, as you both finally give in, losing yourselves in each other.

You roll your hips once, slow and instinctive, and he breaks the kiss with a strangled noise, forehead pressed to yours.

“I thought we were going slow,” you murmur, voice shaky with restraint.

He’s just as breathless, lips brushing yours. “We are. This is just… warming up.”

He laughs once—hoarse, almost desperate—and then his mouth is on your neck, teeth grazing skin in a way that makes you gasp. His hands are everywhere now, still careful but growing bolder, and you’re not sure which of you is trembling more.

“I’m never gonna survive this,” he mutters against your throat.

“Then don’t,” you whisper, pulling him back into another kiss. “Just fall.”

He presses his lips to yours again, and this time, the kiss is filthy.

There’s no slow, romantic build—it’s teeth and heat and the kind of kiss that says you started this, now finish it. He cups the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, presses you back into the couch, finally, finally giving in.

“You’re evil,” he breathes against your lips.

You smile. “You like that about me.”

He doesn’t argue—just kisses you harder and lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to your bedroom off of muscle memory alone.

He sets you down on the bed like he’s afraid you might break—slow, deliberate, like laying something sacred at an altar.

And then he just stares.

You’re beneath him, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt, and it’s like he can’t believe you’re real.

“God,” he breathes, brushing your hair back like he needs to see all of you, “you’re gonna ruin me.”

You pull him down by the collar of his shirt, just enough to whisper, “That’s the plan.”

But he doesn’t kiss you, not right away.

He hovers there, like he’s savoring it, as if he’s trying to etch the curve of your cheek, the flicker in your eyes, each hitch in your breath into his being. Mingyu’s hands glide down your sides, reverent, like he’s handling something holy.

And then he dips his head.

Not to your lips.

To your neck.

Your collarbone.

Your sternum.

Mingyu kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s tasting parts of you no one else has ever dared to linger on. His mouth leaves heat in every place it touches—open, wet, near-aching kisses down your chest as he pushes your shirt up inch by inch, slow enough to make you writhe.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, nose brushing your ribs. “So warm, fuck, you smell like—God, I don’t know, home? Vanilla and—shit, I’m dizzy.”

You laugh breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair. “You sound high.”

“I feel like I am,” he groans, like it’s a problem he has zero intention of fixing. “I’m so fucking gone.”

His hands tremble a little on your hips. He kisses a trail lower, eyes fluttering closed, and when you lift your hips to help him tug off the rest of your clothes, he has to pause and just breathe. Like if he moves too fast, he’ll short-circuit completely.

And honestly?

He might.

Because once you’re bare beneath him, once he gets his mouth back on your skin, Mingyu is gone.

He worships every inch he can reach with lips, tongue, teeth. One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave a mark, while the other drifts aimlessly—like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most. Your waist? Your chest? Your throat? It’s like he wants everything.

His lips find the swell of your chest, and he groans—deep and raw, like the taste of your skin is too much. His hips jerk against the bed, completely unprompted, like just kissing you there wrecked him.

You’re panting now, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Mingyu…”

He moans your name like it hurts, pulling back just far enough to look at you, flushed and wild-eyed.

“I need to slow down,” he pants, voice thin. “I’m—I’m gonna cum just from touching you, I swear to god—”

You blink at him, dazed. “Gyu—”

“Fuck,” he chokes, biting his lip. “I don’t even know how, but you—I can’t think. You smile at me and I’m fucking done.”

He lowers his forehead to your stomach, breathing hard.

“I’ve never wanted anything this much,” he whispers. “Never wanted to take my time so bad but also fuck you through the damn mattress.”

You whimper, hips shifting under him, and he shudders like the sound physically hurt.

“I need a second,” he mumbles against your skin, trailing his lips along the curve of your stomach like it’ll ground him. “I need to taste you, touch you, everything— gotta go slow, give you what you deserve.”

He lifts his head—flushed, wrecked already—and nods to himself.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Slow. I can do that. I have to do that.”

He finally lowers his mouth between your thighs like a man desperate for salvation. His mouth lingers everywhere except where you need him most—kissing the insides of your thighs, mouthing at your skin like he’s memorizing the taste of your sweat, your heat, your need.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your skin, breath fanning hot over you.

“More,” you practically whine, hips twitching when his tongue finally—finally—slides between your folds, slow and deliberate.

He groans like your taste wrecks him.

And then he devours you.

No teasing. No hesitation.

Mingyu’s mouth moves with purpose—wide licks that flatten against your clit, then soft, maddening flicks that make your thighs try to snap closed on instinct. He holds you open easily, large hands anchoring you to the mattress, like he wants you to fight it. Like the way you tremble only feeds something deep and feral in him.

You cry out—raw and already close embarrassingly fast—and his tongue circles tighter, more focused now, lips wrapping around your clit with gentle suction that makes your eyes roll back.

He moans into you when you grind against his face, the sound vibrating straight through your core.

“Come on,” he rasps between licks, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let go for me, baby. Want to feel you fall apart.”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave—sharp, sudden, thighs shaking as you cry out his name. He doesn’t stop, not even as you whimper and squirm, too sensitive, too much. He keeps licking you through it, mouth greedy, tongue relentless.

“Gyu, fuck, I—” he groans, grip tightening on your hips.

“Tastes like fucking candy,” he says, voice almost wrecked. “Give me another. Please.”

Mingyu doesn’t beg, He pleads. Like his life depends on it. Like making you cum again is the only thing keeping him grounded.

And it works.

He pulls another orgasm from you with almost cruel precision, sucking your clit while two fingers slip inside you, slow and deep. Crooking them just right. You sob his name when the second release hits—longer, deeper, your whole body tensing before it breaks.

Your thighs are trembling now, your hands tangled in the sheets, yet he still doesn’t stop.

“Gyu—baby—I can’t—”

“You can,” he pants, lifting his head for just a second. His mouth is soaked, chin wet, lips swollen and red. “You’re doing so good. One more, just one more, please.”

Then he’s back between your legs, tongue working in tandem with his fingers now, faster, harder, until your breath leaves you entirely.

Your third orgasm hits like lightning.

You scream, back arching off the bed, legs quivering uncontrollably as your whole body locks up and trembles—pure overstimulation, pleasure blurring into pain and back again. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and Mingyu moans like he’s the one coming, voice ragged, fingers still moving inside you as you writhe helplessly.

He eases you down slowly, licking you softer now, gentler, until your trembling fades into aftershocks and you’re left boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

Only then does he finally pull back—sits up on his knees, hair a mess, chest heaving, lips glossy with you. He looks wrecked. Eyes wide. Wild.

“I’ve never,” he whispers, staring at you like you’re holy. “Seen anything so fucking beautiful.”

You can’t speak, you can barely move. You’re a puddle. A completely wrecked, trembling, over-loved puddle of a human being.

And Mingyu looks like a man who just conquered Mt. Everest, won an Oscar, and found religion—all at the same time. He’s staring down at you with the dumbest, most wrecked, heart-eyes expression imaginable.

“You alive?” He asks, voice hoarse, lips still shiny, and way too pleased with himself.

You try to respond. Honestly. You try. But all that comes out is a breathy, unintelligible sound that vaguely resembles a laugh and a whimper having a crisis.

“Cool,” he says, grinning, flopping down beside you. “So, you died a little. That’s fair. I kinda did too.”

You nudge him weakly with your foot. “Stop being so smug.”

He gasps—actually gasps. “Me? Smug? I’ll have you know I’m deeply concerned about your well-being. You were shaking. Like, medically.”

“I was getting the best head of my life, geez.”

He groans and covers his face with a pillow. “Don’t say it like that. I was being romantic. I practically saw the light.”

You giggle, reaching over to tug the pillow off his face. He grins against your shoulder, then presses a soft kiss there, his hands trailing up your arm. “Too soon?”

You snort. “Way too soon. At least let me recover my ability to walk first.”

“Right. Right. Fair.” He props himself up on one elbow, eyes softening. “Seriously, though. You okay? Not too much?”

You glance at the water bottle on the nightstand and deadpan, “If you hand me that, I might forgive you for almost sending me into orbit.”

He immediately scrambles for it. “Done. And while we’re at it—snacks? A foot rub? Me apologizing to your thighs personally?”

You take the bottle, laughing. “My thighs are gonna need therapy.”

He wiggles his brows. “Good thing I’m available for emergency counseling sessions. I charge in kisses.”

You roll your eyes and sip the water. “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

“Baby,” he says, grinning wide, “I will always have an ulterior motive when you’re naked.”

You throw the pillow at him. He catches it with a dramatic “oof,” then immediately pulls you into his arms again like a human octopus—limbs everywhere, clingy and warm.

“You’re not escaping,” he mumbles into your hair. “Not after that. You’re mine now. Legally. Spiritually. Cosmically.”

“Cosmically?” You echo, laughing into his chest.

“Yup,” he says smugly. “You broke three laws of physics and at least two of my vertebrae. We’re bonded forever.”

You snort, half-laughing, half-yawning. “Fine. But I get the left side of the bed.”

“Deal. As long as I get you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead—messy, content, maybe a little sweaty—and then another to your cheek, and another to your shoulder like he’s trying to leave little stamps that say property of Mingyu.

You sigh dramatically. “God, you’re annoying.”

He beams. “You love that about me.”

You do.

Especially when he holds you like this. Close, warm, and totally wrapped around you, mumbling half-teasing nonsense until you’re too tired to sass him back.

“Alright, let’s get you in the shower,” Mingyu announces, already shifting like he’s preparing for a mission.

You groan dramatically. “Can’t we just marinate in our sins a little longer?”

He snorts. “Tempting, but no.”

Eventually, you mumble, “You’re gonna have to carry me to the bathroom, my legs aren’t speaking to me.”

Mingyu lifts his head from your shoulder with a proud little smile. “Good thing your legs love me.”

You swat his chest weakly. “They’re in shock. You should send them flowers.”

“Already planning on it,” he says, voice a little smug but eyes still all soft. “Also considering writing an apology letter. Maybe baking them cookies.”

You snort. “You’re such a menace.”

“A gentle, generous menace,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. “Come on, sleepy noodle. You’ll feel better after a shower.”

You groan dramatically, flopping like a fish. “Too far. My body is soup.”

“I like soup,” he says brightly, already slipping off the bed. “Especially when it’s clingy and whiny and in love with me.”

“I am not whiny—”

“You are,” he sing-songs, tossing you one of his shirts like it’s a peace offering. “But you’re cute about it, so it cancels out.”

You pull the oversized tee over your head, grumbling. “You're lucky I can't walk yet or I’d shove you into a wall.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” he says, eyes sparkling as he scoops you up bridal-style. “But I am one hundred percent into it.”

You yelp, flailing a little as your feet leave the ground. “Mingyu!”

He just laughs, carrying you toward the bathroom like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “This is part of the boyfriend package. You get head, cuddles, and a full princess carry service.”

“I didn’t know it came with a subscription.”

“Only available to very special customers,” he says, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot. “Limited time offer. Lifetime commitment optional—but encouraged.”

The mirror greets you with the sight of flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and behind you, Mingyu’s smiling like a golden retriever who just got praise and a treat.

He sets you down gently on the edge of the tub and leans over to start the shower, letting the water run warm before turning back with a small, proud puff of his chest. “Shower’s ready. And so am I.”

You narrow your eyes. “You are not helping me shower.”

He grins. “Why not? I was very involved in this mess. I think it’s only fair I help clean it up.”

“I swear, if you try to flirt with me while I’m shampooing—”

“Too late,” he says, already peeling his shirt off and dramatically tossing it aside as you do the same. “I’m mentally preparing at least five shower puns. Wanna hear the first one?”

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be a soap-erior joke!”

You groan so loudly he cackles, stepping in behind you as you shuffle into the warm water. The heat hits your skin, and you sigh, the tension slowly melting out of your muscles. Mingyu wraps his arms around you from behind like a blanket, his chin resting on your shoulder.

He hums against your skin, swaying the two of you gently under the stream like you're slow dancing instead of standing bare and blissed out in a foggy bathroom.

"You're dangerously good at this," you murmur, leaning into him. “Cuddling. Carrying. Post-debauchery care.”

“I’ve trained my whole life for this moment,” he says solemnly, but he’s already grinning again. “All those hours perfecting my koala cling technique.”

You tilt your head, skeptical. “Koala cling?”

“Yeah.” He tightens his grip like a cartoon villain kidnapping a princess. “This is level four. Advanced. Only deployable on girlfriends who’ve had their souls loved out of them.”

“More like fucked out of them.” You splutter a laugh, almost slipping on the tile, and he tightens his grip again like a safety harness.

“Okay, okay—level five activated,” he says dramatically. “Safety override! Girlfriend in distress!”

You’re laughing so hard your ribs hurt. “You’re so stupid.”

“And yet, I’m still allowed to see you naked,” he says proudly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Clearly I’m doing something right.”

The steam curls around you both and you go quiet for a moment, swaying gently in the warmth, his heartbeat steady at your back.

He presses a second kiss to your shoulder, softer this time. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod slowly, still resting against him. “Yeah. Just kinda… floaty. You make my brain all fuzzy.”

“That’s my favorite compliment,” he murmurs. “Right after ‘oh my god, you idiot’ and ‘what the fuck are you doing.’”

You snort. “You’re impossible.”

He smiles into your neck. “But you like me anyway.”

You don’t say anything right away—just tip your head back onto his shoulder and let the water run over both of you. And then, very softly: “Yeah. I really do.”

Mingyu stills for a beat, like you hit a button inside him he wasn’t expecting, and then squeezes you tighter, just once, before nuzzling your damp hair with a grin you can’t see but can definitely feel.

“I like you too,” he says, voice low and stupidly fond. “Like, in a dumb, irreversible, stuck-on-you kind of way.��

You roll your eyes fondly. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“It is,” he says seriously. “I’m never gonna be normal again. I’m ruined. I’ll be in the grocery store thinking about your thighs.”

You burst out laughing. “My thighs?”

“Mmhm. I have to make amends every time I look at them.”

You spin around in his arms, water splashing between you, and poke him in the chest. “I cannot believe you just said that with a straight face.”

Mingyu grins, entirely unrepentant. “It’s true. I’m gonna start leaving them little apology notes. Post-its. Maybe a fruit basket.”

“Oh my God,” you laugh, letting your forehead fall against his chest. “You’re such a menace.”

“A menace with a sincere heart and excellent taste in thighs,” he says, tilting your chin up with his knuckle. His eyes are sparkling, water dripping from his lashes like he’s been carved from sunlight and bad decisions.

You flick his nose. “Behave.”

“Impossible,” he says. “I just went down on the love of my life for like thirty uninterrupted minutes. I’m riding a high no shower can scrub off.”

You cover your face. “You can’t keep saying things like that with no warning.”

He leans in, whispering against your ear, “What, that I’m obsessed with you? That you taste better than anything I’ve ever had? That I’m one missed eye contact away from proposing right now in this damn shower?”

Oh how the tables have turned.

You make a strangled squeaking sound and slap his shoulder, but you’re laughing too hard to look threatening. “You are unwell.”

He beams. “Terminally. Doomed. Completely whipped.”

“Honestly,” you sigh, mock-exasperated. “This is what I get for letting you touch me?”

Mingyu leans back, still holding you, as he runs his fingers gently through your wet hair. “No take-backs.”

You narrow your eyes. “Even if you keep flirting like a Shakespeare character with brain damage?”

He gasps, hand to heart. “Rude. My iambic pentameter is flawless.”

“You’re so lucky I’m soft for you,” you mutter, turning into his chest again.

“I know,” he says smugly, hugging you close. “And I’m never letting you forget it.”

Then, quieter, more sincere: “Hey. I mean it, though. I’ve never done that before. Not like that. Not just… that.”

You blink up at him. “Really?”

He nods, brushing some wet strands off your cheek. “Yeah. But you—” He breaks into a shy, almost boyish grin. “I didn’t want anything else. That was enough.”

Your chest squeezes so tight it’s almost hard to breathe.

You cup his face, fingers curling behind his ears. “You’re kind of a dream, you know that?”

He shrugs, grinning like a goof. “A dream with a tongue like a superpower. Pretty sure that makes me a Marvel hero.”

You burst into helpless giggles, kissing his cheek. “My ‘Oral Avenger’.”

He snorts, and you both double over in laughter.

He tries to stand up straighter, puffing out his chest like he’s about to recite a monologue. “Sworn protector of pleasure. Defender of thighs. Champion of cuddles.”

You wheeze. “Mingyu, please.”

“Silence, civilian,” he says, adopting a comically deep voice and cupping water in his hands like he’s about to baptize you. “You’ve been saved by the Oral Avenger. Gratitude is mandatory. Kisses are currency.”

You smack his arm, still laughing, nearly slipping again, but he catches you immediately—reflexes like a superhero, unfortunately for your dignity.

“You are not real,” you manage, gripping his shoulders for balance. “There’s no way someone like you actually exists.”

He grins, obnoxiously proud. “And yet, here I am. Naked in your shower. Making you laugh. Making you—” He cuts himself off with a smug little smirk. “Well. You remember.”

“Vividly,” you say, pretending to glare at him, though you’re still smiling so wide it hurts.

He softens then, all the goofiness still there in his eyes, but dialed down into something quieter, sweeter. “I like being the one who gets to take care of you.”

Your heart stutters. “Even when I’m a soup noodle who can barely stand?”

“Especially then,” he says, wrapping you back into his arms under the warm spray. “That’s when you’re at your most dangerous. All soft and sleepy and wrapped around me.”

You hide your face against his chest again. “You’re gonna kill me with how much you like me.”

“Plot twist,” he whispers. “You’ve been killing me since day one.”

You groan. “We’re gonna drown in the sap.”

“Good,” he says cheerfully. “If we die, at least we die clean, naked, and stupid in love.”

You shake your head, giggling as you curl into him, his arms keeping you steady, his warmth making the water feel even softer somehow. You’re not sure how long you stand there—swaying slightly, his fingers drawing lazy shapes on your back, the shower a quiet hum around you—but you could stay forever if it meant this.

Eventually, you sigh. “I’m turning into a raisin.”

Mingyu kisses your forehead. “Then it’s time for phase three.”

You squint up at him. “What the hell is phase three?”

He smiles like a man with a very serious plan. “Snacks. Sweatpants. Cuddles so aggressive, they’re basically a hostage situation.”

You pretend to think it over, then nod. “Acceptable. But I get to steal your hoodie.”

“Obviously,” he says. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t immediately offer you all my clothes like a Victorian suitor offering his estate?”

“You are so weird,” you say, stepping out and reaching for a towel.

He hands you one, then wraps one around his waist with that same dumb, soft grin still glued to his face. “Weirdly in love with you.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Smooth.”

He shrugs. “You like it.”

...And unfortunately for your dignity, you do.

You do. You like it so much it should be illegal.

And judging by the way Mingyu is looking at you—like you just personally rewrote his understanding of happiness—he knows it too.

“Alright, Avenger,” you say, toweling off your hair and trying not to look too fond, “lead the way to phase three. But I swear, if there are no snacks, I’m revoking your superhero license.”

Mingyu gasps in mock offense. “My license?! Baby, I passed all the tests. Oral, emotional, cuddly—I’m triple certified.”

“Triple certified menace,” you mutter, but you’re grinning again, and he’s already reaching for your hand, lacing your fingers together like it’s second nature.

He tugs you gently through the steam-filled bathroom and into the bedroom, still warm with leftover sunlight and very real post-orgasmic bliss. You collapse dramatically onto the bed, limbs flopping like you’ve been felled by love itself.

Mingyu disappears for all of twenty seconds—just enough time for you to contemplate stealing all the covers—before returning with snacks balanced on a tray like a waiter at a fancy café.

“You didn’t—” you start, but stop when you see what he’s brought: chocolate-covered pretzels and a bag of your favorite chips. There's also a soda can with a bendy straw already popped in.

You blink. “You’re disgustingly good at this.”

He beams and bows with all the grace of a man who just handed you his soul in snack form. “Told you. Trained my whole life.”

You sit up to let him crawl into bed beside you, and the moment he’s within reach, you snag his hoodie off the floor and yank it over your head. It smells like detergent and him, and it’s instantly your new favorite piece of clothing.

Mingyu lets out a pleased little hum, already pulling you into his side. “Perfect. Now you’re officially in hostage cuddle territory.”

You lean into his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m kinda okay with that.”

He presses a kiss into your hair. “Good. Because I’m planning to hold you until your battery recharges.”

“You think I’m a phone?”

“I think you were on 2% when I found you on that bed, and now you’re blinking red with a system warning.”

You laugh quietly. “And what? You’re the charger?”

“Obviously.” He turns his head to look at you, eyes soft. “I’m the premium, extra-snuggly, heart-eyed charger with emotional availability enabled.”

You blink up at him. “Who are you and what did you do with the emotionally constipated flirt I called a best friend?”

He grins, not even pretending to be offended. “He evolved. Pokémon-style. Final form unlocked.”

You nuzzle closer, letting your hand settle over his heart. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Totally. But you like me anyway.”

And you do. God, you do.

You fall asleep like that—not even realizing it at first. Just warm limbs tangled up in his, the quiet crackle of snack wrappers long forgotten, your breaths syncing up, your fingers still tangled. The last thing you feel before the darkness pulls you under is his lips brushing your forehead again, and his voice, soft and half-lost in sleep.

“Best nap of my life. With my favorite person.”

You don’t answer, already drifting.

But if you could, you’d say the same.

The light is different when you wake up—thicker, lazier, like even the sun can’t be bothered to move too quickly. It’s warm, filtered through the curtains, and casting faint gold over the tangle of limbs you’re currently buried in.

You blink slowly. It takes a second to remember where you are, what time it is, who this very warm, very broad human heat source is.

And then Mingyu lets out a soft snore against your shoulder.

Right. Him.

You glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:04 PM.

Jesus. You slept hard.

Probably because of the mind-melting head. Probably because of the post-orgasm snacks. Probably because your body hit the kind of wall you don’t come back from without several REM cycles and light therapy.

You shift a little, trying to ease a cramp out of your leg, but Mingyu just makes a noise of protest and tightens his grip, burying his face deeper into your neck like a clingy koala with attachment issues.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and half-asleep. “You’re my favorite pillow.”

You snort, rubbing at your eyes. “You’re crushing my soul.”

“Good,” he says groggily. “It belongs to me now. Legally. Cosmically. We talked about this.”

You groan and stretch one arm over your head, nearly whacking him in the face. He doesn’t even flinch. “How are you still warm? You’re like a human oven.”

“I run hot,” he says, barely audible before chuckling. “You said that to me once.”

You bite back a smile and lean your head against his chest again. “You’ve been purposefully annoying since the minute I met you.”

“I prefer ‘strategically charming.’”

“You told me I looked like I’d never lifted a box in my life when I asked you for help in chem lab.”

He lifts his head a little, squinting down at you with the dumbest, sleepiest smile. “And look how far we’ve come. I went from roasting your biceps to worshiping your thighs.”

“God,” you mutter, turning your face into the pillow. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

You lie on him a little longer—mostly because you’re still boneless and warm and the hoodie you stole smells like him and sunshine and home. His fingers start tracing light shapes over your hip through the fabric, like he’s not even fully awake, just wired to reach for you.

After a while, your stomach growls loud enough to startle even him.

You both freeze.

Then he grins. “Phase four.”

You sigh, already dreading it. “Don’t tell me there’s an actual plan.”

“There’s always a plan,” he says, rolling onto his back dramatically like a king preparing to address his subjects. “Phase four is: second snacks, lazy post-nap makeouts, and possibly Mario Kart.”

You blink. “Mario Kart?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s an essential bonding ritual. We play. You lose. I gloat. You call me a cheater. I kiss you to distract you during Rainbow Road. Balance is restored to the universe.”

You stare at him, lips twitching. “You kiss me to cheat?”

“Strategically charming,” he repeats, tapping his temple.

You swat his stomach. “Fine. But I get to pick the snacks this time.”

He immediately holds out the imaginary microphone. “Say less, your majesty.”

You throw a pillow at his face. He catches it without looking.

This man. This absolute menace of a human being.

You get up eventually—only because your body is no longer soup and your stomach sounds like it’s trying to file a formal complaint. Mingyu follows close behind, shirtless, fluffy-haired, and smug as ever, trailing you like a golden retriever on a mission to be fed and cuddled in equal measure.

And you let him. Because at 3PM, in a quiet house with the afternoon sun crawling across the floor, being wrapped up in him still feels like the safest, softest place in the world.

The kitchen is quiet when you pad in, your feet bare, Mingyu’s hoodie hanging nearly to your knees, and the way it smells like him does something dangerous to your heart. There’s a gentle hum from the fridge, the distant sound of birds outside. It feels like the world is holding its breath, letting you have this one slow, perfect moment.

Mingyu follows close behind, hair rumpled from sleep, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and the kind of smile that looks like it’s still half-dreaming. He’s blinking slow, like his body hasn’t fully caught up to being awake, and when he sees you reaching for the cabinet, he immediately steps in to help.

“Let me,” he murmurs, voice still thick and scratchy with sleep.

You step aside, not protesting. Watching the way his muscles shift under his skin, the way his fingers fumble adorably on the mugs like he’s too cozy to function at full capacity.

“I was gonna make us breakfast. Lunch? Brunch.” you say softly.

“I’m helping,” he says, placing two mugs on the counter. “That makes me the co-chef. Sous-chef. Whatever gets me a taste-test.”

You smile, nose scrunching. “You just want to eat the batter again.”

“I just want to be near you while you whisk things,” he admits shamelessly. “You get all focused and bite your lip and it does something to me.”

“You’re such a sap,” you say, but your cheeks are warm and your stomach flutters like you’re seventeen and in love for the first time.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you pull out ingredients. You look away fast, too flustered to keep eye contact, pouring milk into the bowl like it’s suddenly become a very serious task.

He stays close while you work—handing you the whisk without you asking, brushing a crumb off your cheek with the gentlest touch, kissing your shoulder in the middle of your stirring like he can’t help it. It’s not rushed or loud or over-the-top. Just soft. Slow. The kind of lazy afternoon that you’d have never believed would be possible for you a few weeks ago—especially not with Mingyu.

Eventually, the pancakes are golden and fluffy and stacked high on the plate. Mingyu sets the table, even folds the napkins like you’re having brunch at a tiny sunlit diner that only exists for the two of you.

You sit side by side at the kitchen table, knees brushing, syrup pooling on your plates, and when you take the first bite and hum softly in approval, Mingyu practically lights up.

“Good?” he asks, like it matters more than anything.

You nod. “Perfect.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Told you we make a good team.”

You both eat slowly, sharing bites, stealing glances, saying very little. The silence is warm, not awkward, just comfortable.

At one point, he tugs gently at your sleeve and says, “Hey. Look at me for a sec.”

You do.

He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and careful and full of something that makes your chest ache.

“Just wanted to,” he says quietly.

Soon enough, you're both camped out on the floor in front of your TV, controllers in hand, knees knocking as Rainbow Road loads with its usual screaming colors and doom. Rainbow Road is chaos. Always has been. Always will be. And somehow, it’s the one track you two keep coming back to like it’s a relationship test.

You’re hunched forward with laser focus, tongue poking out just slightly as your kart hits every drift perfectly. Mingyu’s right behind you, gritting his teeth, doing everything he can to keep up. His character keeps skidding on the edges, and your laughter only makes it worse.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” you coo, which earns you a red shell to the face.

“Oh, I’m so done playing nice,” he warns, trying not to smile too hard as you fake a dramatic gasp.

By the third lap, you're ahead again—just barely. The final stretch is coming up, and you're gripping the controller like it’s life or death. You can feel him shift beside you, like he’s about to pull something.

“What are you—”

You don’t get to finish that thought, because suddenly he leans in and kisses you.

And not just a quick peck.

He cups your jaw with one hand and kisses you full-on, lips warm and insistent, like he’s been waiting all game for the excuse. It steals your breath. Your thumbs slow, your brain short-circuits. You let out a surprised little noise against his mouth, and he smiles into it—because of course he does.

Your kart immediately flies off the side of the track.

“You—!” you start, breaking the kiss as your character spins out into oblivion.

Mingyu’s already whooping like he won the lottery, flopping backward on the carpet with the most satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“That’s not fair!” you say, shoving his shoulder.

“That’s Mario Kart, baby,” he says, breathless with laughter. “And also… that was so worth it.”

You’re still dazed, fingers limp around the controller. “You kissed me to win.”

“I kissed you because I wanted to. Winning was a bonus.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you,” he says smugly, pulling you into him again.

You drop the controller, straddling his lap without even thinking. “Say that again without the smug.”

He kisses you slower this time. Less about the victory, more about you. His hand finds your waist like it’s second nature, and the only thing glowing now is the TV screen forgotten in the background.

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, voice is soft, but sure, like he’s sharing a secret just for you. It makes your cheeks flush, breath hitching.

You pull away just long enough to whisper, “I love you too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But next race I’m sitting in your lap. Let's see who’s distracted then.”

Mingyu blinks. “Oh,” he says, in that dumb, boyish way that means his brain has officially exited the chat.

You smirk, brushing a thumb across the corner of his mouth. “What? You started it.”

“I didn’t think you’d go feral about it,” he mumbles, staring at you like you just promised to ruin his life—in the best way possible.

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Rainbow Road, rematch. I’ll drive. You suffer.”

He groans, but it’s the kind that curls into a laugh halfway through. “You’re not gonna let me concentrate at all, are you?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you say sweetly, reaching for the controller again. “I mean, you cheated.”

He sits up a little, hands slipping to your thighs, keeping you there like he doesn’t want you going anywhere. “That was strategy.”

“You kissed me, you maniac!”

He grins. “Yeah, and now you’re in my lap, so technically I won twice.”

Your mouth drops open. “You little—”

But he cuts you off with another kiss. This one is lazy, familiar, warm. It makes you feel like you won even though you didn’t. His lips move against yours like he could keep doing this forever and wouldn’t mind never finishing another race again.

You kiss him back, just because you can. Just because it’s him.

Somewhere behind you, the Mario Kart theme loops cheerfully, oblivious to the way you two are definitely not playing anymore. His hands slip further up your thighs, massaging them as the kiss grows hungrier.

He pulls you closer, the world narrowing to the press of his lips and the soft heat of his hands exploring like they remember every curve by heart. Your breath catches when his tongue lightly brushes yours, slow and teasing, inviting but never rushing.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils wide, voice low. “You wanna keep playing?”

You blink, dizzy from the way he’s touching you. “The game?”

“No,” he murmurs, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “but we can pretend.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s fond, your hands sliding up under his shirt like they have a mind of their own. “You’re the worst,” you mumble, but it’s hard to sound convincing when your thumbs are already tracing the ridges of his stomach.

“And yet,” he whispers, tilting his head to kiss just under your jaw, “here you are. Still in my lap.”

You hum, neck tilting instinctively as he sucks lightly at your skin, just enough to make your breath stutter. “It’s for revenge,” you claim, your voice barely steady. “I need to win the rematch. Gotta... intimidate the opponent.”

Mingyu pulls back just slightly to meet your gaze, lips flushed, expression of pure trouble. “Oh yeah? This is intimidation?”

“I’m very scary,” you say, trying to hold back a smile as your nails lightly rake down his chest.

He shivers, mouth parting. “Terrifying,” he agrees, eyes flicking down to your lips again. “Should I be nervous?”

“Only if you’re bad at multitasking.”

He huffs a laugh, deep and breathy, then slides his arms all the way around you, hugging you to his chest like it’s second nature—like it’s always been this easy. His heart is racing. Yours might be worse.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you say quietly, voice just shy of breathless, “and we’re never gonna finish this game.”

He kisses you again—deeper this time. No warning, no teasing. Just heat.

Your breath catches, mouth parting instinctively, and he takes the invitation without hesitation. His tongue brushes yours, slow and deliberate, and your fingers clutch his shirt tighter like you’re trying not to slide right off his lap and onto the floor.

“Who said we need to?” he murmurs into your mouth, lips still moving with yours like he’s trying to make you forget the concept of time entirely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes glazed, lips red and swollen. “We’ve played two matches,” you say, barely holding back a grin, “and you’re already trying to seduce me mid-race?”

He laughs, low and cocky, hands sliding under the back of your shirt like he’s been waiting all night for an excuse. “Babe, I’ve been trying to seduce you since match zero.”

“Well,” you breathe, his touch dragging goosebumps along your spine, “you’re getting better at it.”

“Good,” he whispers, fingers pressing into your hips, dragging you closer. “Because I’m not planning to stop.”

You shift in his lap, just enough to feel the way he tenses beneath you. His breath stutters.

“Oh,” you say softly, feigning innocence, “that distracting?”

He groans, dropping his head back with a curse. “You’re a menace.”

“You like it.”

“I love it,” he says, voice rough now, pulling you back down to kiss you like he’s been starving for it. It’s messier this time, hungrier—your teeth catching his bottom lip, his hands tugging you flush against him like he’s trying to eliminate any space left between you.

The controller clatters to the floor. Neither of you notices.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly, and the way he growls low in his throat makes heat shoot down your spine. “Mingyu—”

“Yeah?” he says, lips dragging down your jaw, kissing the corner of your neck with a kind of reverence that still somehow feels desperate.

“I think…” you gasp, back arching a little as he sucks a bruise just below your collarbone, “...we’re gonna have to pause the rematch.”

He huffs a laugh against your skin, biting down gently just to hear the sound you make. “Call it a tactical delay.”

Your hands are under his shirt now, palms hot against his skin, mapping out every inch like you’re memorizing it for later. “You cheat at more than just Mario Kart, you know that?”

He pulls back to look at you, flushed and breathing hard, hair a mess because of your fingers, and still somehow the most beautiful disaster you’ve ever seen.

“I don’t care if I win or lose,” he says, voice raw, “as long as I get you like this.”

That shuts you up.

Because then he kisses you again—hard, like a promise—and you let him, gladly.

Your hips roll into his without thinking, and his breath hitches, hands tightening on your waist. When you do it again, slower this time, his mouth breaks from yours, head dropping to your shoulder with a ragged groan.

“You’re killing me,” he says, voice muffled.

You grin, breathless. “Still scary?”

He looks up, hair falling into his eyes, jaw clenched, pupils blown wide. “Terrified.”

Your laughter turns into a gasp as he shifts beneath you, both hands gripping your thighs like he’s grounding himself—like if he doesn’t hold onto something, he might actually lose his mind.

You’re not much better. Every point of contact between you feels like static—crackling, insistent, addictive.

He mouths at your neck, open and wet, and you can feel the heat of it radiating through your whole body. “You’re not even trying to hide how smug you are,” you murmur, voice unsteady as your fingers trail along the waistband of his sweats.

“Because you’re the one on top of me right now,” he says, lips brushing against your skin, “and I still don’t know if we’re making out or if I’m being punished.”

You smirk, tugging at his shirt. “Why not both?”

“God,” he mutters, helping you pull it over his head, voice going hoarse at the feel of your hands dragging up his chest. “You're evil.”

“You’re easy.”

“Only for you.”

The air shifts between you then—something thick and loaded hanging in the pause that follows. Your eyes lock, and it’s like you both realize at the same time that you’ve tipped past some invisible edge. That playful energy is still there, but underneath it—undeniable heat. Need.

His hand cups the back of your neck, gentle but firm as he pulls you back down into him. The kiss starts slow but deepens fast, tongues sliding, breaths catching, teeth grazing lips in that barely-restrained way that makes your stomach flip.

You grind into him again, deliberate now, and the moan that leaves his mouth is low and wrecked.

“Shit—” he pants, clutching at your hips like they’re the only thing tethering him to the floor. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna survive this round.”

Your lips find his throat, kissing down the column of it, and you feel the way he shudders underneath you. “You’ll be fine,” you whisper. “You’re strong.”

He laughs, then immediately chokes on it when you suck lightly at a spot just under his jaw.

“Fuck, okay—okay. I’m tapping out,” he groans, but his hands are dragging up under your shirt now too, like he’s searching for skin he hasn’t kissed yet. “You win.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess, pupils blown, lips kiss-bitten and swollen. Your heartbeat’s pounding so loud you can feel it in your ears.

“I wasn’t keeping score,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “Can I still kiss you like I lost?”

You nod once, and that’s all it takes—he flips you both over, laying you back against the carpet with him hovering above you, hands braced on either side of your head.

He kisses you like he’s letting go of every ounce of self-control he’s been holding onto. Like he’s been wanting this for days and finally got permission.

And you—god, you let him. You welcome it. Fingers tangled in his hair, back arching up into him as his body presses you down like you’re something sacred he’s allowed to worship.

You gasp when his mouth finds your collarbone again, dragging teeth over skin like he wants to leave more evidence. His name slips from your lips, involuntary.

He answers with another kiss, softer this time, like he’s trying to say I’m here without the words.

Your hands roam instinctively, finding the warm plane of his back, the curve of his shoulder, the soft tension of muscle shifting beneath your touch. He feels real in a way that makes your chest ache—solid and warm and entirely yours.

And god, the way he’s kissing you—like he doesn’t care about pace or time or the carpet burning into his knees. Like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he’s learning you one kiss at a time and still hungry for more.

His hand slides up your side, slow and reverent, fingertips brushing beneath your bra and then pausing—checking. His mouth parts from yours just long enough to breathe out, “Okay?”

You nod, throat dry. “Yeah. Yes.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath all night, and then he’s kissing down your neck again—tongue flicking over the bruise he left earlier, teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder. You shiver beneath him, hips shifting up against his without meaning to, and the sound he makes in response is something that shoots straight to your core.

“Mingyu—” you whisper, half a warning, half a plea, but you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your skin, and it sounds like a promise.

One hand dips between you, sliding under the waistband of your shorts with that same careful urgency—like he’s trying to balance the need to be gentle with the very real possibility he might come undone if he waits much longer. His fingers trail lower, slow and teasing, and your back arches before you can stop it.

“You’re so warm,” he breathes, like it’s a revelation. “So soft. Fuck—”

Your head tilts back as his fingers move just right, and your legs fall further apart on instinct, letting him in. His name leaves your mouth again, barely audible, and it makes him glance up, eyes dark and soft and completely focused on you.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice tighter now, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You nod quickly, pulling him back into a kiss. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He touches you slower than that morning, like he’s trying to learn every single way you fall apart this time—each sigh, each flutter of your lashes, each shift of your hips. The game’s long forgotten, and this is the real win.

And when your breath starts to hitch, your thighs trembling around his wrist, he presses his forehead to yours and says your name like it’s a prayer. You clutch at his back, clinging to the moment, to him, to this stupid, perfect boy who kissed you mid-race and ruined your life a little—in the best way.

You cum with his mouth on yours and his hand coaxing you through it, every nerve alight, every thought blank except for MingyuMingyuMingyu.

When it fades, he kisses you again, softer now, like a thank-you. Like a goddamn lullaby.

“Still smug?” you murmur, breath shaky, eyes half-lidded as you come down.

He grins—sleepy and wild and very pleased with himself. “Depends. Are you still scary?”

You smile, pulling him closer. “You have no idea.”

Mingyu stills. His breath catches—just for a second—before he lifts his head to look at you. The air between you is still buzzing with the aftershock of everything that just passed between your bodies, but his eyes soften like they always do when it’s you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, like he’s offering you a way out. Even now.

You nod, threading your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

He stands first, gently pulling you up with him, hands finding your waist like he needs to keep touching you or he might float off the ground. You lead the way to your bedroom, your fingers tangled in his, the soft creak of the door closing behind you louder than you expect.

The room is quiet except for your breathing—his still uneven, yours still shallow. The soft wash of moonlight spills in through the window, casting faint shadows across your bed, your floor, the way he looks at you like you’re something he never expected to have.

You back toward the bed slowly, legs brushing the frame, and he follows until your knees bump the mattress. His hands find your hips again, thumbs rubbing gentle circles like he’s grounding himself all over again.

“You can still back out,” he says, serious now, even if his voice is a little breathless. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

“I don’t want to rush,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of your (his) shirt, “but I do want this. With you.”

His jaw flexes as he watches you pull the fabric over your head, eyes tracking every slow reveal like he’s memorizing you by the second. You reach for him too, tugging at the drawstring of his sweats as he steps closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

There’s still teasing in the way he kisses you, sure—but it’s slowed now, as if all the earlier heat has melted into something even more intimate. He lays you down with a kind of care that makes your heart ache, crawling into the bed like he belongs there—like he’s always meant to be here with you.

You scoot back until the backs of your knees meet the pillows, Mingyu following you down, one arm braced beside your head while the other traces the curve of your waist. He kisses you again, deep and steady this time, like he wants to feel every inch of you in the press of his mouth. His fingers ghost up your ribs, brushing the underside of your chest, then pausing again, like he’s checking in without words.

You nod, barely a breath. “Please.”

You feel laid bare in every way—your skin, your breath, the way his eyes take you in like you’re something to be studied, cherished.

“God,” he murmurs, voice gone quiet and raspy. “You’re... you’re unreal.”

You shake your head, a little dazed and a lot in love. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?” He bends down to kiss your chest, slow and deliberate, like he wants to worship you in pieces. “You’re mine.”

It should sound cocky. It would if it came from anyone else. But it’s Mingyu, saying it with that look in his eyes—like it’s less about possession and more about awe. Like he still can’t believe you let him have this.

You tug him down until he’s flush against you, skin to skin, the heat between you both stifling and electric. He groans softly as your hands find his hips, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down just enough so they fall to the floor with his boxers.

“Okay?” he whispers again, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the edge of your jaw.

You nod and pull him closer. “More than.”

And then he’s moving—slow and careful, like he’s still half-afraid to break you, even now. But you anchor him with your hands on his back, your legs around his waist, the brush of your nose against his.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, and this time it’s not a promise. It’s a fact.

And when he finally pushes into you, your breath catches hard, eyes fluttering shut from the stretch, the closeness, the dizzying warmth of it all. He stills immediately, pressing his forehead to yours, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Tell me if—”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice already trembling. “I need—just... stay. Right there.”

He does. Of course he does. He always does.

He moves slowly, carefully, like the moment is something he wants to savor—not rush. Like this is the part he’s been waiting for all along. And god, it’s everything. The heat, the weight, the feel of his mouth on your shoulder, his hand gripping yours tight between the sheets.

You whisper his name again and again, and every time it leaves your lips, he gives something back—deeper, closer, gentler. His lips find yours between gasps, half-kisses and murmured sweet things you can’t even process because he’s filling you with too much. Too much heat, too much love, too much him.

And when you finally cum again, it’s overwhelming. It hits hard and bright and sharp, curling your toes, your back arching off the mattress as he holds you through it, forehead pressed to your temple, voice saying your name like he means it.

He follows just after, hips stuttering as he buries his face in your neck, his moan muffled by skin and sheets.

The room is quiet in the aftermath. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled limbs, and the faint rush of blood still roaring in your ears.

Eventually, Mingyu lifts his head, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. “Still scary?” he murmurs, voice wrecked but amused.

You smile, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “Only if you leave your socks on again.”

He lets out a groan and flops to the side, dragging you with him. “Low blow. That was one time.”

You curl into his chest, sated and warm and so full of him you don’t even know where you end and he begins. “It was yesterday.”

He laughs, breathless, curling an arm around you like he never plans to let go.

And maybe—just maybe—you hope he doesn’t. Because who cares if you lose when you have him.

BONUS:

#svthub #svt #seventeen #mingyu x reader #mingyu fanfic #mingyu #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines #kim mingyu #kim mingyu smut #kim mingyu fluff #mingyu smut

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theonottsbxtch · 16 days ago

Text

OUTLET | OP81

an: so after having watched the interviews after silvo, i straight away got inspired to write this lol. ive written many things that i need to post but this is the first post of choice muahah

wc: 2.5k

warnings: smut mdni 18+, p in v, no protection (dont be silly wrap your willy), fingers in mouth, choking, light spanking, the whole 9 yards yk

OSCAR WAS ANGRY

Not the kind of fleeting rage that came and went with the chequered flag, but something sharper, something that lodged itself beneath the skin and sat there, festering. He’d been robbed. P2 wasn’t just second, it was humiliation, broadcast in HD to millions. And not by chance. No. By design. Max was the reason he fucked up. Lando had sailed through. And just like that, Oscar’s shot at poetic justice, winning Lando’s home Grand Prix, was pissed away in a spray of champagne and gritted teeth.

He stormed down the narrow corridor behind the paddock, past cameras, PR handlers, and journalists shouting his name. He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. His jaw was locked, hands still in his gloves, fingernails biting through the fabric.

His driver room door swung open with a bang and slammed shut with more force than necessary. Helmet off, gloves flung to the floor. His pulse hadn’t calmed. The sweat still clung to his back, the race suit sticking to his skin like a second, suffocating layer.

And there she was.

She stood by the mini fridge, like she belonged there. Casual. Soft. Completely out of place in the storm that was him.

She turned as the door slammed, blinking, clutching a bottle of water in both hands. “I just came to check on you.”

Her voice was gentle. Concerned. Fucking kind.

He stared at her. Max’s sister. Lando’s ex. Beautiful, infuriating, wrong in every way that made her perfect. She’d been weaving herself into his season all year, quiet little glances, unspoken tension, enough unsaid to fill volumes. He’d thought about her every time he pulled his visor down. And now here she was, sweet, out of breath, the strap of her sundress sliding off one shoulder.

His jaw ticked.

“I don’t need checking on.”

His voice cut through the room like steel, low, frayed, already cracking with everything he was holding back. She didn’t flinch. She just stood there, still clutching the bottle like it might protect her from what he’d become.

Her lips parted, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “Didn’t come to baby you.”

He narrowed his gaze. “No?”

She shook her head, her voice quieter this time. “Came because I thought you might want something real. You’ve had nothing but cameras in your face all day.”

Oscar took a step toward her, slow and deliberate. The thud of his boots against the floor echoed like warning shots. She didn’t back away. Brave, or foolish, he wasn’t sure which. But her breath hitched the closer he came, and he caught the way her throat moved when she swallowed.

One more step, and he was in her space.

The silence pressed in around them, thick with something unspoken, dangerous. His eyes swept over her, down the bare line of her collarbone, over the subtle rise and fall of her chest. That dress. That fucking dress. Thin straps. Summer-soft fabric. Designed to be pulled up or torn down.

He tilted his head slightly. “You thought I’d want something real?”

She nodded.

“Then why the fuck did you wear that?”

That dress was not kind. It was not real. It was bait.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try. Her fingers twitched against the plastic bottle, then stilled. She looked up at him, her mouth twitching like she might smirk, but didn’t dare.

“You came in here looking like temptation,” he said, low and bitter. “After the shittest fucking race of my life. Why?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”

Oscar’s chest rose sharply. His whole body was tight, coiled. The rage was still there, humming beneath the surface, but now it had something to cling to. Focus. Form.

Her.

He reached up, slowly, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Tender, but his fingers lingered, just enough to make it clear it wasn’t affection. It was ownership. Possession.

“You want to be my outlet, sweetheart?” he murmured. “Because I’m about two seconds from breaking.”

She didn’t speak, but her chin lifted slightly, a silent challenge in her gaze. Do it then.

Oscar stepped closer until the length of his body nearly brushed hers. He could feel the heat coming off her in waves. She smelled like sun cream and sweat and whatever lip balm she always wore that made him want to bite.

His hand closed over her jaw, not rough, but firm enough to make her breath shallow. He tilted her head up, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. Want. Nerves. Something like defiance.

His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

“You going to let me ruin you?” he asked, softly. Dangerously.

Her lips parted.

And he slipped two fingers into her mouth.

Just like that. Slow. Filthy. Deliberate.

She didn’t pull away. Her lashes fluttered, lips stretching around the intrusion as her tongue met him instinctively, tasting sweat and salt and something darker. He exhaled harshly through his nose, eyes fixed on her as she sucked. Heat curled low in his stomach.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “That’s what you wanted, hm?”

She whimpered around his fingers, and he smiled. Not kindly. It was a sharp, dangerous thing.

Then he pulled them free, glistening with her spit, and dragged them slowly down her chin. Across her throat. Pressed them beneath her jaw, forcing her head back gently.

“You gonna let me fuck it out of my system, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she breathed. No hesitation.

Oscar stepped back, not far, just enough to look at her properly. The dress. The flushed cheeks. The wetness already between her thighs, though he hadn’t touched her there yet. He didn’t even need to check. He knew.

And now that he’d started, he wasn’t going to stop.

Oscar didn’t speak for a moment.

Just stared at her, chest rising, eyes wild, hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back from snapping. From grabbing. From taking.

Then, “Lift your dress.”

Her breath caught. Her fingers moved automatically, clutching the hem, pulling it up with a shaky exhale as she turned around.

Higher.

More.

Until the soft curve of her arse was bare, and the tension in Oscar’s jaw clicked into something primal.

He let out a low breath. “Atta’ girl.”

Two steps, and he was behind her again. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, even though he hadn’t touched her yet.

“Spread for me.”

She parted her legs, slow, tentative. Her thighs trembling.

“Wider,” he said, voice a rasp.

She obeyed and whimpered.

He could see everything now. Her cunt glistening, twitching. Already dripping down the inside of her thigh.

He let out a low laugh, cruel and breathless. “Look at you. Fucking wet just from being told what to do.”

One hand gripped her hip. The other, he dragged down the back of her thigh, then between her legs, teasing the slick there. He didn't even bother easing her into it. Two fingers plunged in, knuckle-deep, rough and unrelenting.

She cried out, biting it back with her fist against her mouth.

Oscar’s mouth curled into a smirk.

“Mm. No, no. Don’t go shy now, sweetheart.”

He fucked his fingers into her, hard and fast, until she was clenching around him, back arching.

“You feel that?” he growled against her ear. “Walls are thin. Real thin.”

She whimpered again, louder this time, and he stilled.

“You want them to hear you?” he murmured. “Lando? Max? All the boys out there pretending they’re not listening?”

She froze. Her whole body shivered.

Oscar pulled his fingers out, slick and shining. Then he stepped around her, grabbed her chin, and shoved them into her mouth.

“Do you want them to know I’ve got you like this? Bent over, dripping, gagging on your own cunt?”

Her moan was muffled, her lips stretching around his fingers. She sucked, desperate and needy, spit coating his knuckles.

“That’s it. Atta’ girl.”

He pulled free and went straight back behind her. No teasing now. No warning as he pulled down his race suit.

He lined himself up and shoved into her in one hard, punishing thrust.

She screamed, or tried to. He clamped his hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the sound as her knees gave out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned into her neck. “Tight as sin. So good I could lose my fucking soul in you.”

And he started to ruin her.

Every thrust was brutal. Relentless. Her fingers scraped against the wall, nails clawing for something to ground her as he fucked her into the plaster. Her dress bunched at her waist, arse bouncing with every movement, his hand tight on her hip, the other still pressed to her mouth.

“God made you for this,” he growled. “For me. Look at you, fuckin’ made to take it.”

She moaned behind his hand, choked, wrecked. Her eyes rolled back. Her body shook.

“You gonna come for me like a good girl?” he hissed. “You want to come with my cock buried in you, knowing your ex is two doors down?”

Her voice was almost a sob. “Yes, please, Oscar—”

He reached around and slapped her clit, sharp, filthy, obscene. Her whole body jolted.

“Then take it,” he snarled. “Take it like the good little slut you are.”

She shattered, silently, violently. Her back arched, body clenched, mouth open in a scream that never escaped. Nails raked down the wall, drawing blood. Her thighs shook.

Oscar lost it.

His thrusts got rougher, sloppier, frantic as he chased his own release. He reached up, gripped her throat, yanked her upright so her back was flush to his chest.

“You were made for this,” he growled against her ear. “Made for me.”

And he came with a grunt, cock pulsing deep inside her, his hand still tight around her throat like a collar.

They stayed like that. Wrecked. Shaking. Her body pinned against his, cum dripping down her thighs, her lips still wet from sucking him clean.

A beat passed.

Then Oscar leaned in close.

Voice rough, low, reverent.

“Saints and sinners, baby. And you make sin feel holy.”

They stayed like that for a long second.

The only sound was the ragged rise and fall of their breath. Her skin was flushed, sweat-slick, lips kiss-bruised and trembling. Oscar was still inside her, softening, but not pulling out. His hands were splayed across her hips, holding her like she might float away otherwise.

Then she laughed.

Soft. Almost dazed. But sharp enough to cut.

“What?” he muttered against her shoulder.

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes half-lidded, mouth wrecked.

“Just… funny,” she said, voice low and smug. “Lando used to try and fuck like that. Thought he was such a god behind closed doors.”

Oscar stilled.

Her smirk widened.

“But you?” she purred. “You fuck like you want to be worshipped.”

There was a beat.

Then he pulled out, slow and sudden, his cum spilling down her thighs, and turned her around with rough hands. She gasped, barely catching herself as he shoved her back against the wall, forearm braced beside her head.

His eyes were dark. Wild. His jaw clenched.

“You think this is worship?” he growled.

She blinked up at him, still smiling. Teasing. Provoking.

Oscar dropped to his knees.

Just like that, down in front of her, yanking her leg over his shoulder, hand pressing to her stomach to keep her against the wall.

“No gods here, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice wrecked and hungry. “Just penance.”

And he devoured her.

Tongue first. Hot and firm and ruthless. He licked up his own cum from her thighs like it was holy water, then buried his face in her cunt like he was starving.

She gasped, one hand flying to his hair. “Osc—!”

He didn’t let up. Didn’t give her time to adjust. He licked, sucked, bit, tongue sliding over her clit in tight, devastating circles. His grip on her thigh tightened, the muscles in his forearm flexing as she bucked against him, trying, and failing, not to sob.

“Shh,” he murmured between licks, the sound muffled against her. “Thought you wanted them to hear you.”

She was already close again. Shaking. Barely upright.

He slid two fingers back inside her, curling them perfectly, pressing up against that spot that made her eyes roll back.

“Come on, darling,” he said, lips slick with her. “Give it to me again. One more.”

She came hard, legs trembling, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream. Her hips jerked against his mouth, desperate, overwhelmed.

He didn’t stop until she physically pulled away, twitching and overstimulated.

Then, and only then, he stood.

His face was glistening. His chest was heaving. His eyes locked on hers like she’d just offered him salvation and dragged him straight back to hell in the same breath.

“Feel good?” he asked, breathless.

She smiled, lazy and wrecked. “Better than God.”

Oscar grinned, dark, dangerous.

“Atta’ girl.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was thick. Heavy with sweat and breath and whatever had just shifted between them.

Oscar pulled them back, leaning against the wall, chest bare, suit hanging loose from his waist. His hair was a mess. Lips swollen. He looked wrecked, in the best fucking way.

She, on the other hand, was trying to collect herself. Still flushed. Dress halfway down. Her thigh quivered when she stepped back into her heels, but she didn’t let it show.

He watched her with a low hum in his throat. “You alright?”

She glanced at him. “What, you care now?”

“Always cared,” he said, too fast, too blunt. Then, quieter, “Just wasn’t always allowed to show it.”

She didn’t answer. Just reached for a tissue from the dressing table and bent forward to wipe the slick between her thighs. He watched, openly, blatantly, one hand running down his face as if trying to cool off.

She tossed the tissue into the bin and pulled her dress back down, smoothing the hem with that same poise she always had around the paddock. Controlled. Precise. Dangerous.

Then she turned, lips quirking at the corner. “Y’know…”

Oscar raised a brow.

She stepped toward him, slipping two fingers beneath his jaw, guiding his gaze up to hers.

“As the sister of a four-time world champion,” she murmured, “I’d say the title’s in your hands by the end of this season.”

His breath hitched.

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft, slow, like the ghost of everything they’d just done.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

And with that, she was gone.

He heard the door click shut behind her. Heard the brief scuffle of her heels on the tile—then the murmur of voices just outside.

Her voice. And Lando.

“Where’ve you been?” Lando asked, too casually.

“Just checking on Oscar,” she replied. Her tone was flat. Unbothered. “He’s fine.”

Oscar grinned. Let his head fall back against the wall, eyes shut.

Fine?

She’d walked out of that room with his cum still dripping down her thighs. Still flushed from his mouth. Still shaking from his cock.

He could die right there and then and call it a life well lived.

the end.

taglist: @rebelatbay @fictionalfanatic123@lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

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sukunacest · 1 month ago

Text

cw:: incest, slight exhib, dubcon??? (she def wants it lol)

i can't stop having icky thoughts :((

all day ive been thinking about going home and gaming with older brother nerdjo. he's easily a top 10 player and is always the highest rank on every game he plays.

he knows you like gaming too, but you're not as naturally skilled as him :( that's okay though, he enjoys playing and carrying you <3

at some point you make a joke to having matching duo accounts and satoru laughs but quickly agrees to the idea.

this won't be the last time you guys make matching accounts, but for the current game, you guys finally decide on "his pocket" & "her carry". they were cute and adorable and perfectly matched how you guys played together.

you liked playing everything, but the support role was your favorite. you would stay in the backline, healing and supporting your team (by team i mean satoru, he's a 1 man army) and staying safe in the back :)

whenever someone brave and stupid enough to dive you tried to kill you, satoru was always right there to peel and protect you. he wouldn't ever hesitate to turn around and kill whoever attacked you.

when you guys were feeling dangerous enough to make a play, you both would flank — you pocketing him— and he would kill the entire enemy team.

you would be lying if you said the gameplay wasn't absolutely hot. infact, it was so hot, you could feel wetness pooling in your panties as you played. good thing you had your own setup in your room.

when you finally reach your goal of hitting the highest rank, you should be happy, but it makes you a little sad. playing in the higher lobbies meant less players, which also meant facing the same groups of people.

more and more girls started to notice how good satoru was and would invite him to play :(( of course, he'd flaunt his ego and tease them about carrying or boosting them. one girl even added you as a friend, just to see if you'd be her wing woman and hook her up with satoru... :(

but there never was a need to worry. every single new friend request from a girl (and a couple gay guys) satoru received, he immediately declined. telling all the girls "im not interested. i already have my duo and she's the best."

your heart stuttered, and so did your lips — the lower ones. you shouldn't feel this way, he was your brother for christ sake.

but he was just always so sweet to you. always there to play with you and protect you, whether in the game or in real life.

you couldn't help it though. the moment you two became official duos, your attraction to him only grew tenfold.

he wasn't just your online duo. you both started to enjoy doing everything together now. eating, studying, even falling alseep watching anime together <3

one weekend night when your parents were both gone, you guys got into a high lobby match against a famous player. it was tough, way too close of a game, but you guys ended up winning! satoru aka "her carry" being crowned mvp of the match.

that didn't sit well with the enemy famous player. he immediately messaged satoru, calling him out for cheating.

cheating? really? the guy was that upset over a loss, he was making anything up to discredit his loss.

satoru tried to shrug it off, but the streamer was relentless.

you were the one who came up with the bright idea to settle the issue. a classic 1 v 1, live on the guy's stream. satoru will prove he didn't cheat and the streamer will have to accept the loss and move on.

"you nervous?" you pulled up a chair to satoru's gaming desk, ready to cheer him on.

"nah, i'll win."

you nodded and smiled. of course your big brother will win. he always does <3

the streamer went live and the 1 v 1 began. you would call it close to give the streamer some credit, but that was being generous.

satoru won the set, with the final score being 8-1. the only reason he lost the 1 match was because your hand 'accidentally' brushed by his lap — distracting him enough for the streamer to kill him.

the streamer invited satoru to a party and announced him the winner. he actually ended up asking satoru for some tips and while your brother was answering the questions, your hands once again brushed against his lap (as you did nearly the whole match).

"and if you set your sensitivity to —" satoru stopped mid sentence, finally taking his headset off.

"if you don't stop that, there will be consequences," he whispered into your ear

"im not doing anything," you murmured back innocently. "i just wanna congratulate my brother for the win." you flashed your cutest smile and gave him your best bambi eye impression

he hissed your name as you brushed his lap again, this time with your ass. "that chair is uncomfortable, i think i wanna sit right here"

you lowered down and immediately felt his hardness, poking into you :(

"im warning you"

you giggled and kept squirming in his lap, trying to find a comfy spot.

"that's it!" satoru pushed back in his gaming chair and stood both of you up. he slammed both of your hands to his desk and pulled down your skirt.

"i think i will take my reward now for boosting you out of bronze"

he pulled down your panties next and immediately stuck his long fingers in your folds—your slick covering them.

"t-toru!"

"i bet you got real wet watching me play," he whispered into your ear.

you ashamedly nodded and got a spank for it.

"tell me, sis."

"yes!" you yelped. "i love watching you play!"

"what else?" for a nerd, satoru was still extremely arrogant and confident, but it makes sense when he can always back up his ego.

"i love playing with you and i love how good you are, and —"

he spun you around. you didn't even notice when he took his pants and boxers off, unleashing the monster that is his cock.

"w-wait, toru" you tried to reason, even though you didn't mean it. "we can't go this far, you're my brother"

"you should've thought about that earlier before teasing me." he smiles and pats your head like he always does. "but don't worry, I won't be too rough."

he sits down in his gaming chair, pulling you onto his lap with him. his cock is red, angry, and wants any kind of friction. he taps your entrance with it. once, twice, getting it wet with your dripping slick — your fluids mixing with his pre.

your brain was spinning with every thought as to why you shouldn't be doing this. your parents could walk in. no— they're not even home. you have feelings for someone else — there really is no one else for you. you are blood related — maybe that just makes the sex even better.

you never once considered that you didn't want him, because on the contrary, every vein in your body is telling you that you do.

satoru's voice gets low, serious. "do you want me to stop?"

"...no"

and he gently pulls you down onto his cock. you feel so full, so blissful, so happy. you use one hand to hold onto the desk and lock your fingers with his free hand.

he guides you up and down his length until you're finally bottoming out on him.

he soflty pulls your chin towards him, locking his waiting lips with yours <3 everything felt so perfect. he let you ride him until you begged him to fuck you. and as much as he wanted to utterly fill you up, he thought it would be better if he got you on the pill first :((

you both finally looked up at the screen after satoru rearranged your guts and realized the streamer sent satoru 30 messages to mute his mic. oops.

(i didn't mean for this to be so long. i lost the plot lol)

m.list

#gojo x reader #nerdjo #jjk x reader #nerd gojo #gojo smut #jjk smut #tw inc*st #satoru gojo #satoru x reader

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sleepyangelkami · 10 months ago

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Can you make a part 4 for the “ perverted “ Carl grime’s story? (p.s. I love your writing so much 💜 it’s really detailed and neat)

PERVERTED IV c.grimes

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.2K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N: guys i'm so sorry that I took such a huge break this took way longer than it needed, im so sorry !!

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - ever since carl showed you how good it felt to be touched, you'd been iching for more. luckily for you, carl's got one more thing up his sleeve.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, p!v, dom!carl, sub!reader, fingering, mentions of past sexual innuendos, overstimulation, dumbification, kinda public!sex, innocence kink, corruption kink, praise kink, slight coercion, creampie, unprotected sex, virginity loss, virgin!reader, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

series masterlist

ever since that night in the bedroom, you've had this god awful ache between your thighs.

carl, your 'best friend' showed you what you'd been missing out on since the beginning of time. he'd had this funny thing about him, whenever he was around you had the need to palm your hand between your thighs. and now was the worst of it, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

he wasn't your boyfriend but he'd kissed you on a number of occasions. he's not your boyfriend but he kissed below your panties too.

you didn't seem to care much about the whole 'boyfriend' title. besides, everyone in alexandria seemed to know that you were his and he was yours, perhaps they even knew before you two did.

"i'll see you two in the morning." rick grimes, carl's father stood in the doorway. lately, you couldn't seem to look him in the eye. perhaps that had something to do with the fact that last night, his son's hand was down your pants and the night before that, it was up your skirt.

it seemed like you weren't the only one who couldn't stop thinking about it, carl couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.

"night dad." carl pretended to be uninterested, flicking about a comic book in his hands.

"goodnight, rick." you and carl's sleepovers were becoming much more of a regular thing. rick said nothing but he looked at you with this certain smirk that made you think he knew everything and that was pretty scary.

you didn't get a second to think before the door was closed.

carl was swift in his movements. he discarded the comic book within seconds, tossing it onto the beside locker as he leaned over and pressed his lips on yours.

your eyes fluttered shut with the featherlight feeling, heavy breath falling through your nose. but carl didn't stop with just a kiss, slowly, the boy lowered your body so that your back was flat against the mattress of his bed and those god awful navy bedsheets.

for a moment, your mind went foggy. the pretty kiss of carl grimes was enough to have your head spinning but the sound of distant footsteps was enough to have you spinning all the way back to reality.

"carl." you mumbled in hesitance once his kisses reached the side of your jaw. though his name came out as more of a strangled breath than a word.

"mmhph." he hummed into your neck as he placed hot wet kisses against it, he was aching to kiss you further, to suck the supple skin of your collarbones. he'd showed you what a hickey was not too long ago but he was sure not to leave the evidence on your neck, per your request. you couldn't imagine trying to explain to maggie or glenn how you'd come back from carl's with a hickey on your neck.

"carl." as good as the feeling felt, you sucked in a breath and placed your dainty hands upon his shoulders. he stopped almost immediately, leaning over you to look at your face. "your whole family's here." you absentmindedly picked at the loose thread of his shirt. "they'll hear us."

carl's lips fell into this pitiful smirk. "yeah? well by all means, sweetheart, tell me to stop." you felt his knee buck slightly, rubbing against your clothed cunt that was covered merely by your panties and your pyjama trousers.

carl knew you too well.

matter of fact, carl knew your body too well.

you felt his hot breath against your neck and his lips reattatch to your skin, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses in his wake.

you couldn't help the scratching feeling in the back of your throat, the knawing knot in your stomach that had your hands pawing at his long sleeved shirt, it was difficult to stop when he was making you feel so good.

"carl..." you were in two minds, ask him to stop or ask him to keep going. you felt one of his hands trail down, the soft feeling of his fingers working against your pyjama bottoms, lowering them but not enough to show your panties.

you decided against asking him to stop.

besides, you trusted him. carl knew what was best for the both of you.

"please." you bucked your hips forward, feeling a longing for his fingers all over again. you couldn't get rid of the knawing feeling, his fingers pounding in and out of you, his tongue lapping up your juices and his voice whispering pretty things in your ear.

"yeah? want me to keep going?" you could only nod breathlessly at his words. "tell me how badly you want it, pretty girl."

didn't carl just love to hear you beg.

he'd gotten you to a point where he could mold you to whatever way he wanted you, and hearing you beg for him instead of imagining it in his own mind was something he'd never cease to adore. "please, carl, want it so bad―need it."

"poor girl." you knew his words were nothing short of mockery but you couldn't help but nod anyway. "jus' wants to be touched huh?"

all the while, your hand had attached itself around his wrist, leading it down to where you needed him. "please, carl."

you let out a breath of relief as his hand passed your panties, fingers gently circling your clit. "you're such a good girl, aren't you, using your manners 'n all?"

you felt him kiss against your cheek but all you could think about was his hand working magic against you. "uh huh." you breathed out.

"yeah, my good girl." you felt his fingers collect the wetness from your sopping hole, gently pushing them into it and watching as you gasped and writhed. "think you need something extra special tonight, hm?"

you nodded, half humming, half whimpering.

carl's fingers felt euphoric. after he had touched you the first time, you went straight home and tried to do the same over and over again. you tried to capture the same feeling he had given you but you couldn't do it, not without his hands and his voice whispering to you. which is exactly why you came back with fustrated bed head and teary eyes.

carl was more than happy to help his poor girl out.

all he wanted was for you to feel good.

like now, as your back arched against the mattress of his bed, warm and sticky juices coated his fingers that he pumped in and out of you, palm against your clit every time he brought it back.

"feel good, huh?" your nod was enough of an answer, cheeks hot and teeth piercing your bottom lip. "you're so good." and as badly as you wanted to whimper and whine, you restrained. you were well aware of the family in the room over, you couldn't help but let out a small noise from behind your closed lips.

perhaps this was exactly where carl wanted you.

your breath stuttered. "i―nghh." you tried to force the words out. that familiar feeling in the bottom of your stomach was knotting, you found it rather difficult to tell him you were close when you also felt so ecstatic.

that was the benefits of carl knowing your body so well.

"you're close, yeah?" he knew without you having to utter a word. he was leaning over you, close as your head lay near his shoulder, your heavy breaths in his ear. "'s okay, jus' say my name, baby."

unsure, you didn't give it a thought. instead, you breathed his name passed your lips. "carl." though it was more of a quiet whine than anything else.

"again, angel." his lips kissed against the nape of your neck, hearing your breaths get heavier.

"carl, hmph, carl―" you spoke his name like a prayer against your lips. all you could feel, all you could see, all you could think. carl.

the feeling of knowing that he was the only thing on your mind... well it was enough for carl himself.

"gonna cum?" he didn't leave much room for you to shake your head. instead you nodded quickly, needily. "yeah? cum all over my hand, sweetheart, that's it."

and you did exactly what he'd told you to.

you found your lips shoved against the shoulder of his top, silencing the whimpers that left your lips as your back arched and your hips bucked into his hand. with his pumping fingers and thumb that had reached up to your clit, helping you ride out your high... well it was almost impossible not to cum.

when it passed, you laid against the bed with heavy breaths falling from your lips.

he still kissed at your neck, gently nipping at the skin as he helped pull your shirt above your head.

you felt sort of dazed, almost dumb. carl always left you feeling like this. you followed his movements, pulling his own shirt above his head while his lips reattached to your own.

carl began pulling down his jeans and your hands reached out to his hips.

before you could touch him, though, his hands stopped you. "doin' something a little different tonight, okay baby?"

your confused face looked up at him but you didn't question it. instead, you nodded and allowed him to help you discard of your own pyjama pants, allowing him to trail your soaking panties off your frame, tossing them somewhere on the ground that no doubt would be gone by morning, you'd find him with a guilty but amused face as you searched high and low for them.

he began to pull down his boxers and you held your breath.

carl was big.

though, it were true that you hadn't really seen anyone before in the way you saw carl but you knew from the mere imprint of his jeans that he was bigger than quite a lot of others. not that you ever found yourself looking...

you'd seen him many times, touched him even but every time you saw him again it was like you'd forgotten all over again. he was obviously hard, judging by the way his dick stood out. your eyes trailed back up to his face, though he was already watching you, curiously.

you were stumped.

he'd stopped your hands before, not wanting you to touch him, he was doing things 'differently' but he seemed to know an abundance more than you because you couldn't think of anything else to do other than touch each other.

"carl, what are we―"

the boy cut you off with a gentle shushing. "jus' relax baby, trust me." you felt his gentle but large hands grasp at your thighs, pushing them upwards. you felt your sensitive but needy cunt jut forward while he placed both your legs flat against his chest.

this was certainly a position you'd never been in before.

you watched as he pressed gentle kisses against your ankles, a hand gently grasping your sock-covered foot.

you watched in anticipation, confusion and excitement. carl had a way of making you feel all those three at once.

he moved his hand back down to his dick, you held your breath as he rubbed up and down his shaft lining it up with your entrance. as his cock pressed against your sensitive clit, you whimpered, moving away slightly.

carl was quick to move you back. "i know, i know, you're all sensitive but you'll feel good okay? gonna make you feel good." you nodded hesitantly. "everything okay down there, huh?" he gently tapped against your head, bringing you back to reality.

you found it difficult not to hold your breath. "nervous." is all you managed to muster up. you'd both touched each other before but he'd never had you like this.

the way he leaned over you was sort of scary but he also gave you this loving gentleness that made you feel almost protected. "don't be, angel, 's just me." you nodded as his thumb ran down your cheek softly. "yeah? not nervous?"

of course it wasn't that easy, but you nodded anyway, feeling somewhat comforted.

"c'mere, you're gonna be in control too." you felt his larger hand grasp your own. he led it downwards and placed it on his practically throbbing cock. you felt bad for carrying this out, he was probably hurting. "might hurt a little bit, bunny, okay? but just give me a few minutes, make it feel so much better."

"okay." you voiced, shakily, dumbly. his hand was wrapped around yours which was wrapped around his dick. he helped you maneuver it towards your sopping wet hole and you felt his tip insert itself inside.

you let out a noise of slight pain. "i know, baby, 's gonna take a minute." he was being oh so lovely, as gently as he could as he pushed himself inside. he was almost at the end when his two hands came to grab at yours, pulling them flat above your head against the mattress. "'s gonna feel good."

as soon as carl pushed himself completely in, he was reminded to control himself.

his eyes fluttered shut. he'd been dreaming, fantasizing about this moment for too long. it took everything in him not to take you right there and then, fuck you into the mattress until there was nothing left of you. but he couldn't. your twisted up face was a reminder that while he was excited, he must take his time.

you were getting used to his length which was... a lot.

your own eyes were fluttering shut but they opened at the feeling of his dick leaving you, pulling out but just as you felt him almost leave, he rutted his hips right back in until his dick was fully inside again.

"fuck." he let out a grunt while you squeezed your face up with a noise.

you felt him move again, ready to slide out but your mind was too focused on the pain of it all. "carl, i don't―" you were cut off with an embarrassing moan as he pushed himself back inside.

suddenly, the pain feigned itself as pleasure.

the stinging stopped and you were met with a feeling you'd never quite felt before.

"there you go." his own breath was heavy as he repeated the action, this time quicker. "good girl, see 's not so bad?"

you could only nod with a moan. your eyes shut again and you willed your mouth closed.

carl began moving his hips rather quickly. all the running he'd been doing his whole life was finally beginning to pay off, his stamina was unheard of. you found yourself writhing beneath him, mouth almost sewn shut while he pushed in and out of you, his cock filling you up completely.

you began to get nervous, though. the sounds coming out of you were only going to get louder and the last thing you wanted to do was alert anyone downstairs what you and carl had been doing in his bedroom.

but like always, carl was ten steps ahead of you.

his hand entrapped both your hands above your head but he used his free one to trail downwards. you felt his hand move over your mouth, holding it closed while he pumped his dick in and out of you, watching as your eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

"oh, fuck, you're doin' so well, sweetheart." he did his best to keep up his praise, he loved watching your cheeks go pink and feeling your pussy tighten around his cock the minute the words 'good girl' left his lips. but it was hard to think of anything while being inside you.

your gummy walls kept him close, tightening around him. it was almost impossible to keep rutting in and out of you but he couldn't stop, he was like a starved man, addicted to your body. you were gushing at him, wetness creating a white creamy ring at the base of his cock.

your eyebrows were pinched, tears of only pleasure beginning to sting at your eyes.

he was leaning forward, one hand holding your wrists which so desperately wanted to throw themselves forward to paw at him. his other hand held itself tightly around your lips, your sounds were muffled against the skin but he kept his ear close, straining them to listen to the pretty sounds you could make.

you felt his entire weight on you and oddly enough, it made you impossibly more wet.

the feeling of him practically on top of you was surreal, you could feel the sheets beneath you go damp, you were making such a mess.

"'s right, angel, make a mess f'me, good girl." carl didn't seem to care. on the contrary, it was only motivating him further.

it was a sudden realization, he was fucking you. he'd been waiting for this moment for too long. it was everything he'd ever dreamed of. no, it was more.

a sharp cry from you was muffled by his hand but he knew what it meant. "someone's close again, huh?" you nodded so quickly, tears springing at your eyes while your mind seemed cloudy, blank even. you were gone completely and utterly dumb, you couldn't even think.

carl would be lying if he said he could last much longer.

he'd bathe in this feeling forever if he could but he could feel the knot in his stomach too, willing to unfold.

he was going to cum inside of you.

"fuck, that's it angel, doin' so good. wanna cum on my dick, huh?" his voice turned a little more high pitched, a neediness that you both shared, both searching for your highs. his lips quirked. "say please." he teased, knowing you couldn't utter a word.

you only whined against his hand, a whine telling him that you couldn't deal with his teasing, not now.

"come on, pretty, cum on my dick." and like every other time, you'd complied almost instantly.

he pushed his hand harshly against your mouth, roughly holding your head close to the mattress as he felt your walls squeeze against his length. you gushed, wetness pushing around his cock while he felt himself unfold at just the same time.

he fucked his cum into you as he rode out his high, curses and swears falling from his lips while your eyes rolled backwards, dumb and empty minded.

when he finished, all he could think was you.

"fuck." heavy breaths as his hands loosened against you, you took in heavy breaths as you could breathe again, his hand moving away and your wrists suddenly free. they fell on your waist, gently holding you so he could pull his dick free from your hole.

as he looked down, all he could see was both he and your cum mixing together, coating his dick and pouring out from your hole.

all he could say?

"holy fucking shit."

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

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darlingsblackbook · 2 months ago

Text

Diluc Ragnvinder x DownBad!Reader | Part Three

Diluc is slowly falling for Reader and does not know how to deal with it.

Genshin Masterlist

I | After Kaeya forces him to acknowledge the situation, Diluc tries to emotionally distance himself from both of you. Keyword: tries.

You ask him what kind of tea he likes and he answers without thinking. You remember. You bring it the next day. He stares at the cup for five minutes before realizing he’s smiling.

II | Diluc tells himself he’s just being professional when he helps you with a heavy crate. Then you look up at him all breathless and flushed and whisper, “Thanks…” and he literally short-circuits. Kaeya watches from across the room and mouths “L + ratio” at him.

III | One day you’re too busy flirting with a customer to notice Diluc walk in. He doesn’t realize he’s annoyed until he starts cleaning a glass so hard it shatters. He’s just staring at his own hand like, “Why… why am I upset???”

IV | Donna is still trying her best, but now Diluc starts unconsciously comparing her to you.

V | You trip and fall behind the bar and land on top of Diluc. You apologize like you're about to start crying. He awkwardly helps you up, face completely red, and says, “Just be careful next time.” Then proceeds to remember the feel of your hands for the next 6 days.

VI | Diluc overhears you telling another employee, “I know he doesn’t like me like that, but I just… really admire him.” He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps thinking about it. That night, he dreams about you standing in the vineyard, laughing in the sunlight.

VII | You defend him one night when some drunk customer is complaining that Diluc is too cold and aloof. He says nothing, but the tips of his ears are red for the rest of the week.

VIII | You leave a little note in Diluc's coat pocket that just says “You’re doing amazing. Please rest tonight.” He reads it ten times. Keeps it. Finds himself checking his coat every day just in case you leave another one.

IX | One night Kaeya catches Diluc just staring at you while you clean the bar, looking completely lovesick.

Kaeya: “So… are we in denial or should I start planning the wedding?”

Diluc: “Go away.”

Kaeya: “That’s not a no~”

X | The moment Diluc fully breaks, it’s simple. You fall asleep at the bar after a long shift. He covers you with his coat. You murmur his name in your sleep. And he just sits there beside you, looking at your face, thinking, “I’m in so much trouble.”

#diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc fluff #diluc angst #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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brookghaib-blog · 3 months ago

Text

The ghost I left behind - V

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter IV, VI

Y/N's pov

Y/N woke with a jolt.

The pavement beneath her was cold, even through her coat. For a moment, her vision spun—bright lights above, blurred figures running, shouting. Her lungs burned like she'd just surfaced from deep underwater, and her ears rang with the echo of something… distant. Something awful.

She sat up slowly, disoriented. This was New York. The same street she’d been on before everything turned. The clinic was gone from sight now, swallowed up in the chaos of the crowd. People were rising to their feet, groaning, dusting themselves off, confused like her. Some cried. Some screamed. Others simply wandered aimlessly, eyes blank.

Where was Bobby?

Her head turned frantically, searching for his face, scanning over strangers and shadows. “Bobby?” she croaked, but her voice was swallowed by the noise. She stood up too fast, staggered, and her hand flew to her stomach instinctively.

The baby.

Her heart thudded. She reached into her coat pocket with shaking hands—and her fingers brushed glossy paper. The sonogram. It was still there. She pulled it out and held it tightly in both hands like it was the only thing grounding her to the earth. The tiny smudge in the picture—the tiny life she was fighting for—was safe.

She let out a breath that was halfway to a sob. Then, as if sensing her distress, her baby kicked—just once, firm and clear—and her hand flew to the spot, cradling her stomach.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, voice cracked and full of ache. “I know. I’m here.”

But was he?

Where was Bob?

She spun around again, more desperately this time, her hair falling into her eyes. “BOBBY?” she yelled now, throat raw. “BUCKY? YELENA? ANYONE?”

No one answered.

No one familiar.

Just the blaring of distant sirens, the hum of helicopters somewhere overhead, the sound of feet on pavement and confusion bleeding through the city.

Her body moved on its own, staggering toward the sidewalk. Her legs felt like jelly. Everything felt heavy. The smell of smoke and dust lingered in the air, and the ground vibrated faintly under her feet, like the world was still shaking from whatever had happened.

She reached a low wall and sank down slowly, curling in on herself. The sonogram fluttered in her fingers like a fragile leaf. She ran her hands over her stomach again, more gently this time, as if to reassure herself for the hundredth time that her baby was still okay. The thought of losing him, especially after everything… It was too much.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket again and pulled out her phone. Cracked, screen flickering with life. She stared at it, willing it to work. Willing someone—anyone—to call. But there was nothing. No messages. No Bob.

Was it even real?

Her mind flashed back—violent and disjointed.

Bob’s face twisted with pain, his tears, the blood on his knuckles as he beat the Void senseless. The sound of Yelena’s voice calling out. The feel of Bob’s hand in hers. His voice: "You are… everything." The sudden pull, the blinding light—and then waking up here.

Was it just another illusion?

Was he really there, or had her mind played the cruelest trick yet?

Her lips trembled, and she buried her face in her hands. She tried to stay strong—for the baby, for herself—but the silence was deafening. The uncertainty unbearable.

A whimper escaped her throat.

Her back pressed to the wall, her arms curled protectively around her belly, and she let the grief unravel. Grief for the confusion, the fear, the loss, the aching not knowing. Grief for Bobby—if he was even real—if she had ever really had him back.

The baby kicked again. She smiled through tears.

“I’m still here,” she whispered. "I’m still here.”

Her breathing slowed, just enough to hear the trembling silence in her chest.

Y/N wiped at her cheeks with the sleeves of her coat, rough fabric against soft skin, not that she noticed. Her eyes burned.

The people around her had mostly cleared out. Sirens were growing distant. Police were trying to direct people away from the chaos, medics calling out for injured civilians. But none of them were for her. No one looked for her. Not even the team.

Maybe they were never really there, a part of her whispered, cruel and quiet.

But then she remembered—Mr. Cooper.

He had called her, right before the world turned inside out. She had never called him back.

With a shaky breath, she reached into her pocket again, pulling out her battered phone. She turned the brightness down just enough to keep it from shorting out. A thin crack ran through the middle like a scar, but thankfully, the phone still worked.

She tapped on his name and lifted the phone to her ear.

It rang only once.

“Y/N?” His voice came in a rush—tight, worried, breathless. “God, kid—are you okay? I tried calling you back, but then the phones went dead, and.. I don't what happened—Jesus, are you hurt? Where are you?”

The tightness in her throat returned immediately.

She swallowed it down.

“Yeah,” she croaked, trying to make her voice sound normal. Normal. “I’m okay, I—I’m fine, Mr. Cooper. Just… caught up in all that mess. Something happened downtown. I think it affected a lot of people.”

There was a pause on the other end. She could almost picture him—standing in his kitchen, hand bracing the edge of the counter, brow furrowed behind his thick glasses. His worry was palpable, stretching across the line like a tether.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said softly. “Are you sure you’re alright? Where are you now? I can come get you.”

She almost said yes. Her body screamed for safety—for someone to take the weight from her, just for a moment. For someone to look at her and tell her she didn’t have to carry all of this alone.

But she couldn’t.

She needed to be alone. To think. To break. To cry.

“No,” she replied, quietly. “No, it’s okay. I’m walking back now. I just need to be home. I just… I need a little time, that’s all.”

He hesitated. She could hear it—his need to say more, to offer help, to insist.

But he knew her. He’d known her for long enough to hear what she wasn’t saying.

“Alright,” he said finally, with a gentleness only someone like him could offer. “But if you need me—even in the middle of the night—you call. I mean it.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I will.”

They hung up.

She stood there for a few more seconds, clutching her phone like it was an anchor.

Then, slowly, she turned and started walking.

The streets felt emptier than usual. The shadows felt taller. Her feet carried her forward on autopilot. She passed broken traffic lights, turned-over garbage bins, a restaurant window blown open from the pressure of whatever had hit the city. There was a scratch on her arm she hadn’t noticed until now, and her boots were scuffed from the fall.

Everything felt surreal. Like the city had been turned slightly inside out and then sewn back together in the wrong order.

Her apartment came into view.

As soon as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her, the silence swallowed her.

No more voices.

No Bobby.

No team.

No Void.

Just her.

She slipped her coat off and dropped it on the floor. Her body ached. Her back throbbed. Her eyes burned. She shuffled to the couch and sat down, curling her legs beneath her.

Her hand moved again to her stomach—her constant reminder that she wasn’t completely alone. He was still there. Still safe.

The sonogram sat on the coffee table where she placed it gently, her fingers lingering on the image.

She stared at it.

The tears came without warning.

She cried without sound at first, tears streaking down her cheeks and chin. Then came the hiccuped breaths, the full-body ache, the sobs she couldn’t swallow back. She buried her face in her hands and let it come. All of it. The fear. The loss. The impossible pain of seeing Bobby again—really seeing him—and not knowing what part of that had been real. Of hearing his voice. Of holding him. She felt like she had him again just to lost him minutes after. Just when things were moving for the better and her grief was getting easier, this thing appears, gives her her Bobby, made her relieve everything, and went away.

She cried for her younger self.

She cried for her baby.

And when she couldn’t cry anymore, she sat in silence, her palms resting on her belly.

“…What the hell happened?” she whispered into the dark.

There was no answer.

But her baby kicked again—soft this time, like a gentle reassurance.

And somehow, despite everything… it helped. Nothing was making sense. If was leaving her past, Bobby appeared as punishment, but how come those people that she never knew, or encountered before, made an appearence. Was it real ? Then where are they ?

Exhausted physically and emotionally, she falls asleep without noticing. No dreams, no faces, just an exhausting sleep in hopes of waking up better and half forgetting. Go on with the rest of her day, and restart her grief.

But a call came. Mr. Cooper was calling her. Which made her jump from her sleep, unaware that she had even fallen asleep. Scared of the sudden call, she picks up and answer as fast as her brain could process.

"Mr. Cooper, hi! what's...?"

"You turn the TV on, right now" He said in a raspy firm tone.

Confusing her even more. "What ? Mr.Cooper, why are you calling me to watch the news ? I'm resting, I will meet you later and tell what happened, everything fine plea..."

"I said, turn.on.the.TV.now Y/N.", as a dad scolding her, Y/N just does as he says, still not understand the urgency to watch whatever that she do later when she's fully rested.

Turning the TV, the news appeared, being splashed in every channel possible, doing a piece on what seemed to be a new team that were now the New Avengers.

"Oh...hell no, what the actual fuck."

Bob's pov

The press had a field day.

“Thunderbolts Save New York!” “Shadow Anomaly Contained by New Avengers!” “Sentry: Hero or Weapon?”

Everyone suddenly had opinions about them, but no one seemed to have answers. Inside the compound, though, it was just them—no press, no chaos, just post-mission exhaustion and a growing sense of what the hell just happened?

Alexei was already in celebration mode, sitting backward on a chair like a kid in detention. “They called us the New Avengers! I told you, didn’t I? All it took was a little global disaster, and boom—we’re legitimate!”

Yelena snorted. “You screamed ‘Thunderbolts assemble!’ like an idiot.”

“I wanted a moment, Yelena!”

Walker shook his head. “Next time, yell it before we get thrown through a building.”

Ava mumbled from the corner, rubbing her temple, “At least they spelled my name right on one headline. That’s a win.”

Bob was the only one still standing, leaning by the window, arms crossed but a weird energy in his posture. He had a faint smile, like he was too buzzed to come down from whatever adrenaline rush he’d been riding since they landed back in reality.

He turned toward them. “I mean, that wasn’t nothing, right? We did it. Whatever it was. I blacked out after that Void-whatever showed up and now I’m back in New York with a press badge taped to my ass.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

Bob shrugged, almost chipper. “Bits and pieces. Some wild dream stuff. Did we fight something? Did I do anything embarrassing? Don’t say crying, I’m emotionally evolved.”

“Define evolved,” Ava said dryly.

Walker, who’d been quiet for a second too long, finally turned toward Bob and asked, “Hey. You… remember anything about Y/N?”

Bob blinked. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Walker said, more pointed now. “Your girlfriend.”

Bob gave a crooked smile. “You guys know about her now? Valentina told you, didn’t she? Let me guess—she used that to recruit me. ‘Tragic story, guy ditched his pregnant girlfriend, big ol’ redemption arc.’ Classic spy move.”

He laughed, but no one laughed with him.

He looked around. The mood had shifted. Everyone was staring—not accusatory, but... odd. Sympathetic. Guarded.

“What?”

Ava tilted her head. “Bob, do you really not remember anything? In the Void?”

“Just flashes. Feelings, mostly. Stuff that didn’t make sense. Shadows. Screaming. A... woman. But I figured it was all in my head.”

Yelena walked toward him, gently. “It wasn’t. She was real. We saw her.”

Bob’s laugh faltered. “No, I mean—she’s a memory. That’s how it works, right?”

Alexei shook his head slowly. “No, Bob. We met her.”

Walker leaned forward, eyes serious. “She was with us. We were in some kind of mind trap or construct, sure, but it wasn’t just you. She was there. Talking to you. Touching you. Holding you.”

Bob looked between them, heartbeat rising. “You guys are messing with me.”

“We’re not,” Yelena said. “You held her. Told her you were sorry. Told her you loved her.”

Bob’s face fell. “No, that… that’s not possible. I would’ve remembered.”

“You don’t remember her saying to you you’d finish the baby's crib?” Ava asked softly.

Bob sat down slowly, as if the weight in his chest had just become too much. “I… I thought that was a dream.”

Walker’s voice was quieter now. “She was real, Bob. And when we came back… she wasn’t with us.”

He stared at the floor.

The room was quiet again.

Bob looked up slowly, eyes wide but full of dread. “Where is she?”

Yelena swallowed hard. “We don’t know.”

Bob sat there, stunned. His brain was still trying to catch up, to rewind through fragmented shadows, memories half-formed, a scream, a soft laugh, her hands on his face. It hadn’t been just a dream. She was there.

“She’s probably in the city,” he said suddenly, voice dry, eyes distant. “She lived here. We—we lived here. Small apartment just above a laundromat off 36th, near the bridge. The kind of place you don’t show your parents but you make it work because it’s yours. She hated how the window leaked in the winter. Always shoved towels under it to keep the cold out.”

He chuckled for a second. It was hollow.

“She might be there. Or around. She never liked going too far out of the neighborhood.”

The others exchanged a look. Alexei leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees, watching Bob like he was defusing a bomb with his words.

Bob’s shoulders began to rise and fall unevenly. The smile had drained, replaced by a creeping realization behind his eyes. His mouth opened like he might speak again, but nothing came out—just a short breath, almost like a hiccup from the back of his throat.

Then the panic hit.

His hands gripped his knees, hard.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “What the hell do I do?”

“Go to her,” Yelena said softly.

“No—no, you don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head, palms pressing into his temples. “I left. I left her—knowing she was pregnant. I walked away. I just left. And then I got grabbed by Valentina like some stupid lab rat for some twisted ‘fix-the-golden-boy’ science project, and I thought I was going to die there.”

He looked up, eyes glassy, chest heaving like the weight of everything he ran from had finally caught up with him.

“I never thought I’d make it out. I didn’t think I’d have to face any of this again. I told myself I was saving her from me. That if I just disappeared, maybe she’d have a better shot. Maybe she'd forget the mess I was and move on. And then… then I survived.”

He looked around the room at their faces. “And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

Ava spoke gently. “You go to her.”

Bob let out a tight, bitter laugh. “And say what? ‘Hey, sorry I vanished, missed half the pregnancy, ditched you in the worst moment of your life—mind if I come back and finish building the crib?’”

His voice cracked halfway through, and he rubbed a hand down his face, hard.

“She probably hates me. She should hate me.”

“You don’t know that,” Walker said, his tone oddly soft for once. “You don’t know anything until you see her again. But I’ll tell you what’s worse than facing her? Never trying.”

Bob swallowed thickly.

“She looked at you like you were still hers,” Yelena added. “In there, whatever the Void made, it was twisted, sure. But she still looked at you with love. With pain, yeah. But love, too.”

Bob went quiet. For a few seconds, no one said a word.

Then—he exhaled shakily and whispered something, like it had only just re-entered his mind.

“Guys…”

They looked over at him.

He blinked, stunned again by the weight of it.

“I’m going to be a dad.”

His voice cracked, and it wasn’t just shock this time—it was awe. Dread. Hope. Regret. All of it.

“I missed five months,” he said. “I missed appointments. Her cravings. Her first checkup. I wasn’t there when she probably cried herself to sleep because I most probably put her through hell. I missed everything.”

“But you’re here now,” Alexei said, gently but firm. “You still have time.”

Bob looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time how badly they trembled.

“I know I’m not the same person I was when I left. I’ve been clean since Malaysia. The withdrawal nearly killed me. I’ve been through hell trying to be better… but I never once thought about how I’d come back. What I’d say. What I’d do if I ever saw her again. And how will I even tell her that, how will that even sound ? Hi baby, I wasn't good so I left the country and found new friends, I'm so much better know, which would be impossible if I stayed here, by your side, taking care of you, in our home. Yeah, that sounds great. You know what that sounds like? I'll be blaming her for not being better!"

Walker crossed his arms. “We'll figure it out. Together. If she knows she knows that what you did was not the way, but was more desperation than being a deadbeat.”

Yelena nodded. “And he knows what that is like.”

Walker just looks at her, a shoked expression slap on his face. "What the hell did I do to you? Jesus."

“She might not want to see me,” Bob said, barely above a whisper.

“She might not,” Ava agreed. “But she deserves the choice. And you deserve to say it to her face.”

Bob finally stood, slowly, like the weight of his guilt was a physical thing slung across his shoulders.

“I need to find her,” he said quietly. “I need to see her. Even if it’s just to hear her say it’s too late.”

Y/N's pov

The scent of fries and charbroiled beef did nothing to ease the twist in Y/N’s stomach.

She sat at a booth by the window in a corner of the burger place, her cheek pressed against the cold faux-wood table. Outside, the neon lights of the city flickered with life, completely unaware that her world had been flipped upside down. Again.

Mr. Cooper sat across from her, silent, drumming his fingers lightly against his milkshake cup. Their number was still being called up at the counter—order 68—but neither of them moved. No appetite. Just tension and confusion and the low buzz of the news still replaying in her mind.

“The New Avengers—unofficially named, of course—have emerged after a battle outside Manhattan’s southern district. The team includes the U.S. Agent, Russian super-soldier, Red Guardian, Black Widow’s sister, and… a man we’re still learning about. A man who, eyewitnesses claim, flew and tore through solid steel. They’re calling him ‘The Sentry.’”

She flinched again at the title. It didn’t fit. Not with the man who used to sneak an extra shake into her takeout bags just to see her smile. The one who got nosebleeds too easily and talked in his sleep. The one who vanished five months ago and hadn’t left behind anything but a phantom of what used to be.

Mr. Cooper finally broke the silence with a gentle throat-clear and a hesitant voice.

“So… this is awkward,” he said, looking at her sideways. “You never mentioned him being a superhero. Or a super soldier.”

Y/N groaned, lifting her head off the table and glaring at him as if it were his fault.

“He’s not. I don’t even know what the hell is happening. We met because we worked together—he used to spin a sign to promote the restaurant's food.” Her voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and exhausted sarcasm. “Does that sound like a super soldier to you?”

Mr. Cooper leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Jezz! He spins a sign for a living and you let him date you and get you pregnant?” He gave her a crooked smile. “Kid, you’re a pretty lady. You kno—"

“Can you focus on the dead man I’ve been looking for four goddamn months who just reappeared out of nowhere as a freaking avenger?” she snapped, louder than she intended.

The people in the next booth looked over briefly.

Mr. Cooper coughed into his fist and looked away. “Yeah. Sorry. Right.”

Y/N folded her arms across her chest and leaned back into the booth, trying to breathe. Trying to think. But the noise in her head was deafening. Bobby. Bob. Alive. Right there on TV. Eyes glowing. Smiling like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there.

"He sure looks happy as hell." She said letting out a heavy breath.

And he never called. Not once. No text. No note. Nothing.

Her fingers curled around the sonogram still tucked inside her coat pocket.

“He just… left,” she murmured, eyes trained on the linoleum floor. “Didn’t say a word. Not one. And he was in New York this whole damn time?”

“I mean…” Mr. Cooper’s voice was cautious. “For what it’s worth, we don’t know that. There hasn’t been any official word on when he got back. Maybe he wasn’t in the States until now.”

“He had to see the posters,” she whispered, fury rising in her chest like a slow boil. “I plastered them everywhere. I went to every station, every hospital. He was all I thought about. And now he just shows up on the news with some dumb hero name, fighting like he’s Superman and pretending like he didn’t leave me behind?”

Her voice trembled by the end of it, rage and grief all tangled into one.

Mr. Cooper leaned forward, speaking softer now. “I know you’re hurting, kid. I know this feels like some cosmic slap to the face. But there has to be an explanation. People don’t come back from the dead just to pretend nothing happened.”

She looked at him, eyes glistening, but her jaw locked tight.

He added, “As far as we know, there’s no record of him even coming back from Malaysia. If that lady Valentina had anything to do with this, and he was part of one of her experiments, you know she was on trial for those sketchy projects.” He trailed off, grim. “They probably kept him buried in some black site until now, he had to gain some kind of power.”

Y/N didn’t say anything for a long time.

Her food number was called again. Still no movement.

“I just…” She exhaled, pressing a hand against her belly, where the baby gave a soft kick, as if responding to her heartache. “If he’s been here… If he knew... Why hasn’t he come back? Why isn’t he banging down my door? Why isn’t he groveling on his knees, begging me to forgive him for leaving me?”

Her throat clenched around the words. She hated how small they sounded. How hurt.

“Is he with someone else?” she asked suddenly, the words tumbling out like they had a mind of their own. “Did he just move on? Decide the whole father thing wasn’t for him, and now he’s flying around in spandex trying to save the world instead?”

Mr. Cooper reached out, placed a hand over hers gently. “He didn’t look like a man who moved on. Not to me.”

Y/N blinked down at the table. "How do you even know that? Let's recap, I tell I'm pregnant after a huge fight about his addiction, because I was scared of losing him, days later I wake up, he left without trace, I look after him, he's in Malaysia, now he's a super hero. Oh yeah! It doesn't sound likke he moved on and built a new life, without me."

Her heart ached. Not just because he was alive. But because now she had something even worse than grief to wrestle with.

"Mr. Cooper. I give up. I can't take anymore, I...when that thingy came I had this dream, nightmare, hallucination, whatever, he was there. I thought that it was real, those people were there, I'm having a hard time figuring out what's happening, but...if it was real than he saw me too, why isn't him here? He.moved.on." Tears blink in her eyes, she looks away.

"I can't take the stress anymore, I'm just getting myself together, and I just putting all this anxiety and stress on the baby, I can't keep going in a path without a destiny." She picks up a napkin that rested on the table to wipe her tears, and looks at Mr.Cooper. "There's always other people, other women, he's a hero, and he's going to be rich now, bet ther-"

“Y/N.” Mr. Cooper’s voice was sharp, firm, cutting her spiral like a blade.

She stopped, her eyes snapping up to meet his. He wasn’t angry, not really. But there was something frustrated, protective in the way his brows drew together.

“Why do you always go there?” he asked. “Why do you keep acting like him leaving, or cheating, is the only explanation?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“You’ve been so damn strong these past months,” he continued, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I watched you tear up half the city looking for him. I watched you yell at cops who wouldn’t listen. You made those missing posters by hand. You begged strangers to keep an eye out. You didn’t let anyone talk shit about him—not even me. You told everyone who doubted him to go to hell, because you knew he wasn’t the kind of man who’d walk out. You believed in him.”

He paused, voice softening.

“So why is seeing him now—alive—turning into this total collapse?”

She shook her head, overwhelmed, trembling with exhaustion and rage and heartache.

“I don’t know,” she choked. “Because it’s easier to believe he left on purpose than to admit that maybe... maybe he’s been back and just didn’t want to come home.”

“No.” Mr. Cooper shook his head slowly. “You don’t believe that. You’re scared of that. There’s a difference.”

Y/N looked down at her stomach.

“I spent so long hoping. Waking up at night thinking maybe I heard the door. Every time the phone rang, I jumped like it was him. I let people call me delusional because I just knew he wouldn’t leave me like that. And now that he’s alive, I feel like... like I can’t breathe. He never made me feel like he didn't want me, or once made me doubt him.”

“Because hope is dangerous,” Cooper said gently. “But it’s still yours. And you don’t have to throw it away just to protect yourself. You don’t have to build a worst-case story in your head just so it hurts less if it’s true.”

She looked at him then, fully, eyes glassy and tired. “You really think he’s not out there forgetting me?”

“I think if Bob Reynolds is even half the man you made him out to be... then he’s out there panicking. Terrified. Not sure how to come back. Because maybe he thinks you moved on. Or that he hurt you too badly. Or that you’ll slam the door in his face.”

Silence stretched between them.

The burger order had been ready for fifteen minutes. No one cared.

Y/N leaned back slowly, wiped under her eyes with her sleeve. She exhaled shakily.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” she whispered.

“Then don’t be. Be ready.” Mr. Cooper smiled gently. “Because I don’t think this story’s over. Not even close.”

The footage of the Thunderbolts—no, the New Avengers—flashed across the screen again. Images of chaos, the sky cracking open, then the clean-up crews, and finally a group photo: grainy, chaotic, half-captured mid-motion—but there he was.

Bob.

Looking so different and yet unmistakably him. Taller somehow. Stronger. Almost glowing.

Y/N’s eyes were glued to the screen, her burger untouched.

“Do you really think that woman—Valentina, whatever—could have something to do with all this?” she asked suddenly, her voice low, cautious, like speaking the name might summon something.

Mr. Cooper blinked, caught a little off guard by the shift. “Valentina de Fontaine?”

She nodded. “They said she was behind the team, right? And now all this... stuff happens. And Bob’s with them. So I’ve been trying to piece it together, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

Mr. Cooper sighed, taking a bite of his fries before answering, reluctantly. “She’s in trial right now. Big federal investigation. No full details, but... I heard she’s being charged for working with the OXE Group.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

“What’s the OXE Group?” she asked slowly.

He didn’t look at her at first. Just watched the news crawl at the bottom of the screen as if he were still deciding whether to tell her the truth.

“They’re a private military research firm. The kind of people who used to do black site work. Off-the-record stuff. Real shady.”

“Okay...” Y/N pressed, her voice tightening. “But what does that mean? What is she actually in trial for?”

Mr. Cooper finally turned to look at her, his expression sobering. “Illegal human experimentation. Enhancement trials. Word is, they were trying to recreate the super soldier program without oversight.”

The booth felt colder all of a sudden. Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching.

“Human experiments?” she repeated. “You mean like...”

He nodded, grim. “Like testing on people without consent. Drug trials. Mutation injections. Splicing DNA with alien tech. You name it.”

She slumped back in her seat, her hand going to her stomach again like second nature, like she needed the grounding.

Her voice cracked. “What if... What if she did something to him?”

Mr. Cooper frowned. “Y/N...”

“No, I’m serious!” she shot back, panic bubbling up. “What if he didn’t just leave? What if he was taken? Or experimented on? What if he got—changed—and that’s why he didn’t come back? What if they hurt him and wiped his memory, or used him like a weapon?”

“Y/N, we don’t know any of that,” he said gently, but her mind was already spiraling.

“It would make sense!” she snapped. “I saw him. I saw him in that facility, and he didn’t look like himself. Not just stronger or taller or whatever. He looked wrong. Like he was fighting something inside of him. And what if it wasn’t just him fighting—what if it was something they put in him?”

Mr. Cooper rubbed his temple slowly. “It’s a stretch, but... honestly? With people like Valentina? I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands, overwhelmed by the thought.

“He always hated being weak,” she whispered. “He never said it out loud, but I could see it in how hard he tried.”

“And now maybe someone used that, maybe someone other then you saw what he had to give.” Cooper added grimly.

She dropped her hands and looked up at the screen again, the soft glow of the TV painting her worried face. Bob’s image flickered again—his silhouette standing strong beside the others, like he belonged there. But there was something distant in his expression. Something hollow. Something that didn’t look like the man she fell in love with.

“I’m not even pissed anymore,” she whispered. “I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back because... he can’t?”

Mr. Cooper reached across the table and placed his hand gently over hers. “Then maybe it’s time someone went and got him.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away.

But her eyes, still glassy from earlier tears, were now clear with something else.

Determination.

"You think I should go there ?"

Mr.Cooper just smiles softly. "Maybe. You already went everywhere for him. This looks like a last trip."

The Next day - Bob's pov

The watchowerbuzzed with movement and low chatter as the Thunderbolts prepared for something that felt more serious than any mission they’d been on: Bob’s return.

Alexei was in his element—straightening a collar, wiping nonexistent dust from a navy-blue suit jacket, inspecting the polish on Bob’s shoes like a proud older brother sending a kid off to prom.

“You see this? This is what redemption looks like,” Alexei said, stepping back to admire Bob. “This says: ‘I am responsible man who has fought gods and folded laundry.’”

Bob stood stiffly in front of the mirror, hands tugging at the uncomfortable sleeves. “It says I’m about to ask for a job at a bank.”

“You look good,” Ava said simply from across the room. “It’s clean. Grown. It says you took this seriously. That matters.”

“She liked me messy,” Bob muttered under his breath, glancing down at the crisp fabric, the sleek hair combed back. “She said I looked more like me that way.”

Yelena, seated on the couch, rolled her eyes. “That was before you got sucked into a lab, exploded in the sky, and became some walking nuclear sunrise. You’re not just the guy that was struggle to keep yourselve together anymore, Bob. You’ve changed.”

Bob frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Walker stepped in then, arms crossed, voice blunt but not unkind. “Look. You go there looking like you haven’t slept since 2019, she’ll think you’re still spiraling. But you show up like this? It says you’ve been trying. You want her back, right? Then show her you didn’t just survive — you got your shit together.”

Bob sighed and looked at himself again. The suit was neat, dark, serious. The tie Alexei picked was a shade too bright, but he let it be. His hair, slicked back, made his features sharper, more intense — and somehow older.

“Do I really look like… me? Do you think she will like this?” he asked, quieter this time.

Ava shrugged. “You look like someone who fought to come back.”

“And is about to cry,” Yelena said, deadpan. “But that’s your brand.”

Alexei grinned, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Trust us, this is the version of you she’ll want to see. Not the one who left, the one who chose to come back.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a moment. He took one last look at himself and nodded—just slightly.

Alexei, walking beside Bob, leaned in and whispered, “If she cries, cry with her. If she yells, nod wisely. If she hugs you… propose.”

Bob laughed for the first time all day, nerves still twisting deep in his chest. “Noted.”

He didn’t feel ready—not even close.

Alexei was fussing over Bob’s lapels like a proud uncle before prom, squinting critically at the clean lines of the suit. “You look strong. You look professional.”

“Fashion is how we prepare for emotional battle,” Alexei declared, adjusting Bob’s cuffs. “You must dress like the man you want her to believe in. Smell good. Stand tall. Speak deeply.”

“Alexei, you sound like a shampoo commercial,” Ava said from her spot near the mission board, clearly unimpressed.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “He’s not seducing her. He’s trying to apologize. Just tell her the truth, idiot.”

“Tell her the truth?” Alexei scoffed. “Fine. Tell her: ‘Hello. I have become golden space god now. I will protect you and make you rich. Also, I will buy you several dogs. Jewels. Maybe matching capes.’ Boom. Proposal.”

“Yeah,” Yelena muttered, “you just described a sugar daddy.”

“Is that not good?” Alexei blinked.

“That’s not great,” Ava shot back.

Walker leaned forward, trying to restore order. “Can we all just stop arguing about sugar daddies for one second?”

But that second was long gone. Ava was now arguing with Alexei about power dynamics in relationships, Yelena was threatening to punch someone if they didn’t shut up, and Walker looked like he was about five seconds from walking out.

Amid the chaos, Bob slowly sat down on the edge of the chair by the wide Watchtower window. He didn’t say anything. Just stared out at the distant lights of the city. A city she might be somewhere in. Alone.

They kept bickering around him, their voices overlapping, but Bob wasn’t listening anymore.

Then, softly, without looking at them, he spoke.

“I’m really scared.”

Silence fell, thick and immediate.

The team turned to look at him. Even Alexei’s big grin faded a little.

Bob kept his eyes on the skyline, his voice low and honest.

“She’s been abandoned her whole life. By people who were supposed to stay. Family. Friends. Even strangers who promised better and never meant it. And now I just—” he swallowed hard—“I went and added myself to that list.”

He clasped his hands, fingers threading and unthreading like his nerves were on a loop. He finally looked at them, eyes wide with something between guilt and fear and rawness that none of them had ever seen from him.

“I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know if she even wants to see me. But she deserves the truth. And the choice.”

Yelena blinked a few times, her voice quieter when she spoke. “Then that’s what you give her.”

Alexei stepped closer, this time without a joke. He reached out and straightened Bob’s jacket collar.

“You wear the suit,” he said, firm but kind. “Because you are not just scared man anymore. You are also someone who came back. Someone who shows up. And sometimes... that is everything.”

Bob looked down at his shoes. The suit didn’t feel like him—but maybe it didn’t have to. Maybe it wasn’t about who he used to be.

Maybe it was about who he wanted to become.

Just as the room began to settle—after the shouting, the sarcastic digs, and the tail end of Alexei offering to re-style Bob’s hair himself if it meant calming him down—the doors to the Watchtower meeting room hissed open.

Mel stepped inside. She had that look of someone about to drop a grenade in the middle of the room and then walk away.

“Hey, uh—sorry to break up whatever group therapy session this is,” she said, tapping her tablet nervously, “but you’ve got a situation downstairs.”

Everyone turned.

Bob stood near the window, still fidgeting with his collar, his mind halfway between meltdown and autopilot.

Mel glanced at her screen. “There’s a woman and a guy asking for you. She’s being very... insistent.”

Bob blinked. “For me?”

“Yeah,” Mel said, nodding. “She says her name is Y/N L/N.”

The name hit him like a punch to the ribs. He froze. The breath left his lungs in one swift exhale.

“She’s here?” he said, barely audible.

Mel gave a wide-eyed shrug. “And some guy with her—says his name is George Cooper.”

Bob’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

Walker squinted. “You don’t know him?”

Bob shook his head. “No. Never heard of him.”

“Probably someone helping her,” Ava muttered. “Friend? Neighbor?”

“Or he’s just muscle,” Alexei offered. “In case she decides to throw you out a window.”

Bob swallowed thickly.

“She’s here?” he repeated, almost like he didn’t believe it. “In this building?”

Mel nodded. “Refusing to leave. She said if you don’t come down, she’s coming up. I told her that wasn’t exactly allowed without clearance and she said—and I quote—‘He’ll want to see me. Tell him I’m here. He’ll come.’”

Silence dropped over the room.

Alexei stood, clapping once. “WELL! This is very romantic. She crossed enemy lines to see you.”

Yelena looked at Bob. “You gonna faint or do something useful?”

Bob’s heart was racing. He glanced at Mel again. “She’s okay? I mean... she looks okay?”

“She looks pissed,” Mel said, matter-of-fact. “But yeah. Alive. Loud. Standing on both feet.”

Walker leaned back in his chair. “So. What’s the move?”

Bob licked his lips, nervous. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

Ava gave a soft exhale. “Start with 'Hi, I’m sorry,' and work your way up.”

“Do not start with ‘I’m a superhero now,’” Yelena added, arms crossed. “She might hit you.”

Alexei looked far too excited. “Tell her you’re going to take care of her forever and buy her a houseboat.”

“Guys,” Bob muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. “I don’t even know who that guy is. What if she moved on? What if he’s her—God, I don’t know—boyfriend?”

“Then she wouldn’t be here, asking for you by name,” Yelena said calmly.

He was shaking.

Not with fear exactly—but something deeper. The kind of anxiety you only feel when you know you're about to come face to face with the thing you both miss and broke.

Bob whispered, “I’m really scared.”

That was enough to quiet the room.

He looked down at his hands. “She deserves better. And now... I don’t know what she’s going to see when she looks at me.”

Walker leaned forward on the table, his voice low. “Give her the choice, Reynolds. That’s all you can do.”

Mel stood awkwardly in the doorway. “So... what do you want me to tell them?”

Bob took one breath. Then two. Then forced himself upright.

“Tell them to come up.”

Yelena gave a small smirk. “About damn time.”

Mel nodded, giving him a soft, understanding look. “Got it.”

And with that, she stepped out, letting the doors seal shut behind her.

Bob stared at the floor.

“She’s really here.”

“Yeah,” Ava said. “She is.”

He swallowed.

Bob immediately turned to the rest of the team, his chest rising and falling too fast, hands shaking.

“I can’t do this. I seriously cannot do this. She’s here. She saw me on TV, and now she’s here, and I have no idea what she’s going to say—what if she just wants to scream at me? What if she’s already moved on and she’s just here for closure or to give me back my things—oh God, what if she brought a box of my stuff? That’s what people do, right? Boxes?”

Alexei clapped him hard on the back, nearly sending Bob stumbling forward.

“Relax, golden boy,” he said with a grin. “At least she came when you look good. If this was five hours ago, you’d still have pizza sauce on your shirt and look like a wet rat. Now you look like a gentleman. Hair all slicked back. Like James Bond but sad.”

“Very sad,” Yelena added, dryly. “Like James Bond who’s been crying in a Denny’s parking lot.”

Walker grunted. “Real supportive, guys.”

Ava leaned forward, her tone softer. “Bob. You’re spiraling.”

“I should be spiraling,” Bob huffed. “She’s probably been through hell and I left her—what do I even say? ‘Hi, sorry I ghosted you and joined a black-ops team and maybe died a little bit in Malaysia, and now I have godlike powers but still can’t hold a normal conversation’?”

“Yeah,” Yelena said with a shrug. “That, but slower.”

Alexei was still grinning. “What if she’s just here to take you back? Huh? Ever thought of that?”

Bob blinked at him, confused.

“I mean,” Alexei continued, “she saw you on the news, looking heroic, cape blowing in the wind—metaphorically speaking—and she thought, ‘That’s my idiot.’ Maybe she’s just here because she wants you back.”

“Exactly,” Ava chimed in. “You don’t know what she’s thinking. You’re panicking over something that hasn’t happened yet.”

“She came, man,” Walker added. “She didn’t send a letter. She didn’t text. She showed up.”

Bob ran a shaky hand through his hair—well, tried to, forgetting it was slicked back with gel now and recoiling in horror. “God, it’s so crispy.”

“Don’t touch it!” Alexei scolded, slapping his hand away. “You ruin that hair, and all this is for nothing.”

Everyone turned as the elevator down the hall gave a soft ding.

Bob went pale.

“They’re coming up,” he whispered. “Oh God. They’re coming up.”

Yelena gave him a nudge. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest. And breathe. In through the nose. Out through the dramatic monologue.”

He looked to them, chest rising and falling, eyes wide.

Then he nodded. Slowly.

“Okay,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

And Bob—dressed like a gentleman, scared out of his mind—stood facing the door, waiting for her

The elevator let out a soft chime, and the doors slid open with a mechanical hum.

Y/N stood there like a storm held in a glass bottle. Hair a little windblown, eyes sharp and already glossed with too much unshed emotion. Her coat hung off one shoulder, and beside her stood Mr. Cooper, arms crossed, watching with the protective stiffness of a man about to throw someone through a wall if needed.

The moment her eyes locked on Bob, she froze. Just for a second. Because what she saw was so jarringly not what she expected.

He stood across the room in a suit. Hair combed back, posture stiff as if he were pretending to be someone else. A mock version of composure. And yet—beneath it, she could still see him. Still Bob. Still the same guy who used to burn toast and tell jokes that didn’t land, who once danced in the living room holding a broom like a microphone.

Her mouth fell open.

“Bobby…” she began, voice strained, “What the fuck?”

Bob flinched. She hadn’t even raised her voice, but it hit him like a slap. Still, without thinking, without breathing, he moved forward, arms open.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I know—I just need to—”

He embraced her.

Y/N’s breath hitched sharply against his chest. He was warm. Real. Solid. And for the briefest of seconds—less than a heartbeat—she didn’t push him away. Her hands even hovered, as if they didn’t know what to do.

He smelled the same. Felt the same. She hated that her body remembered.

Then she came to.

“No—no!” she gasped, shoving him back with both palms against his chest. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to hug me like that, like nothing happened!”

Tears spilled from her eyes now, but her jaw clenched with fury. “Where the hell have you been?! What was this, Bobby? What was this?! You disappeared, and now you’re in a goddamn suit, on the news like everything’s fine? You left me! You left me!”

Bob stumbled back, hands raised, chest heaving. “I know. I know I did—please, I—I swear I’ll explain, just—can we… can we talk? Alone?”

He looked past her to Mr. Cooper, then the rest of the team hovering awkwardly in the background. They were trying not to look like they were watching, but they definitely were.

Yelena was half-tucked behind Ava, who was subtly gripping Alexei’s arm to stop him from chiming in. Even Walker looked frozen mid-step, unsure if he should intervene or back off.

Bob turned to them with a shaky exhale. “Can we have a minute? Please?”

Mr. Cooper looked to Y/N. “That what you want?”

Y/N glanced around the room, then back at Bob. She wiped the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her jacket.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah… please.”

The tension in the air shifted as the others nodded and slowly made their exit. Alexei gave Bob a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed—though it was more like a seismic jolt.

“I’m watching you,” Yelena muttered under her breath as she followed the others out.

Walker pointed a finger at Bob.

The doors shut behind them.

Now it was just Bob and Y/N, the silence closing in like walls. The city glowed faintly through the tall windows. The room suddenly felt too big. Too quiet.

Bob took a tentative step toward her. “I—don’t know where to start.”

Y/N folded her arms, brows pulled tight. “Try the part where you vanished into thin air.”

His throat tightened. His hands trembled.

“Okay,” he whispered, eyes locked on her. “Okay.”

“I didn’t think I’d get to say any of this,” he started, his voice dry and cracking. “I didn’t plan on saying anything at all.”

He finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, breathing uneven. “When I left, I didn’t just leave because of the pregnancy, Y/N. I’d already… been thinking about leaving. About… disappearing. I’d been thinking about it long before I knew. That test—God, it broke me. Not because of the baby. Not because of you. Because I knew right then I wasn’t the person you needed me to be.”

He swallowed hard and stepped forward slowly, careful not to spook her.

“You know how bad it got. I—I thought I had it under control, the meth, the withdrawals, the spirals, all of it. But I didn’t. I relapsed again two days before you told me. I—I’d been hiding it. I was so ashamed. I couldn’t even look you in the eyes some nights. I’d lie awake next to you and think about how much I was failing. How I was just—burning your life down with mine.”

He rubbed his face roughly, eyes shining as his breathing caught. “And then the test. And you. You looked so happy. And I—I felt like I was standing in front of this life, this beautiful life you wanted, and I was the wreckage in the way. I thought… if I stayed, I’d keep failing. That I’d be angry all the time. That I’d scream, or break things, or—God—for the first time in my life, I was scared of myself.”

He looked at her now. Fully. Face open and wounded, stripped of anything but his truth.

“So I did what cowards do. I ran. And I didn’t just run—I collapsed. I went to Malaysia because it was dangerous. Because I thought I’d die out there. Because dying felt easier than telling you I was broken. I thought I was doing you a favor. That you'd be better off. That the baby would have a clean slate, and you’d hate me, sure—but you’d survive. You’d thrive without me.”

Silence.

A few seconds passed, and he saw it—her breathing uneven, her hands curled tight at her sides.

And then she broke.

“You know me, Bobby,” she cried, voice trembling but laced with fire. “You know me.”

He barely had time to brace himself before the words poured out of her in sobs and gasps and fists clenched in grief.

“I love you so much I could feel death creeping into my chest every night you didn’t come back. I stopped eating. I couldn’t sleep. I would scream into my pillow until I passed out. I waited for hours by the door every time it rained, thinking you’d be cold and coming home. I sat in hospitals and police stations—God—I put up flyers, Bobby. I looked in every building, every alley, every damn street like a maniac because I knew something had to be wrong!”

Her hands trembled as she wiped her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept coming. Her voice broke again, smaller now.

“All I ever wanted was for you to come home. To have you here. I—I would’ve moved with you. To anywhere. Anywhere. You could’ve said the word and we would’ve started over. Just me and you. I would’ve helped you through everything. I wanted to help. But you didn’t give me the chance. You didn’t even give me a choice.”

She was sobbing now, her chest heaving, and Bob could only stare at her, broken open.

“I want our kid to know you. To love you. I wanted him to have what I never had. You keep thinking you’re some monster—that you ruin everything, that nobody gives a shit. But you leaving took my whole life with you. You took my happiness and left me to hold the pieces!”

Bob stepped closer, slow and trembling. His voice came out hoarse.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was saving you.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears, shaking her head. “Well, you didn’t save me. You wrecked me.”

Bob nodded, lips pressed together as tears welled in his eyes. He looked down at her—then unconsciously, his eyes dropped to her stomach. She was showing now. Just enough.

“I missed everything,” he whispered, his hand trembling like it wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.

Y/N nodded silently, wiping her cheek.

“You did,” she said.

“Bobby…” she exhaled slowly. “You’re on the damn news. The Avengers, the Watchtower, all of this? You’re dressed like a damn wedding crasher—how the hell are you a superhero now?”

Her voice cracked. Confusion, disbelief, anger still curling in her chest like smoke.

“You don’t have powers. I know you. You had bad knees and a caffeine addiction and you used to pull your back lifting grocery bags. What the hell happened to you? What—what was that thing in the sky that took over the city? I saw you in it. I thought I was losing my mind.”

Bob blinked, lips parted like he’d been caught off guard. He looked down at the floor, then back up at her with a deep, ashamed breath.

“I wasn’t supposed to make it,” he said softly. “When I left for Malaysia… it wasn’t just to run. I signed up for something. Something I knew was dangerous.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, a pang of dread in her gut.

“What kind of something?” she asked carefully.

Bob clenched his jaw. “Human experimentation.”

Her eyes widened, horror flashing across her face. He rushed to keep speaking before she could spiral.

“It was Valentina. She was… recruiting people. Not for the Avengers, not at first. For something else. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want answers. I thought—if it worked, maybe I’d be someone. If it didn’t… I’d just disappear like I always meant to.”

Y/N shook her head, horrified. “Bob—Jesus Christ.”

He nodded, shame deepening his voice. “It worked. Somehow. I don’t know how to explain it. They gave me something. It rewired everything. My body, my mind. I’m not… me anymore. I’m something else now. I can fly. I can tear steel apart. I can hear a pin drop from across the city. I don’t get tired. I don’t bleed. But…”

His voice wavered. He looked up at her with eyes that were begging to be understood.

“There’s something inside me. Something that came with the powers. A shadow. A presence. They call it The Void.”

Y/N stiffened at the name. Her breath caught.

Bob swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“It’s real. That… thing that covered New York? That was me. Or, part of me. I don’t remember all of it—I black out when he comes. But it’s like… he waits. Like he watches from behind my eyes, waiting for a moment to crawl out.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again.

“I didn’t know what I’d done until I woke up in that lab. Until I saw what was left behind. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t even know I could do something like that. I—”

He broke off, breath shaky.

“I don’t want these powers. Not if they come with him. I’m scared, Y/N. Every second. Because if I lose focus for one moment, if I get too angry, too desperate, too… weak—he gets out again. And next time, he might not leave anything standing.”

Y/N’s face had softened now. Her arms weren’t crossed anymore. She was just… standing there. Listening. Absorbing it all.

Bob stepped forward, a hand to his chest like he was trying to ground himself.

“But if I have to… if I have to… I’ll use it. Because I’ve seen what he can do. And I’ve seen what I can do when I keep him under. I think I was meant to help. Meant to protect people. Even if I’m scared.”

He met her gaze again, with more resolve this time.

“I don’t want to run anymore. From you, from what I’ve done, from what I am. I just want to… figure out how to live with it. With him. With the powers. And I want to do it with you.”

Y/N stared at him in stunned silence for a moment.

Then she took a trembling step forward.

“Do you really want to be that guy?” she whispered. “Or are you still trying to disappear, just in a different uniform?”

Bob flinched like she’d slapped him—but he didn’t deny it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m trying.”

Y/N stood in front of him, arms limp at her sides, staring down at the floor. The silence was no longer sharp—it was dull, thick, almost protective. She was processing. Still trying to stitch everything together, the pain and confusion and love all colliding at once inside her chest like a storm without direction.

Bobby shifted, watching her with quiet, careful eyes.

“…Are you able to forgive me?” he asked, his voice a near whisper, almost afraid the sound might shatter whatever moment this was.

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

“I mean… we don’t have to be anything. Not if you don’t want to. I don’t want to force you into something just because we—because this happened,” he continued, motioning vaguely to her belly, to the air between them, to everything. “But I want to be there. I want to be there for you. And for the baby.”

His voice cracked.

“And I want you. I love you. I never stopped. Not for a second. But… you went through hell. And I was the one who lit the match. I didn’t protect you. I hurt you.”

That last part hung in the air like a confession he was ashamed to even say out loud.

Y/N still didn’t say anything. Her eyes flicked upward for only a second before she turned her head to the side, blinking hard. Her heart was racing, her head was buzzing. All of it was too much. The powers. The Void. The abandonment. The hug. The apology. The love. The ache. She loved him. God, she loved him—but what if love wasn’t enough? What if it never had been?

And then… she felt it.

A soft, unmistakable push from within her. Tiny.

She looked back at Bobby, the emotion behind her eyes unreadable—but deep.

Without saying a word, she stepped forward and gently took his hand in hers.

Then, she guided it to her belly.

His fingers spread over the fabric of her shirt, and at first, he just looked at her, confused—until he felt it.

A kick. Strong. Rhythmic.

His eyes widened. A stunned breath fell out of him.

And then… his knees buckled, slowly, reverently, until he was crouched in front of her, both hands now resting on her belly, forehead pressing softly against it like he was praying. His eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if listening with his whole soul.

And he heard it.

A heartbeat.

Steady. Fierce. Alive.

Bob’s breath hitched. His lips parted in disbelief, awe folding into tears.

“We made that,” he whispered.

Y/N’s hand lifted, slow and gentle, resting on top of his head—his hair stiff with gel, slicked back against the version of him someone else dressed up to be a man who looked like he had it all together. But beneath it… she missed the curls. The mess. Him.

She let her fingers slip through what little softness she could find, her thumb brushing the nape of his neck.

“We can take it slow,” she said, voice raw, almost hoarse from holding back too much for too long. “We can do it.”

His head tilted up to look at her, his eyes glassy, his whole world held between her hands and the heartbeat beneath them.

“I just need to… readjust,” she said, inhaling shakily. “I don’t know what to do just yet. But… I can do it.”

A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as her gaze met his.

“I want you.”

Bob blinked, breath caught in his throat.

She nodded gently, her hand still cradling the side of his head.

“He wants you, too.”

Bob closed his eyes again, pulling in a breath like he’d been underwater all this time and finally came up for air.

And for the first time in months, everything stopped hurting—just for a moment.

Bob stood slowly, eyes never leaving hers. He looked unsure, reverent almost, as if standing in front of something holy.

This time, when he moved to embrace her, it wasn’t frantic or desperate—it was gentle. Careful. A silent apology. A prayer wrapped in human warmth. His arms curled around her back as hers slid around his waist, and they just held each other for a moment, feeling every tremble and heartbeat, the months of pain melting into skin-on-skin comfort.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to see her face. His hands cradled her waist, thumbs brushing slow circles against her sides. His voice was low, a little hoarse.

“Can I… please kiss you?” he asked, breath shaky. “I really need it.”

Y/N looked up at him, eyes still glassy with leftover tears—but softer now. Open. She nodded, slow.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or polished—it was real. It was raw—it all came crashing together in that one, perfect kiss.

And it felt like him. Like Bobby. Like home.

She tasted salt—his tears, or hers, she couldn’t tell. One of her hands moved to his jaw, fingers curling against the line of it, while the other gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing him. His arms wrapped tight around her, and he let out a low sound—half-laugh, half-sob—into her mouth as their kiss deepened.

They could almost feel the ghost of another version of them—laughing in the kitchen of their tiny old apartment, dancing in their socks, sneaking kisses between burnt grilled cheese and a mattress on the floor. That old life flickered like a film reel behind their eyes.

He kissed her like he was trying to memorize her again.

She kissed him like she’d never let him disappear again.

When they finally pulled back for air, they were both breathless, foreheads touching. Their hands lingered—on waists, on cheeks, on the edges of clothing. Like letting go might mean waking up.

Y/N looked at him through her lashes, still catching her breath. Her voice cracked with a laugh.

“…Is this how you dress now?”

Bob blinked, then glanced down at himself—the stiff suit, the buttoned collar, the slicked-back hair.

Y/N made a face. “I hate it. You look so… ew.”

He burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. “What?!”

She nodded, pointing dramatically at his head. “That’s not my Bobby. That’s a… stockbroker.”

“A what?” he said, grinning.

“Messy Bobby. Large hoodie Bobby. Hair-like-you-just-woke-up Bobby. That guy?” She grinned through the teasing, stepping closer, fingers already mussing his gelled-back hair with playful aggression. “That guy was hot. This guy looks like he’s about to lecture me about my Roth IRA.”

Bob chuckled, letting her mess it all up, curls flopping forward again. “Okay, okay. I’ll ditch the suit. Alexei’s gonna cry, though. He made me wear it.”

“Why?” she asked, still smoothing his hair out to her liking.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We were… planning on coming to see you. The team thought I should look… presentable. Impressive.”

She raised a brow. “Well, you failed. Miserably.”

He laughed again, and for a moment, it was just joy. Simple, real joy.

Then his smile softened. “Still worth it, though. You’re here. You kissed me. Twice.”

She smirked, a glimmer of playfulness flashing through the exhaustion in her eyes.

“That was charity.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She grabbed the collar of his too-stiff suit jacket, pulled him forward, and kissed him again—slow and deliberate.

“Still charity,” she whispered against his lips.

And Bobby just laughed into the kiss, his arms tightening around her.

The elevator doors slid open again with a soft ding. Bob straightened, still holding Y/N’s hand, only to freeze when a man stepped into view behind her.

Middle-aged. Slightly rumpled jacket. The kind of no-nonsense posture that screamed authority with too much paperwork. Bob blinked. So did the rest of the team.

Alexei leaned in and stage-whispered, “Who’s the guy? Is that your dad? Did you bring your dad?”

Y/N shot him a look. “No.”

Bob tilted his head, confused. “Uh… sorry, who…?”

The man extended a casual, unimpressed nod toward Bob. “Name’s Cooper. George Cooper. I work at the precinct downtown.”

Bob blinked again. “Wait—like… a cop?”

Walker narrowed his eyes. “Why is a cop here?”

Cooper kept his arms crossed. “Because I’ve been the one picking up the pieces while your golden boy here ghosted the entire tri-state area.”

Yelena raised her eyebrows and turned to Bob with a snort. “Ooooh, I like him already.”

Bob looked at Y/N, still processing. “You brought a cop with you?”

“He’s not just a cop,” she replied, gently but firmly. “He’s my friend. The only one who gave a damn when you disappeared. When nobody took my reports seriously, when they called me crazy—he helped. Every step.”

Mr. Cooper glanced sideways at her, not showing much emotion, but his voice softened. “She didn’t have anyone else, man. I’m not here to cause problems. Just had to make sure she was okay. That you were actually here and not another hallucination.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, heart squeezing in his chest. “Right. Yeah. Okay… sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting…”

Alexei interrupted with a grin. “It is okay, Bobby. She brought backup. Like real soldier. I respect it.”

Yelena nodded. “Honestly? After everything, he should’ve come with more backup.”

Walker crossed his arms. “So what now, cop? You sticking around?”

Cooper held up his hands. “Nope. I’ve done my part. She wanted to talk, I made sure she got here safe. That’s all.”

Y/N looked over at him, smiling faintly. “Thanks, Mr.Cooper.”

He gave her a brief nod and headed for the elevator. “You know how to reach me, kid.”

As the doors closed behind him, Bob turned to Y/N again, still wrapping his head around it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know you had to go through all that.”

Y/N met his eyes. “That’s because you weren’t there.”

Silence lingered for a beat—one heavy with mutual understanding and all the things they still had to say.

Alexei, ever the mood-breaker, clapped Bob on the back. “Well, at least she showed up while you still looked dashing. I told you—hair slicked back, suit crisp. You’re like billionaire crime-fighter now.”

Y/N squinted at Bob. “God, you still look ridiculous.”

Bob gave her a sheepish grin. “I know. I was trying to impress you.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Like that would work on me.”

#robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #marvel #mcu fandom #mcu x reader #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #robert reynolds x you #mcu #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts x reader

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the-librarby · 24 days ago

Text

IN THE RING III

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

A month at the ring flew by, you could almost consider yourself part of the furniture. Almost. Lesson learnt, some people just don’t have your back.

But some do.

cw: sexual harassment. Read at your own discretion.

.･:★ when in doubt, use a time skip, that’s my advice. Also I promise this chapter is not as angsty as the summary seems, trust me.

Happy reading!

Part I Part II Part IV Part V

It was a rare winter morning when the sun decided to cut through all the clouds. Although still fresh, the sunspots felt amazing when against your skin, something you took full advantage of as you sat outside of your local campus cafe. Assessment season was rapidly approaching its end with the due dates all coming up by the end of the week. You couldn’t afford any distractions which is why you forced yourself to sit outside, alone, with only your laptop.

It was going painstakingly slow, all the thoughts were starting to knit themselves together but you just couldn’t find the words to string them into an appropriate sentence. The cursor blinked rhythmically awaiting your response— and it would keep waiting at this rate.

You sigh deep in defeat, and rake your fingers through your hair. The table suddenly looks interesting in its green coated lattice design, you zone out momentarily trying to count the gaps in between when the table rattles. Instinctively you sit up and place your hand atop your coffee mug which shakes on its saucer, last thing you need is your laptop to fall victim to a coffee spill.

Ghost is looking at you curiously from the seat across from you, or at least you think he is, it’s hard to gauge his expressions behind that black surgical mask.

“You look like shit,” he comments.

You scoff and roll your eyes, removing your hand from the mug, “Thanks, because that’s exactly what every girl wants to hear,”

He shrugs, “Jus’ sayin’, you look tired,”

You rub under your eye with the back of your hand, “Yeah well,” you begin, “Assignments are kicking my ass.”

Ghost reaches into his back pocket and tosses a packet of cigarettes along with a lighter onto the table. You watch silently as he fishes one out, hooking his mask under his chin before cupping his hands together to light it against the breeze that’s set on extinguishing the flame. It had been about a month since you started working at the ring, but you would never get used to the rare occasions Ghost showed his face to you. It was like a secret only few were apart of, and you felt a curling pride in your gut at being one of those few that got to see him.

“Another job in the area?” You inquire, thinking to last time you bumped into him here.

He grunts, taking in a drag before responding, “Yeah,” smoke pools out around his lips.

You squint in thought, “Security right? How long have you been doing that for?”

“Awhile,” he responds curtly.

“How did you get into it?” You venture further with a casual tone, trying not spook him like a cornered animal.

“Friend’s business,” you watch as the cigarette rises back to his lips.

“Your friend doesn’t question when you show up in bruises?”

Ghost flicks the ash off the end, “Good friend, doesn’t ask questions,”

Sounds a tad bit dodgy but you didn’t expect anything less, “What do you get hired for?”

“Private events.”

You look at him expectantly but when he doesn’t continue you roll your hand in a circular motion, “Like?”

“Wouldn’t be very private if I told you now would it, sweetheart?” He smirks.

You huff and sink back into your seat, “It’s like pulling teeth to get an answer from you,”

He throws his hands up in defence, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, “I’m talkin’ aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you exasperate, “I could get more information out of a brick wall.”

He leans forward by perching an elbow on the table, he plucks the cigarette from his mouth before responding, “What information are you after?” He asks, “Maybe I’m gettin’ bored of the small talk.”

Fucking rich coming from you. Is what you think, after not getting single private detail about this man after a month of knowing him despite talking to him at least a few times a week.

“Ghost the name on your birth certificate?” You finally ask, the question has been burning away at you for a while now.

“That the question you’re dyin’ to know?” He asks, eyebrow raised, “Bit tame, was expectin’ somethin’ more creative,”

Your gaze follow the trail of his fingers as he flicks off the end of his cigarette which is almost finished, “We can get creative later,”

“Oh yeah? Plannin’ to get more out of me?”

You smile and look him in the eyes, “In due time, you gonna answer my question or not?”

He smirks and snubs the end of his cigarette against the brick wall next to the table, “No, Ghost is not the name on my birth certificate,”

When he doesn’t elaborate you speak up, “Okay, continue,”

He shrugs and leans back in his chair, “Answered your question,”

You look at him and blink in slow exaggeration, initial shock quickly melds into annoyance, “Really? That’s how we’re gonna do this?”

“Should be more specific,” he says unapologetically.

“What is your real name?” You rephrase.

He clicks his tongue in disagreement, “No, you wasted your shot, it’s my turn for a question,”

You huff but concede, as usual every game is played by his rules. You can’t even fathom what type of question he would have for you, but you can guarantee it wasn’t this.

“What’s going on between you and James?”

The unexpected mention of his name makes you pause, “Who—James?” You clarify, “Nothing,”

He raises an eyebrow at your flustered response, you feel a quick need to defend yourself, “We work together, absolutely nothing is going on there, I don’t mix work and pleasure.”

He looks at you wordlessly with an unreadable expression. You fight the urge to squirm in your seat under his scrutinising gaze, it tries to pull something out of you, like a secret answer, but when it doesn’t he exhales deeply and leans back.

“Does he know that?”

Your brows furrow, “Is that a second question you’re asking me?” You lean forward teasingly, “Sounds like you wasted your shot,”

“Go on then,” he sighs.

You smile, feeling somewhat giddy at how far you’ve managed to come without him backing off, “What is your real name? The one you have for government purposes,”

“Offical government name?” He clarifies, smirking in amusement.

“Yes,” you reply bluntly, clasping your hands together and leaning your elbows on the table in full attention.

He licks his bottom lip, pursing them together before shaking his head in disbelief, “Simon,”

And just like that, the veil falls, “Simon,” you repeat, “Interesting.”

Satisfaction rams through his gut like a punch at the sound of his name from your mouth. He watches as the corner of your mouth curls upwards, like you’ve unlocked some big reveal.

“Are we on a first name basis now?” You inquire.

“Seems so,” he replies roughly.

You lean your chin on your closed fist and look at him with a smile so big it almost unnerves him, “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

“You like me,” you reply teasingly.

Simon’s eyebrow raises at the accusation, “What gives you that idea?”

You gesture to the table in front of you, “Look at us,” you laugh, “Practically on a coffee date right now,”

“Don’t have a coffee,” he points out.

“You have sat here for,” you wake up the screen of your laptop, “A good twenty minutes talking to me, what do you call that?”

“A friendly conversation,”

You scoff loudly, “Yeah,” you begin, “Because you’re known for being friendly,”

He chuckles and hooks his mask back over his mouth, “Date’s over sweetheart,”

“No more questions for me?”

He shoves his cigarettes and lighter back into his pocket, “I’ll save ‘em for later.”

You bid him goodbye and watches him walk down the street until he disappears around the corner. When you look back at your laptop you sigh in disappointment.

The ring that night is chaotic. It’s a Saturday and Ghost is competing so the room is filled to the brim with drunken men who chat in anticipation and place their bets. You have no doubt the house will make a killing tonight with all the money being pooled. You’re passing out as many drinks as you can but the crowd still doesn’t seem to die down no matter how fast you work.

Laughter erupts every now and then as men share jokes in line, when you meet their eyes all you get back is haughty expressions. Even though you’ve been here for a month, the customers still remained uptight towards you, at least they stopped hitting on you—except for those few that fell through the gaps.

A hand clasps your wrist when as you place a bottle on the bar top, you frown when you’re faced with a older man in disheveled work clothes, “Pretty little thing,” he sneers, “What’re you doin’ here? Should be with me,”

You can stop the disgust that curls your lip, “Get the fuck off me,” you snap, tugging at his grip that seems to be stronger than he looks.

“C’mon now sweetheart,” the pet name sounds sour from his mouth in contrast to Simon’s teasing tone, “Don’t be like that, I can show you a good time.”

James is too busy serving others to realise your predicament, and no one else is going to step in to save you— Simon would, but he’s not here, and you don’t need him — the guy is staring at you with a sleazy smile and has the audacity to stare at your chest while you think over your next move.

The beer bottle stands untouched, its condensation beads slowly off the side of the glass. While he’s busy staring you reach up with your free hand and curl your fingers around the neck of the bottle. The guy must be on his way to a drunken stupor because his reactions are slow as you raise the beer bottle. Alcohol spills against your shoulder and hair, before you swing it downwards, slamming the base of it hard directly over the guy’s wrist.

He shouts and withdraws his hand to cradle it against his chest, “You fuckin’ bitch!”

You scrunch your nose, beer bottle raised once again in case he wants to try it again. James cuts in at the commotion before the guy can try his luck.

“What’s going on?” He turns to the customer, “What happened?”

It only stings a bit that he didn’t check on you first, “Fuckin’ whore bashed my wrist with the bottle!”

James looks over at you, it only takes one glance at your darkened expression to choose his side. Wordlessly he replaces the beer and sends the customer on his way, you follow as he trudges off into the crowd, throwing one last look at you over his shoulder. It leaves a sick feeling in your stomach.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Fine,” you mutter, throwing the bottle in the bin beside you. Your shoulder is soaked and your hair is already getting tangled, “Why did you still serve that guy?”

He hums in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“He’s clearly not safe to be around when drunk,” you gesture to your wrist, “Why did you replace his drink instead of refunding him?”

He sighs, “It’s not our job to cut people off, we’re not a real bar.”

You drop the conversation altogether and bite your tongue, a sour taste fills it up until the first bell rings. Watching Simon fight is still as captivating as it was the first time you saw him in the ring. You’re mindlessly wiping down surfaces as you gaze at him, the harsh lighting above bounces right off his pale skin concealing most scars you might be able to see from this distance. But even from here without the layers hiding him, he is a formidable figure, you couldn’t imagine being in the shoes of his opponent.

Tonight opponent is a confident fighter, he aims low and pummels Simon’s ribs until he’s forcibly thrown off. It makes your side wince in sympathy, but it only seems to fuel Simon’s fury as he goes back in with no mercy.

By the time the fight is over you’re plowing through drinks service, impatient for your shift to be over and it shows plainly on your face. James has steered clear of you since your callout and no other men have given you any issue, possibly because of the mean expression you’re sporting.

When James announces his usual smoke break you keep your back turned out of spite, the sour taste dissolved into a sore feeling. You thought after being here for so long he’d at least have your back, but it was evident he cared more about the house than you—maybe you were just upset about your naivety involving the situation.

You speed through the clean up and grab your things, usually you’d hang around and wait for Simon to emerge but you just wanted to wash the grime and beer this shift left behind on you.

“Clocking off Mark,” you announce on the way out, Mark barely looks up from his seat as he counts the cash in the lockbox.

“See ya tomorrow.” He mutters.

The cool breeze outside feels fresh against your skin but highlights the stickiness of your shoulder. You shove your hands in the pockets of your jacket and set a moderate pace on your walk home. You’re only just out of earshot, just past the alley when hands reach out to grab your shoulder and throw you against the brick wall.

You yelp on the impact, your phone clattering out of your hands and onto the ground as hands pin you against the wall. When your eyes focus to the dark you can recognise the same man from before standing in front of you, he looks much more sober now and much angrier.

“Been waiting here for a while just for you.” His tone is like gravel against your ears.

You squirm against his grip as he leans in closer, his breath fanning against your neck as he breathes you in. It’s completely off putting, you can still smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Fuckin’ cunt for that stunt you pulled earlier,” he spits, trailing on hand down to your waist, “But I forgive you, just need a bit of a guiding hand yeah?”

You stand there, helpless and frozen with no weapon in hand, your phone screen taunts you from a distance as it lays unlocked. When his fingers pluck at the hem of your top that’s when your fight kicks in, you thrash wildly against him trying to dislodge his grip but he seems prepared for the backlash, pinning you tighter against the wall.

“Get off me,” you plead, “Get the fuck off me, please,”

He laughs cruelly, “Beggin’ already? Not so tough without a bottle in hand are you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, panting loudly as your heartbeat drums in your ears. There’s no getting out of this, no one is coming to save you, briefly you think about screaming for James, he should be outside still, right?

The door to the venue slams open, capturing even your attention in this state, or maybe your hearing is just heightened out of fear. You turn head to the side to see who’s come out, and when you recognise his figure you yell as loud as you can.

“Simon!”

His head whips around in your direction, before you can call for him again fingers are shoved in your mouth so far you gag. You thrash frantically with renewed adrenaline, praying Simon has spotted you and will get this creep off you before he does any real damage.

Your prays are answered when he’s forcibly yanked away from you. You gasp and splutter at the fingers being forced out of your throat, grasping your knees as you try to catch your breath. You’re not sure how long to stay like that, zoned out and focusing on your breathing. Your brain feels like it’s underwater, all sounds filter through muffled and unclear. When something touches your shoulder you flinch harshly.

Simon stands there, hand hovering just out of reach, “You alright, love?”

You look up at him from your crouched position, “Simon.” it’s all you can muster to say.

He looks to the left and plucks your phone off the ground before handing it to you. Cautiously you reach out to grab it, his warm fingers brush against yours before he withdraws.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, “I’ll walk you home.”

You rise slowly off the wall, readjusting your bag on your shoulder and wrapping your jacket tighter around your body. Simon hovers out of reach but close enough so you can still feel him next to you. When you turn to look over your shoulder he quickly steps in and raises his arm blocking your eyesight.

“Don’t worry about it.” He assures.

Your bottom lip wobbles in distraught, taking his advice you turn back around and burrow into his side instead. It’s warm, especially so when his arm wraps around your waist. You stay like that for the entire walk home, Simon silently follows your lead but doesn’t part from your side, even goes as far as to tug you closer when you stray too far.

You find your voice when your apartment building comes into view, it’s croaky with disuse, “How did you find me?”

“Weren’t at the bar,” he says, “You always stay behind.”

You hum in response, it really had been luck that he went looking for you, you try not to dwell on it as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Simon follows you up the entrance stairs to your apartment all the way to your front door. Removing yourself from his side feels horrible, a blessed comfort that was only meant to be temporary.

Simon respects your space and watches as you fish your keys out of your bag, once they’re in hand you gaze at him sheepishly.

“Thank you,” you murmur, ducking your head down to look at the carpeted floor, “For everything, I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t look for me.”

He reaches for you with one of his bloodied hands—you try not to dwell on who’s blood it is—knocking your chin up softly with his knuckle, he’s inspects your face for a moment before releasing a soft exhale.

“Glad you’re alright,” its earnestly makes your heart thump, “Didn’t hurt you did he?”

You smile wryly, “Think you hurt him more than he did me,”

“Deserved more than I gave him,” he mutters, “But he won’t come back.”

It’s a lot more certainty and protection than James offered just hours before. The unspilt tears flow freely now, fat and heavy down your cheeks and seemingly never ending. Simon moves his hand in favour of hooking his arm around your neck and dragging you close into a hug. You take full advantage and wrap your arms around his midsection, squeezing tightly until you hear a slight wheeze.

That snaps you out of thoughts, pulling back slightly to look up at him, “Sorry,” it comes out through a hiccup, “Your ribs got belted tonight, are they alright?”

Simon gazes down at you wordlessly, it’s now that you realise that he’s missing his mask altogether, did he leave it at the ring? You’re still wrapped in his arms, instead of squeezing like before you gently rub the left side of his ribs where he got hurt the most. You would bet your next paycheque that there’s already a forming contusion.

“S’fine,” he murmurs, “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

You smile softly and still your hand against his ribs, using the other to wipe your dried tears away against your sleeve. You linger for another selfish moment before removing yourself altogether.

“Should get going,” you suggest, “I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?” Do you need me?

You nod, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You unlock the door to your apartment and step inside, bidding Simon one last wave before closing the door.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #cod x you #simon ghost x reader

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