#and too many drinks to settle the nerves

[cosmictheo]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 | bob reynolds

(gif credits to @tomundsen )

—summary: it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it. —pairing: bob reynolds x female!avenger!reader —word count: 7k (oops) —content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, p in v sex, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, fingering, he talks to you through it, really passionate sex, a lot, lot of body worship, praise kink goes brrr, sub!bob, bob just loves his powerful strong girl too much. confident and self-assured bob is so dear to me.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

“H–hey, here's your milk— woah,” Bob interrupted himself when he finally lifted his gaze from the floor so he could look at you. His eyes fell on your figure, roaming up and down shamelessly, scanning in wonder-struck silence at the way you looked in the new suit. 

You were in front of your full-length mirror, analyzing with squinted eyes the way the suit that had just arrived, restyled and upgraded, looked on you. All the details you had mentioned were fixed now.

It looked good on you, you thought. It fit your body like a second skin though. But the fabric was pretty much perfect, it was comfy and flexible, it was designed to match your abilities and fighting style, without excessively exposing you.

And you still had to put on the cape, a feature Valentina had insisted on adding to the final look, that way you would impose more respect and appear more intimidating, according to her.

Bob stood frozen at the entrance of your room, in his hands he was carrying cups of milkshake he had ordered not too long ago, one of them probably meant for you.

Even though you had told him many times that you didn't like to eat or drink before a mission, he did it anyway. He cared too much about you to not to. So every time he ordered himself something, he had to order something for you as well.

“Thank you, Bob,” you offered him a kind smile nonetheless in appreciation, turning your head so that you could face him. His countenance was all flushed red and the content of the cups swirled a bit with the tremor of his hands.

“Can you help me with the cape?” you then asked, watching him as he awkwardly set the cups down on the small coffee table in the center of your bedroom before making his way towards you with swift steps, as if you were the center of gravity of the entire universe, of his universe.

He couldn't control how his eyes drifted down from your face and swept along your back, drinking in every curve, every outline of your gorgeous, perfect figure, relishing in the way the tight black fabric clung to your body like a second skin. 

Bob's gaze traced a very slow scan across your lower back, through the shape of your hips, the curve of your ass, the complex of your thighs—

“Isn't it too much?” you wondered out loud, making him flinch. Your eyes were looking at him through the reflection of the mirror as Bob stumbled to set the cape where it supposed to be, hooking it onto your shoulders very carefully, with trembling fingers. 

You could catch a glimpse through the mirror of the way his eyes were glowing under the soft yellowish light of your room, you could see your own reflection within them, melting into all the darkness of his particularly dilated pupils. The darkness in his eyes surrounded you completely.

He finished settling the cape on your back and Bob took a couple of steps back from you, permitting himself to gaze at you in awe, his mouth falling half-open.

“You're— you look nice.” He responded to you, in a stammering but entirely truthful voice, nerves racing on his tongue as he pronounced one of the many compliments that were flooding his head as he ogled you with big eyes. “L–like, really nice.”

He nodded his head in a short frenzy, approving the words from himself. Then his eyes searched yours through the reflection of the mirror and he found himself swooning as you spun around to face him, your cape twirling in the air with the effortlessly graceful motion.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw how Bob held his hands out in front of him, fingers clasped together casually. He kept an innocent visage, though his cheeks were flushed, nervous eyes dropping to the ground as he saw you walking towards him in all your glory and beauty, like a goddess stepping down from the heavens. And you didn't have to coax him into surrendering to you, he already stood in the palm of your hand, wrapped around your pretty finger.

You flustered him so much it was silly. Every step you took stirred an earthquake inside him.

He was as yours as the sun is to the moon, as darkness is to light, as craving is to love.

His heart raced as you stood in front of him, gazing at him from all your power and majesty. And Bob knew he was long gone.

“Are you okay?” you asked him in a tone that conveyed raw concern, just as much as what your eyes shared with his in their familiar, heart-warming silent intimacy.

You had your head slightly tilted and your brow just barely furrowed in worry. You looked so beautiful, so cute, that you had him speechless for a few moments.

“Y–yes, I—” Bob stuttered, jerking his head gently, dismissing any sign of worry he might spark in you. “I'll s–see you after the mission—”

Immediately after that, he rushed to grab his beloved milkshake, flashed you a lopsided smile all crooked with nervousness and stormed out of your room, almost tripping over the box full of vinyls you had yet to organize on the shelves.

Shortly before he left, Bob turned once more to look at you, with that sheepish little grin curving his lips and you noticed how he struggled to hold his cup of milkshake now low in front of him, trying to cover up the prominent bulge that had grown painfully harder the more he watched you in that suit.

And then he just disappeared.

You stood in silence, dumbfounded, staring at your door with puzzled eyes and gaping mouth. Then you glanced down at yourself, searching around for something wrong, something that looked ugly maybe, something that would cause such an outburst in Bob. 

But there was absolutely nothing wrong with you. In fact, you looked perfect. 

When you came back from the mission, the first thing you looked for in the living room once you stepped out of the elevator was Bob, naturally, eyes flicking to the couch where he usually lay down to read or gaze at the cityscape.

Yelena and Bucky were talking animatedly beside you, exchanging a single knowing glance as they both caught a glimpse of disappointment surfacing on your face, still a little sweaty from all the physical exertion the mission had taken. It had not been difficult. The guys had especially relied on your skills to accomplish it successfully.

For that, you were a bit tired, your mind and body had given up a lot to the energy of your abilities. You were still buzzing. Adrenaline was throbbing in your veins. And normally when you were like this, you reached for Bob's comfort to anchor you back to earth.

Your cape fluttered behind you as you made your way towards the hallway to the bedrooms, looking defeated.

Yelena huffed a small chuckle at you, taking a sip of water from the glass Bucky had offered her, “I can't believe that less than thirty minutes ago you were at full power, levitating off the ground, with your eyes glowing and all, and now you go crawling back to your boyfriend like this.”

You just shrugged, offering them both a small tired smile before continuing to walk towards Bob's room, needing to see him and hug him. You didn't even care that you were still wearing your suit.

You stopped in front of the door and as you were raising your hand to knock on it, it swung open with a ‘wooshh!’, revealing a very distressed looking Bob. His hair was a bit messy, he was still wearing that black shirt that looked so good on him. He had changed his pants, though, now wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, hanging dangerously low around his hips.

He looked like a hot mess. In every good sense of the term.

“You're back,” he breathed out, as if he'd been holding his breath all this time in your absence, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped loudly. His eyes took a quick journey across you and widened as he noticed you were still in your suit. He pulled them back, forcefully, painfully slow back up to your face.

You looked at him strangely, realizing how you were both still standing in his doorway. “Yeah... are you okay, Bob? I feel you... closed off.”

“Yeah, it's just— I didn't want to distract you— before the mission and all that,” he explained, sounding more like a cheap excuse.

“Distract me?” You raised a single eyebrow, repeating his own word, noticing perfectly how his gaze wandered to your chest for just a split of a second, but nonetheless, you managed to catch up with it. A hint of an amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips, leaning against the threshold of his door, and he closed his eyes tightly, ducking his head in shame, knowing full well that he had been caught. Nothing could ever get past you. Not when it came to him.

“Looks like you're the distracted one here, Bob.”

“I'm not—” he stammered, his hands raised to his flushed face, “S-sorry, I don't mean to be like like a wacked out pervert— I don't want you to think less of me. It's just a s-suit.”

The last part seemed to be speaking more to himself than to you, as he grunted it under his breath, verging on a scolding.

But it wasn't just a suit.

It was you.

Your body, your naughty smile, your gaze, your lips tinted with that deadly crimson red.

A couple of beads of sweat led a wet trail down your neck. Bob could smell the saltiness oozing off your sweaty skin, mixed with that exquisite scent of your perfume. He could hear your heart pounding, the throbbing pulse in your jugular vein. Demonstrating that you were real, that you were breathing, that you were right in front of him, dressed like that.

You were devastatingly beautiful. And he was completely at your mercy.

Your hand rose to his face, making him stop his babbling with himself and lift his gaze slowly. His cheek felt warm under your palm, you didn't know if it was because he was a blushing mess or because that was the effect that your touch brought upon his skin.

“It's okay to feel desire, Bob, there's nothing wrong with that,” you reassured him, lowering your tone to a softer, more sympathetic one. “It makes me feel good that you desire me, actually.”

That got a reaction out of him, his lips quivered, hesitating whether or not to speak, until eventually, he made up his mind, “It makes you feel good?”

You nodded your head, your smile morphing to one of a little more shyness, “I thought you didn't like the way I looked in my suit. Since you just ran off without saying anything, I thought that—”

Bob interrupted you right there, shaking his head repetitively. You felt his jaw and flesh move under the palm of your hand as he spoke.

“What? No,” he blurted, huffing air as if it were the most obvious subject in the world. Regret passed over the expression of his face and he uttered your name in that adoring, soft way he did, “You look perfect. It drives me crazy, h-honestly. I haven't been able to stop t-thinking about you. You look so beautiful it makes me want to—”

He forced himself to shut up, suddenly feeling his throat constrict and his face grow even more red. One of his hands ran through his hair anxiously, looking really tense.

“You want to what?” You urged him, your breath feeling warm against his face, your thumb caressed his cheekbone, making him shiver under your touch, “Say it, Bob.”

Bob looked into your eyes again, struggling to maintain eye contact, his hands trembled at his sides, so desperate to reach out to you, to touch you, to grasp you. To hold all of you.

“Make love to you” He mumbled against your lips just before you kissed him, breathing in his air and devouring his words, covenanting them as a mutual yearning. A promise.

Bob kissed you as if you were the air his lungs depended on to breathe, his lips moving with yours like an old habit, like second nature.

“Jump,” he urged you between kisses and shaky breaths, his hands finally being set loose to reach out to touch you and hold your waist.

And you immediately complied, bouncing up and wrapping your legs around his hips. He lifted you up and held you so effortlessly. Sometimes you forgot that this man was the strongest among all of you. The strongest on the planet, most likely.

Without ever stopping kissing you, Bob locked you tightly against him with one arm while the other one stretched out towards the door, closing it behind his back once he started to walk with you in his arms over to his bed. 

Both of his hands grasped your body at the bottom of your thighs, squeezing and cupping your warm flesh through the fabric of your suit.

Promptly you felt the bulge press against the underside of your thigh, so desperate for attention, for you.

Bob broke the kiss, the noise of your mouths slipping apart from each other swept across the interior of his room, so filthy and hot. He looked at you with half-closed eyes, gaze darkened by desire and raw adoration.

He was breathless and feeling so flustered and anxious he was trembling, you could sense it as he held you close against him.

“I-I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. It—” he mumbled, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he felt your fingers sinking into his hair at the back of his skull, “It just... pops up. It's inevitable when it comes to you. You drive me crazy.”

He was referring to his erection, of course. His big erection. He was ashamed of it. Bob didn't want to appear desperate —although for you, he certainly was—; someone who was unable to control himself. He was striving for control.

“Just shut up and make love to me, Bob,” you murmured, pleaded, right against his lips, your tongue grazing across his bottom lip, pulled outward, his countenance turn into a pout. “I need you inside me, now. Please, baby”

“S-shit,” he hissed a lot of cursing under his trembling breath. He was buzzing, “I-I need you too.”

Bob kissed you one more time as he laid you down on his bed very gently, careful not to trip or get tangled up in your cape.

His lips traced a path of kisses across your face, down your chin, along your neck. Your body quivered as you felt his tongue run across your skin, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Your legs were still on either side of his hips, one of his hands was running up and down the outside of your thigh and the other was supporting his own weight on the side of your body.

You arched your back for him, grinding against his crotch. Bob groaned lightly into your skin at the friction.

“You drive me crazy— you don't know what you provoke in me,” he uttered, rasping out against the skin of your neck, like an unhinged man, blinded by lust and longing. “This fucking suit— shit. You look so good, so pretty for me. I need you so bad, baby. All the time.”

Rarely did Bob call you by pet names, but every one of those occasions elicited the exact same reaction out of you. Your gaze would darken and your eyes would squint. You didn't have to tell him anything at all. Your body spoke everything to him, calling out to him in silence, in complicity.

With you, the intimacy, the complicity spoke for itself above the silence.

He knew the power he had in you. He knew exactly how to use it.

“P-please... ah—” yet he still begged you, whimpering just from friction and touch alone, pulling his head out of your neck and bringing his face closer to yours. He kissed your lips once more, just as your legs squeezed tighter around his waist, pulling him closer to you and making him pant against your mouth. “I dreamt of your legs wrapped around my waist. Just like this...”

Even Bob couldn't fully recognize himself. He was in some kind of deep lust trance, everything was blurred, except for you. Just beneath him, your beautiful body squirming, flushed against his.

To think that not so long ago you had been out there, in your nice suit, in full super-heroine mode, helping and saving people. Protecting kids from the bad guys, fighting for them.

They all probably looked up to you with adoration, everyone would most likely be jealous of him if they knew how he had you now.

None of them could ever see you like this. Only in their dreams. 

“Only in their dreams,” a voice murmured at the back of his mind.

“Bobby...” You breathed out his name, pleading for mercy, for him to do something, anything at all. One of your hands was curled around his forearm at your side, squeezing it to attract his attention. Your fingertips absentmindedly traced the veins outlined against his skin trough his arm. You could feel his throbbing pulse on them. Desperate and hepless. Craving. 

“Let me taste you, baby, please” Bob cooed, his voice coming raspy and desperate out of his throat, “I need to taste you, yeah?”

“Y-yes, yes,” your mouth moved faster than your mind, gazing at him with eyes glazed over with lust. “W-wait, I have to take off my suit first, let me—”

Bob cut you off with a sloppy little kiss, pressing his forehead affectionately against yours, his nose nuzzling yours just before he pulled away, “I-I got it.”

He patted your thigh gently and you unwrapped your legs from his waist, following him with your gaze attentively as he settled over you carefully so that his fingers reached around your neck, in search of the zipper of the suit. When he found it, he began to pull it down, looking at you with ravenous eyes, blinking so slowly that it seemed like he wasn't blinking at all.

“Turn a little and lift your hips up, baby.” He said to you once the zipper trail was almost reaching your lower back. As he unzipped the bottom of it, you took off your top to help him, leaving your bare chest on full display for him. “That's it. God...”

Bob shakily exhaled air as he became aware that you weren't wearing any underwear at all, he had to be extremely careful not to tear the zipper into a thousand tiny pieces with the force he squeezed it, pulling it further below your hips.

“You don't wear anything under it? Should I be worried about this?”

His tone of voice was so confident and borderline playful that for a moment you felt like he was someone else entirely. He really wanted to look confident for you, he wanted to provide you that security and comfort. You were stripping naked for him, for God's sake. Bob had to make an extra effort to appear confident and self-assured.

“Just for you, baby,” you assured him, shifting your legs slightly just once to help him pull the suit off completely, tugging it delicately down your thighs. The distinctive noise of the zipper, which this time was reaching your ears like the most arousing noise on the planet, ceased at last, reaching its end.

“J-just for me,” Bob echoed, leaning into you again like a magnet to a gravity core. His lips latched onto your naked thigh, kissing the side considering the position you were lying on his bed now. His wet, leisurely kisses awakened shivers on your skin. He could smell how aroused you were. He practically could taste how wet your sex was. Thinking about it made his mouth water.

“So pretty, so beautiful, my God,” he babbled, his trail of kisses reaching your lower stomach, tickling you in a way that made you sigh. Bob looked up at you for just a moment, his pupils blown out with pleasure, “How could someone like me deserve something like this?”

It all seemed more like a conversation with himself, like if he was walking through a daydream.

Your hand came to rest on his face, cupping his cheek, and he leaned against your palm instantly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Bobby, please,” you pleaded.

And he gave in immediately, kissing the palm of your hand, “You don't have to beg me for anything. You already have it.”

His kisses trailed back down your stomach and you arched your back so beautifully for him. When he pulled away from your hand, it fell to the side of you on the bed. You clenched in a trembling fist all the fabric of whatever you could catch hold of.

“Are you— are you sure about this?” he looked up to you for consent, his fingers soothingly caressing your thighs, hands pressing them to either side of his face and settling them on his shoulders. When he saw you nodding your head, too much overcome with lust, he brushed a kiss on the inside of your knee, attempting to get your full attention back, “I need words, baby.”

You hurried to answer, babbling, gazing down at him, kneeling so pretty in between your legs as if they were the gates to heaven, “Yes, Bob, baby, please.”

He kissed your other knee now and then licked his lips, hungrily.

“I want to see you fall apart under me,” his hot breath brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, spreading your legs a little wider with a delicate but assured grip. “You're soaking wet, baby,” he marveled, in awe watching your pussy dripping with his adored honeyed water, yet his voice sounded disappointed, “you're wasting my meal.”

The mere sight of how his eyes sparkled with adoration as he gazed at your pussy could have made you cum right there if you started to think about it too much. Bob looked at you as if you were the center of the universe, the entrance to paradise, the sun he orbited around. 

It all made sense when you were there. Your presence in the room shifted the whole gravity of his being. His everything was for you. He was all made for you.

All the sense he could possibly envision now was to devour your pussy as if it were his last meal. He devoured it like a starving man, like reaching an oasis in the most arid desert, drowning and sheltering into it.

The sloshing sounds that spread with each stroke of his tongue between your wet folds made you flush all over, throwing your head back against one of his pillows and squeezing your eyes tightly shut, muttering and moaning his name out like a prayer.

To Bob, that noise was the most beautiful melody he'd ever heard. He sucked particularly hard onto your slit, pushing his tongue just barely into your gushing hole, pulling a loud, raspy moan from your throat. Oh, that noise...

His name sounded like the utmost hopeless and religious chant out of your pretty mouth. At that moment he was loving his name, loving the way you moaned it and kept murmuring it, as if it was yours, holding it close to your heart.

Amidst all the acoustic thrill of raw passion, mingled with his own soft whimpers breathing out into your core, Bob could nearly hear the stars themselves just above his red, hot ears. 

Your cunt was pulsing all around the tip of his tongue and Bob sensed, tasted your heartbeat through it. 

To feel that close to you nearly made him cum right there in his sweatpants.

One of his hands unclasped your leg, crawling up through your skin, his digits drawing a smooth path up your stomach, through your ribcage, all the way to reach your chest, cupping one of your breasts with a possessive hold.

“Bob— uhh—” you croaked out his name, glancing down at him with half-closed eyes, searching for his gaze in desperation.

Your back curved into such a perfect arch, your body squirming up against him as you felt his tongue flick your clit, his fingertips gently caressing your nipple. The stimulation would soon knock you into fucking heaven.

“Yeah, baby,” he responded to your call, disconnecting his mouth just an inch from your pussy, feeling lust-drunk enough to hold your gaze. His whole mouth was drenched with you, the slickness glistening under the dim light of his bedroom. His other hand sneaked between your legs, just barely brushing your pulsating cunt, “I'm here, hm? I got you, angel.”

Angel. That one was new.

You looked as close as he could ever imagine to an angel; sprawled on his bed, your body, magnificent, perfect, damp with sweat and arousal, your gaze searching for his in longing. There, in the shadows, Bob saw the whitish gleam of your energy flashing through your orbs, your power lingering in the air, pulsating along with your heartbeat.

You were so powerful, so strong and marvelous.

And you were all his to break apart.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He asked right before passionately kissing your pussy, his fingertips teasing your clit as he plunged his tongue deep into you, knocking all the air out of your lungs. “I got you, I got you.”

Bob felt you clench impossibly tight all around the two fingers he had thrust into your warm, fluttering hole, barely pressing against the spongy walls of your insides. He sucked your clit just right, breathing your name against your hot flesh. That's what pushed you over the edge, making you cum, falling apart so devastatingly beautiful against his mouth.

He slurped and drank in everything you had to offer him, lapping at your cunt as if he was drowning and it was the oxygen he needed to keep afloat. 

He paused to gaze at you attentively as he made you cum, your whole body buzzing, squirming so beautifully under his touch that you resembled some ethereal, otherworldly sight.

His name rasped out of your throat, as if it were your own religion.

“There you go...” Bob cooed, his eyes hazy with adoration, licking his lips clean and kissing your twitching pussy once again. “So good to me. So good...”

His lips kissed a trail upwards, swiping his tongue occasionally across the scars and freckles that decorated your skin as a constellation that appealed to him to adore. Eventually, Bob reached your face, looking down at you with pure love and a glimpse of that gentle shyness of his natural mannerism.

“A-are you okay?”

Bob watched your soul slowly crawl back to the ground and to your body, right back to him, finally snapping out of your post-orgasm trance. He propped his weight against the bed on the side of your waist with one hand, his thumb brushing against your bare skin and he brought the other to your face, caressing your cheek reassuringly. 

Your response was your mouth seeking his to join in a deep, loving kiss. Bob closed his eyes, kissing you back, his hand cradling your face.

You could taste yourself through his lips and tongue. And that managed to turn you on even more. 

Wrapped in an adrenaline surge of lust pumping through your veins, you rolled both of you over on the bed, laying him underneath you now. 

It was nice that you had much more stamina and energy than a normal human. Although there, you didn't feel like a human at all.

You were animals driven by their own instincts.

Bob gasped against your lips, his eyes barely opening so he could visualize you on top of him now, grinding your ass down on his rock-hard erection as you sat so prettily on his lap.

“Shit,” he croaked out your name, his hands grabbing as much of you as they possibly could, sliding past the curve of your waist to your ass, pressing you harder down onto him in urging. “If you keep doing that— I-I'm going to—”

You stopped all movement of your body and sat perfectly motionless on his lap. Bob whined hoarsely in protest, but you didn't let him utter a word, your finger pressed against his lips, silencing him instantly.

“I want you to cum inside me, Bob.” You purred against his ear, your tongue lazily stroking his earlobe. He froze speechless, just staring at you flabbergasted, still delighting in the way you had said those filthy words, so softly and lovingly. He strained himself to keep strong and not burst into his boxers at your words alone. “Let me take your clothes off, okay? Can I see all of you, baby?”

“Yes, p-please, just take everything of me— it's all yours” he promised you, helping you take off that black t-shirt he knew you loved to see on him so much. Exactly why he had put it on that morning.

When his naked torso was fully exposed for you, you bent down to kiss his neck, his collarbone, his pecs, your tongue spent some extra time fondling his sensitive nipples and Bob's legs twitched under your thighs.

The light in the room flickered for a split second and you just grinned against his flushed skin.

“I-I'm sorry—” he apologized with his voice lowering sheepishly, embarrassed. Then he closed his eyes when you raised your head to hush him with a kiss that was more tender than anything, reassuring him in silence.

Then your lips specifically grazed the spot where his heart was, beating maniacally on the other side of his skin.

He was so perfect, effortlessly perfect.

Bob was the most powerful man on planet Earth and yet, he was crumbling beneath you, bowing to the mercy of your touch.

You might as well just tear his chest apart and take his heart, it was already lying open for you, so full of you.

It was yours to take, to hold, to shatter.

You took your time to strip off his gray sweatpants, kissing his thighs, his knees and his calves, gently tugging at the hem of the gray fabric until you eventually slid it off his body and tossed it on the floor, forgotten alongside your scandalous suit.

Bob stared at you with a blushing, timid face as you rose again up through his body, your fingers lightly fiddling with the hem of his boxers now, fully ruined by all the pre-cum he'd been spilling. And you lifted your gaze, searching for his, silently asking for his consent.

He nodded tremblingly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

With wobbly hands he helped you take off his boxers, lifting his hips so you could slide them down his body and toss them into the pile of clothes lying on the floor as well.

His cock sprung free and you looked at it in awe.He was so big, bigger than you had ever had before. It was long too, hard, powerful and desperate for you, just like him.

It's head was furiously red, throbbing and oozing pre-cum incessantly. You found it impossible not to bend down to his groin and swipe your tongue along his slit, scooping up every essence of him and savoring it delightfully. Your tongue lolled along the prominent vein that bulged all along his shaft.

Bob's eyes rolled back and in a blur of bliss, he had to struggle to guide a hand to your head, fingers brushing across your cheek to get your attention. You looked up at him with big, lustful eyes, swallowing everything you had slurped out of him. The taste was bittersweet, hot, familiar, like him.

“No— don't do— don't do that, p-please,” he begged for your mercy in a raspy, cracked, breathless voice. “Come here.”

His hand gripped yours as you took it and carefully, but hurriedly helped you to position yourself on top of him once again, his digits latched onto you your waist, holding you as you squatted just above his lap, straddling him.

You grabbed his cock and held it up against your pussy, the swollen tip slowly sliding in between your wet folds, pushing achingly slow through your entrance.

Both of you sighed at the contact. Wet, hot, shaky and desperate.

Slowly you began to sink down on his cock, hands pressed on his shoulders, clenching them more and more with every inch he pushed inside you. 

Bob whimpered shudderingly, choking back the deep, heavy moan that crawled up his throat. He could feel his whole body shivering, squinting his eyes as he leaned his sweaty forehead against your shoulder, struggling to steady his breathing. It was like his soul was slipping out of his body and merging with yours.

No one had ever been so close to his soul. And he didn't think anyone else would, either. No one did it like you. 

His veiny hands at your waist gripped your flesh, yet they never pressed you hard enough to push you lower any faster, no, he would wait for you so patiently, giving you the pause to accustom yourself to his size.

“You do it so— so good.” Bob praised hoarsely into your shoulder, his wet lips grazing across your skin, drooling all over you, “you take it so good, you take me so good. There's n-no one like you— no one.”

Heavenly, him pressing against you, his lips laying softly upon your neck, marking you on the outside and inside, his mouth felt like heaven, his kisses falling upon you like stars, shaping a constellation of raw adoration. 

Your pussy fluttered around him, squishing him deeper inside. 

One of his hands wandered down to your back, fingers tracing your spine reassuringly. He just took the time to reassure you amidst all the blissful trance of pleasure you made him feel.

“Just a little more, baby,” he murmured, his hand caressing your ass appreciatively. Your warm, spongy walls clamped down tight around his cock and Bob's voice cracked. “Oh— S-shit—”

You moaned so loudly against his forehead that your whole spine seemed to twitch, finally feeling your ass pressed down on his lap. He was so deep that you easily thought his tip was almost reaching all into your guts now. 

“You're so deep, Bob” You whined, just barely pulling away from him so you could look at him. His eyes were already locked on yours and you caught a glimpse of that golden sparkle flashing through them, his irises glowing like two suns in the twilight. “Bobby—”

Your words struck him to the core and his eyes flashed golden once again, utterly starting to lose control. 

“I'm here,” he hissed, panting your name breathlessly, his hands caressed your skin, scoring his imprint on it. He kissed you sloppily, “I got you, I always got you.”

As you began to move on top of him, Bob suddenly felt like he was in heaven. He could no longer envision a life where he didn't feel this way, where he didn't feel you. He shall be yours in every life.

He dropped back on the bed as your hand pushed against his chest, bending down with him and bouncing your hips so lusciously against his that you actually could see his eyes filling with tears, looking up at you riding him in pure adoration. 

Bob whimpered your name endlessly, crying it out in a hoarse, broken voice, his hands squeezed your waist, your hips, your ass, anything they could possibly grope out of you.

“My God—” his eyes rolled back, arching his back as you delivered a particularly hard bounce down his cock, so deep that he saw the stars twinkle in the darkness right behind you. 

The constant filthy noise of flesh slapping against flesh soon merged with the pornographic acoustic medley of moans, shattered sighs, slurred whispers of names and nonsense words.

You kissed his lips lazily, then his nose, and his chin as you cooed, “You feel so good, baby.”

The bed was beginning to creak beneath the ruthless sway of your hips, ass bouncing up and down heavy against his thighs, so deep that every time you bottomed out you felt him in your throat. His heavy balls were pressed hard against your ass, throbbing, so ready to give you everything they had, to fill you up to the brim, as if it were his sole purpose in life. 

“You're perfect— perfect,” he croaked out so pathetically to you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours, plunging into you as if you were his nest, engulfing himself within your soft, warm, spongy walls, pressing against that squishy spot that knocked the breath right out of you.

He kissed your lips once more and in a fragment of a second Bob flipped you over on the bed, rutting into you so good that it made you gasp between kisses. 

Bob began to set the pace just as your legs wrapped around his hips, pressing him impossibly close to you.

“Right there?” he whispered, burying his head down on your chest, nuzzling your sternum. “You feel perfect— so tight, my God—”

He kept on praising you endlessly, kissing you, grasping you, breathing in the air you breathed out, sharing the same oxygen, the same time-space that existed between you, that little inches that belonged to both of you and no one else.

“You feel like heaven.”

That was enough for him to have you cumming again, in some way even more earth-shattering than the last orgasm. Your body started to wobble, your pussy squelching and clenching so tightly wrapped around his cock. 

The light voltage in the room lowered and raised, matching the racing beat of your heart.

Bob sensed the energy sparking off your body and blending with his own, merging and intertwining as one. 

After feeling that, after feeling you so close, so inhumanly close, beyond the physical plane, beyond anything he had ever felt in his life —it was euphoric, overwhelming—; he was cumming too, picking up the pace to reach the apex of his high. 

He buried himself in you to the hilt, sobbing out a ragged whimper as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

The atmosphere shifted and the light in the room flickered once again.

His load felt hot and thick inside you, coloring your insides with his color, spurting what resembled an ocean of him inside your womb. His hips jerked, his cock shooting out ropes and ropes of hot seed, marking you from the inside.

Bob remained motionless on top of you, panting up against your face, keeping his eyes closed, buried to the fucking hilt inside your overwhelmingly stuffed pussy, making sure nothing could spill out.  

And even though his body was drained and succumbing to post-orgasm limpness, he was careful not to collapse his full weight on you, supporting his hands on either side of your shoulders. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him close to you, hands soothingly caressing his back. He sighed against your lips, slowly opening his eyes.

Until then you hadn't realized that the room was completely dark now. 

“I think we just blew out the voltage of the room.” You uttered after a comfortable silence, your throat felt scratchy and though you were still in the haze of the afterglow, your voice came out rather playful.

Bob glanced lazily away from you, finally noticing that there was, in fact, no light. He was grateful for that in a way, that way you couldn't see the blushing, tear-stained mess that was his face, snuggling it against your chest. 

“I'm s-sorry,” he stammered in his own raspy voice as well, embarrassed, as if he wasn't balls deep inside you, his seed gushing out of your pussy. “I think— I think it was me.”

“I think it was both of us.” You smiled lovesickly as you kissed his sweaty forehead, fingers tracing his shoulder blades. “Don't worry, we'll fix it. Just give me a few minutes.”

Bob placed a couple of kisses on your chest before he began to reluctantly push himself up, carefully pulling out of you. You both sighed lightly at the over-stimulation and the loss of connection. Although, even when he had already slipped his cock off you, you could still feel him inside, leaking out of your gaping pussy, trickling down your thighs.

Bob rushed off in search of a washcloth, stumbling over the pile of clothes you had tossed on the floor. The sound of his feet walking clumsily back to you made you grin.

Then he swiped the cloth in between your legs, very delicately, wiping you clean. The contact made you shiver from the sensibility.

And even through the shadows of the darkness, you could see him frown slightly, very much focused on taking care of you, sensing how the fabric of the cloth felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin, “I'm sorry.”

“You apologize too much, baby” you tried to reassure him, already in need of him close to you again. “Come here.”

Bob instantly flopped down on the bed next to you, careful not to crush you, but with your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him tight against you it was complicated.

In between hugs and caresses, he ended up being the little spoon, happy to be able to feel your chest pressing against his back, arms embracing his torso.

“Did I— I do okay?” he asked after a brief silence, anxious.

“You were perfect.” You assured him, tenderly kissing his shoulder.

“You too” Bob whispered back, grabbing one of your hands on his chest and bringing it to his mouth, planting soft kisses on your knuckles. The words raced up his throat even before he could think, “I love you.”

He let the words carry up into the silence of the darkness and held his breath, already considering that he had ruined everything.

“I love you too, Bob.”

If it hadn't been for you holding him, his limbs tangled with yours, and because well, you were there, Bob had jumped out of his bed in joy.

But, because you were there, he stayed still, perfectly still, and smiled, utterly in love, savoring the way you had said the three words to him.

You were closing your eyes, drifting off in exhaustion when, through your super-hearing you heard steps approaching through the hallway, of more than a pair of feet, mixing with the voices of your teammates.

“What could have happened?” You heard Ava's voice ask, her tone hovering somewhere between worried and annoyed.

Yelena sighed. “I don't know. Some power failure?”

“A power failure in the whole city?” John remarked, as snarky as usual.

Your eyes opened wide and Bob halted his cute kisses on your hand, turning his head so he could look at you like a deer dazzled by lights.

[shotmrmiller]

(Unnamed for now, 4.8k words of nothing but self indulgence because ex bf simon is king. just porn without plot, the usual filth. also i wrote myself into a hole with the smut but whatever.)

If your friends knew that you'd gone to great lengths to look presentable— less cave-dweller, more human— hoping to get lucky tonight only to end up waving off anyone of interest because you're too busy sulking about a relationship you willingly broke off, they'd kick you from the group chat.

(Or never let you live it down.)

But here you are, perched on a barstool, its cracked leather slightly sticky beneath your legs, the cocktail you'd ordered a while ago sitting mostly untouched on an even stickier bar top. Lamenting. Moping all over a guy who hasn't bothered to return a single phone call since you left him the voicemail. And it hadn't been his fault, really. He'd been upfront with you from the get-go; he's a busy man with a job you don't want to know about and are safer not knowing about.

You'd noticed the specific wording he'd used. Not better off but safer off, its implications perilous. The hardened look he'd given you when you'd pressed him on it, hoping for a slip of the truth, had been the first and only warning you'd needed.

Get off his case, understood.

You clench your teeth, irritation nipping at your nerves. You'd like to think that you've mourned this ex-relationship plenty and feeling an acute, smoldering ache again over a whisper of a memory (and not even a fond one at that)—

Time to douse these flames.

Waving the bartender down, you push away the watered-down drink and gesture for a shot. She eyes you warily, hesitating for a moment before sliding an empty glass over and reaching for some top-shelf bottle your bank account already feels the bite of. The fiery burn that courses down your throat resembles the one in your chest.

The alcohol swiftly does its job, offering a sense of relief, and you're grateful for it, even if fleeting. The room starts to blur a bit, the strobing lights overhead bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, and you let yourself sink into the moment, the gentle ebb of intoxication pooling heat in your cheeks, warmth seeping into your limbs.

Things don't look so bad now; the world has taken a dreamlike quality to it, with softened edges and vibrant colors. With the liquid courage dulling the sharpness of your previous thoughts and easing the tension in your shoulders, you reckon that now you can start looking for your prey of the evening. It's why you even bothered to slink out of your comfort zone in the first place.

Mission directive: Get laid. Or plan B: go home with a new number saved in your contacts.

You rest your chin on your palm, eyes lazily scanning around the room, taking in the hazy but lively atmosphere. The dance floor is a whirl of energy, couples moving to the rhythm of the music, a group of friends huddling in a corner, hands gesturing animatedly as they chat each other up, and at the front—

If you swiveled away in your chair any faster, the courage you'd knocked back 10 minutes ago would come back up, spilling onto the bar top the barkeep gave up trying to keep clean. There have been numerous instances where your mind plays tricks on you, teasing you with glimpses of big and blonde in your peripheral while out running errands, the miserable lump in your throat only dislodging once you've made your grand escape.

(It's not running away; It's a tactical retreat. You'll face the music when it's less deafening.)

And in keeping with tradition, you settle your tab and scurry off to the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline. A familiar shadow just walked in through the front door, once again haunting you. No matter how many times you whisper reassurances under your breath, dismissing it as a cruel joke your mind loves to play, the semblance of him never fails to arouse a bit of panic in you.

The trip to the bathroom feels like you're trekking across the country, weaving in and out and around crowds of people, dodging flailing limbs like an extreme sport. The inside is relatively small and cramped; three stalls for the entire bar. It's blessedly empty, so you beeline to the sink, hoping for a splash of cold water to settle your nerves.

The water is startlingly cold, or maybe it feels colder because you're flustered, and you're mid air-drying your hands when you hear it: that unforgettable gait, heavy and solid, like a tank rolling over rugged terrain. It's something that you can still hear echo in the small confines of your flat when the world is quiet. The mirror in front reflects your tense face, its edges cloudy with time and poor-quality cleaning solutions.

Get a grip, you're losing it.

Until the door swings wide, hinges screeching as it gives way with no resistance, and you realize that you're not losing it. But you just might.

"'Ello, poppet."

Incredulity forces a chuckle out of you because it's either you laugh or you cry.

"Nice," he eyes the cracked tile beneath your feet, "choice for a night out. Beer's more piss than ale, though." The door closes behind him.

The mockery in his voice is wildly unwarranted, especially for a man you haven't heard from for a better part of the year, and you finally gather your wits to bite back indignantly.

"What? It's not your cuppa? I always assumed you ratted out in seedy holes like this." The bruise-tight grip you've got around your bag makes your fingers ache. "I'll be sure to pick a more refined place for you next time."

He wastes no time closing the gap between you two, your three steps back negated by his single one with laughable ease, and the space around you seems to shrink, his presence swallowing it whole. You'd forgotten just how large a man he was— is.

A different beast altogether.

"No need. We won't be comin' back 'ere again." Your brows quirked at that. He's gone and learned French, apparently. Oui. You try to keep your personal bubble intact by taking another step back only to come in contact with a stall door, its chilly surface forcing your spine rigid. Cornered, caught in the crosshairs of the hunter's gaze, and the intensity of it makes you feel vulnerable, bare, as if you're staring up the barrel of a loaded gun.

"Easy, lovie, no need to look at me like tha', 'm jus' 'ere to talk," he says with a tone that's tinged with condescension, and his giant mitts are up and palms facing you like he's dealing with a skittish animal. There's a thought there, buried deep, that you refuse to acknowledge.

"Talk?" The question bursts out before you can stop it, followed by a sardonic laugh that feels unexpectedly cathartic as it leaves your mouth. Talk now, when you not only kept your line of communication open but also actively tried reaching out for weeks? Weeks spent waiting for a response, foolishly hoping he'd give a damn enough to at least put up a fight for you and what you had?

He tilts his head slightly, eyes unreadable. "Better late than never," he remarks, but that's the problem, isn't it? You were forced to come to terms with never, whether you liked it or not. And you had not liked it, but it had been necessary. To know there was a part of his life you weren't welcome to, regardless of reason, was something that shadowed your interactions. The realization that you were kept at arm's length due to the duality of his life was too bitter a pill to swallow.

It'd been a painful process making peace with the fact that maybe things just hadn't been meant to be. C'est la vie and all that tripe. But now, here he stands before you, having materialized out of thin air, a bloody intrusion upon the fragile peace you've built for yourself— it feels like a mockery of the emotional distress you've had to endure.

"Better late than—? You honestly fucking think you can just," you stumble over yourself in disbelief, "just corner me in a tiny bathroom of a dingy bar to talk?"

Simon raises one bulky shoulder, unconcerned. "You chose the place."

His piss poor attempt at a joke is like a slap in the face. "Right. Goodbye, Simon." You step around him briskly, your arm brushing against his. Just as your fingers graze the cold metal of the door handle, his encircle your wrist and gently pull you away. The span of his palm could easily engulf the entirety of your hand, and you can't help but wonder if you're as delicate and fragile as you feel in his grasp.

"Let me try that again," he murmurs tentatively, and you curse your good nature— the one that's always been too quick to soften even when you know better. You know just how clumsy he is with words, how his tongue ties itself in knots when emotions creep into the conversation. Simon gives your wrist a tender squeeze. "Ya can leave whenever you want."

Damn it. Damn it. Fine. This confrontation has been a long time coming anyway. "Then try again and make it fast," you snap, words short and clipped. "How we haven't been kicked out of here yet is a bloody wonder."

He steps away from you and leans his hips against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. Here Simon stands, no longer a hazy apparition in the corner of your eye but fully here. Real. Uncomfortable so. You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Didn't mean to disappear on ya," his tone carries a note of something resembling regret. "Work took me across the world, couldn't reach out t'you even if I wanted to." And there it is, the crux of the problem. His job. Always his job. The one part of his life you've never been allowed to see, what had been the ever-constant shadow hanging over your relationship. What tore him away from you for weeks at a time only for those same gaps to start getting longer and longer while his stays grew shorter.

That's not good enough.

"So that's it?" Simon cannot honestly expect you to take his paltry excuse and run with it. As if it's enough to stitch together the wound his silence left behind. "Work? That's what you're going with?" It's the audacity that stings the most, the hope that you'd simply accept it and move past all of this heartache.

For all you know, he could be lying through his teeth, spinning enough truth to make it seem believable. You must have your suspicions plastered on your forehead because Simon peels himself off the sink with a sharp breath and narrowed eyes.

"'M many things, love, but a liar ain't one of 'em." His hand disappears into the front pocket of his worn denims, and when he pulls it free, you instantly recognize the tattered, frayed edges of his wallet. Still clinging to life, it seems. As stubborn as the man holding it. He opens it and extends it to you because it's imperative you see...?

"Work." And right there is an ID, not your plain old driver's license, which you're unsurprised to see absent. The man has no business being behind the wheel of any vehicle; he's a threat to all life and limb while on the road— but a military ID, the insignia emblazoned on the card unmistakable. You'd pieced together as much but never fully assumed, never formed a picture, just a blurred outline that left more questions than answers.

Name: Simon Riley. Rank: Lieutenant. Special Forces is right above the square where a photo is supposed to be. "There's no picture." You flash your eyes up at his in question.

"Never," he states.

You swallow thickly. An admission, this is. A roughly hewn olive branch tucked away in the ratty wallet you'd told him to toss ages ago. He snaps it shut with a practiced flick and then rucks up the right sleeve of his jacket up to the crook of his elbows, exposing his forearm, stark and freckled, the skin pale but then closer to his wrist, his flesh taking on a more golden hue— honeyed, sun-kissed.

Simon Riley does not tan.

"Sat on my arse out in a barren stretch o' land f'r months on end, cookin' under the blazin' sun while waitin' for orders tha' never came," he grumbles, voice weary. He doesn't flinch when your wandering fingers feather across the darkened strip of skin. "The only form o' communication was local." You flip his hand, the underside of his wrist startlingly pale like the underbelly of a fish. "Couldn't 'ave reached out even if I wanted to. No signal."

It hangs heavy, what he was willing to share, and you're wondering if he's only asking for understanding or something else. Your treacherous heart flutters in your chest, breath squeezing from your lungs. A tiny part of you hopes for he's asking for that something else.

There's a new scar on his palm, close to the hardened calluses on his knuckles, the deep, puckered groove still red and raw— fresh enough to make you wince— and you can't help the frown that pulls at your lips. You can bet he took care of this himself, the oaf. Probably spit it clean and wrapped it up with whatever he had on hand. He's lucky it didn't infect.

"Only when I came back did I receive the missed calls, the texts, the bloody voicemail," he gnarls, and while the sharpness of his tone isn't aimed at you, you feel the biting sting of it anyway. Simon cradles your hand in his much larger one, and he doesn't squeeze, doesn't hold too tight; he simply holds it, the choice to refuse him if you wanted.

You don't.

"And this isn't something you could've told me before? I know I pressed when I shouldn't have," chagrin pools in your cheeks, "but I worried for you. You were sometimes so unreachable, standing between two worlds at once. I couldn't help ease the weight of your responsibilities because I didn't know what I was dealing with." As you thread your fingers with his, they feel impossibly small, brittle— like the bones of a bird swallowed in the expanse of his hand. How unsettling.

(Yet you wouldn't have it any other way.)

Simon shakes his head, slow and deliberate, but his grip on your hand tightens. "I've more enemies than friends," he mutters, raising your hand to his masked lips, the gesture oddly tender as he presses a kiss on it even though it forces you to rise onto your tiptoes. You blow a puff of air, mildly exasperated. Big geezer.

"Every time I rid myself o' one, two take their place. I only did it t' keep ya safe. There's nothin' they'd love more than to exploit any o' my weaknesses." He says it as though the admission itself is dangerous, and maybe it is, but the risk, you believe, is one worth taking even if he won't.

Where he sees danger, you see trust. And that's all you ever wanted. Trust, because either you'll have all of him or none of him, so you tell him that.

His grip tightens imperceptibly. "Only wha' I feel is safe f'r you to know. Nothin' more." You know he means it. You've seen how far he's willing to go, how much he's willing to sacrifice, to keep you out of harm's reach.

Simon will shoulder just about anything alone if it means you'll be kept safe.

How lovely. He's taken it upon himself to play Batman when no one cast him into the role. Ah, well. A win is a win, and you've long learned some battles aren't worth the effort today, so you tuck this conversation into the back of your mind, a note to revisit at a later date. As for now, though...

"Alright, Si," the old nickname slips from you so easily, as if it never left, "We can continue this tomorrow, if you're able, but as for me," your gaze flickers to the faint ring of grime around the drain and the scribbles covering the peeling walls, "I've just about had it with this place."

But he's got no interest in letting you go now, not when you've given him the second chance he'd been desperate for. Instead, he jerks you to him, your shoulder colliding into his chest, his arms cinching tight around you. There is no grace, no soft pretense to it— just a raw, unfiltered need of a man clinging to what he's been too afraid to lose; your arsecheeks apparently because that's what he's currently pawing at.

Pervert. Honestly, you'd applaud him for holding back from groping you for this long. No shame in giving credit where it's due. You thought about letting him have his fill, indulging his starved-dog behavior until his hands started to wander beneath your clothes. You ought to make him stop this before it spirals into something completely out of your control.

Ah, but then he latches onto the sensitive spot on your neck, right below the ear, so close to your drumming pulse and your words snag in your throat like fishhooks when he suckles.

It's tragic how quickly you cave.

Simon's breath fans hot over your spit-slick throat, slow and composed while yours is sharp and shallow as if you can't quite catch it. He jerks his head toward the stall, and you freeze, disbelief rooting you in place.

"You're joking." He's gone and lost whatever scraps of sanity he had left back wherever he was because there's no way you're getting down and dirty in— your lip curls in distaste as you look at the industry-grade bottle of disinfectant that sits in the corner— here. But then he's dragging you toward the nearest stall anyway, your bag tumbling to the ground, not my bag, Simon, shit, you owe me another. The door is a pitiful excuse for privacy, barely clinging to the hinges and sporting a gap wide enough to make you grimace. You've hardly any time to register anything else before Simon is already at your feet, smoothly dropping to one knee, the crown of his head dipping slightly below your navel.

Simon's hands cup the back of your thighs, palms spread wide as they trail upward, the tips of his fingers finding lace and not your everyday cotton. With a deliberate slowness, he lifts the hem of your skirt, his neck craning just enough to bring his line of sight under the drape of fabric, and his gaze lingers.

Oh right. You've got on that set— the one he'd carefully chosen for your birthday, that one that fits you so perfectly it almost feels unfair. A little indulgence that'd been meant for his eyes only. Even as you'd slipped it on earlier tonight, it'd felt like you'd been breaking the rules.

It makes you wonder...

You hook a leg over his shoulder, the heel of your shoe digging into the straight plane of his back. "Well?" Your question is wrapped in feigned nonchalance. "Does it make you upset?" Simon shrugs, dismissive, his eyes steady as they lock onto yours. The dim light above buzzes faintly, its unkind glow spilling over his rugged face. It does nothing to soften the sharpness of his features.

And you notice a new scar, tiny, close to his hare's lip.

"Doesn't threaten me, sweet'eart."

A sharp laugh escapes you. How infuriatingly arrogant. Simon leans in, his nose brushing against your sex roughly before he takes a crude sniff, unrestrained, unapologetic. Nasty as always.

The faintest smirk curls the corners of his lips. "Can't blame me, my girl and I 'ave been apart f'r too long." Humming, you place a hand on his head, palming over the short bristles of his hair before curling around the back of his neck, and you grind down on him.

"If you're hungry, then eat." The smile you give him after your gracious offer is nothing short of salacious.

Simon thumbs your gusset to the side and slips his tongue through your folds, and it's electric, raw. Frissons ripple through you, starting from your nape, and it cascades down your arm and your legs, and the sensation is sharp, almost overwhelming, and you bow forward, nails digging into the dense muscle of his traps.

It's been so fucking long.

Hot, wet pressure circles around your swollen clit, purposefully shy of what you covet, enough to stir something within you but not enough to satisfy— nowhere near enough. It makes you testy. Impatient. It pushes you to lose control, feeling it slip from his grasp, only to land squarely in his.

It's the exact reaction Simon craves. You can grind down on the tip of his nose all you want, push and pull at his head every which way, but you don't come without his say so, and to earn that, there's something you have to do.

By the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip, bite-swollen and glossy with spit, peering down at him with bleary eyes after having rutted against his face without restraint, frantically seeking the friction you yearn for, you also know what to do.

Good.

Now he waits. Your pussy is dripping slick, dewy honey trailing down his chin and joining the sticky mess pooling near his knee, but he doesn't care— his focus is entirely on you. Simon knows exactly how this will end. You're as mulish as ever, he muses, but you'll break. You always do. It's not a question of if but when, and he's content to wait as long as it takes for the inevitable. After all, he's a patient man when he chooses to be.

Your chest heaves with every ragged draw of air to your lungs, your pretty lips quivering with need, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. If he had the skill, he'd pencil this very moment onto paper, immortalizing it. The desperation that clings to your features, the frustrated grunts you give when he laps at your— his— cunt, tongue skimming just shy of your pearl.

It's intoxicating. A heady visceral rush that courses through his veins and pools white-hot in his groin, stiffening his cock almost painfully.

And then, when a finger dips into your sopping entrance, the composure you'd been desperately clinging to begins to come apart. Simon watches it unfold through heavy-lidded eyes, the gentle part of your lips, the tremor in your breath— he drinks up every single second.

"Please," your voice is barely more than a breadth of a whisper. Your surrender is almost as sweet as you.

The kiss he plants on the inside of your thigh is searing as he hums. "What's it?" The prickly stubble of his jaw scratches against your skin. "Don't lose ya courage now," he murmurs, "you've already fought 'alf the battle.

Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, but you truck on, dignity long lost, in tatters next to your bag on the floor. "Please let me come." Your words come out in a half whine, half plea, and Simon's response is immediate; he cants your hips as two thick fingers enter you fully, and at this angle, it's more than he knows you can take, but you asked for it. Begged for it.

Simon takes it slow, not easy, the suction on your clit maddening; strong, fluttering pulses that seemingly beat in tandem with your heart and the world begins to tilt on its axis, his strong hands keeping you anchored lest your knees give way beneath you.

The world narrows down to the sound of your hiccups, the tension coiled spring tight below your navel, the feel of his shirt knotting in your fist— if he had hair long enough to tug, you would've ripped it out.

You knock your head back against the door almost violently, the dull throb stamped out by the livewire crackling beneath your skin when you finally do come, a scorching heat radiating from within your core out, leaving a raw, tingling sensation in its wake. It stings, you dazedly muse. The orgasm that was wrenched from you was so thunderous your pussy stings. It's short-lived but potent, and you can't help but wince, your lips curling, teeth slightly bared in discomfort.

Ouch.

Simon, on the other hand, is just peachy, unbothered as ever, leaned back on his haunches, chin glistening with slick, his thumb sweeping what's about to drip off his nose.

"Don't think for a second I'm returning the favor here. I've standards, Simon." He huffs in response but says nothing, expecting nothing less of you, instead opting to shrug his jacket off and place it over your drooping shoulders. Your limbs feel leaden as you exit the stall, Simon nimbly reaching for your health hazard of a bag before leading you toward the door.

Your fingers curl around the knob, and twist and pull—

and nothing. Confusion knots your brows together as you retrace your steps. Had you pushed or pulled it open? You can't quite recall, so you give it a firm push it instead—

and nothing. Again. The door stays closed.

"Need help there?" Irritation sparks within you, wishing your glare would eviscerate the obstinate door. Does Simon think himself funny? All you want is to go home, scrub yourself sparkling clean, and sleep until the late afternoon, but the door is conspiring against you. Good. Great, even.

"Bloody door," you grumble, "It won't open." Simon steps forward, unhurried, and twists the handle once, twice—

"Open sesame," he says, tone utterly flat and casual, and you snap your slackened jaw shut. "Oh for fuck's sake, Simon, keep your shit jokes," but the door opens with a click.

You're joking.

You're fucking joking.

It swings wide with a creak, and you glance around instinctively. Nothing out of place— just the usual drunken bodies flowing in and out, their laughter and slurred conversations blending into the background.

Simon drapes a heavy arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing firm as he walks you out, and you trudge alongside, your gait sluggish, until a massive bulk stumbles into your path, and Simon quickly places himself between you and the drunken mass, both a protector and a threat.

The bloke is a guy with a row of thick hair that runs from his forehead to the nape of his neck, the sides clean shaven. "Sorry, bonnie, didnae mean ta-" limpid blue flashes to Simon, his thin-lipped smile stretches wide— too wide— flashing too many teeth for comfort, "bump into ye." He doesn't linger though, clodhopping his way back to the bar. There's a bold-lined tattoo on his nape, of a... revolver? A choice.

"Walk. I'll take ya home. Won't come in for a nightcap," the lines by his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Scouts 'onor." Simon pulls you along, and you're fighting off the sleep in your eyes when a man in a cap, his profile partially hidden by the brim, bumps his knuckles against Simon's shoulder, and curiosity outweighs your fatigue.

"Who's that?"

Simon grunts. "Security."

You don't remember having been frisked by security when you came in.

The crisp air outside bites your cheeks when you step out, and you're grateful for Simon's forethought as you tug the sides of his jacket closer to you, burying your nose into the collar— it smells of cigarette smoke and him, musky and woodsy— a quiet comfort. Sleep tugs at your eyelids, each step feeling heavier than the last as you make your way towards his vehicle.

The metal door groans as it opens, and he extends a hand, aiding you up when you squeeze it as you slur out a confession.

I missed you.

He doesn't falter in his movements as he guides both your feet inside, and his hands are steady as he adjusts the belt, buckle quietly clicking into place until he straightens, gaze dark and fluid as it lingers on you.

He runs the rough pad of his thumb along your bottom lip tenderly.

"I know, sweet'heart. Get some sleep."

The door closes with a firm but gentle push.

I know, he says. Exhaustion pulls at you, dragging you further away from consciousness. Bastard.

Simon doesn't wake you when he pulls up to your driveway, hooking an arm under your knees and the other around your waist to take you inside, your head lolling on his shoulder. Tomorrow, you'll ask him how he knows where you live, considering you moved for a new job months ago.

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans. 

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife. 

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly. 

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone. 

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff. 

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable. 

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is. 

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours. 

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain. 

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts. 

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into. 

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 5: Night Out

You find yourself squeezed into the center of a round corner booth, Johnny to your left and Kyle to your right with John beside him. The bar is relatively quiet, even for a Saturday night. It is early, though. Plenty of time left in the night for more people to file in. Apparently they go out drinking every third week of the month, a day set aside for them to be together and celebrate another month of success. It’s sweet that they invited you, if not a little nerve wracking - you’re not exactly sure how much they plan on drinking and you’ve been known to be rather… sloppy after one too many.

You nervously adjust your top while Johnny yaps about the equipment sales person with the incredible ass. It’s hard not to squirm being packed in between them, hyper aware of the width of your hips and the size of your arms as they squish against far more toned, muscular limbs. A mean itch in the back of your mind lectures you about taking up too much space - about inconveniencing the people around you. About the optics of the pitiable fat girl tolerated by the handsome men around her.

An elbow to your arm finally knocks you out of your daze. “Och! There he is!”

You blink, following Johnny’s gaze to the man climbing into the booth beside him. It takes your brain a moment to catch up, processing the person in front of you. Your eyes turn to saucers as you realize it’s Simon - signature tattoos, piercings and all - just without his usual surgical mask. It shouldn’t make that much a difference, he still has that low brow and big dark eyes that slide over to you and make your stomach flip…but now you get the addition of his crooked nose, broken more than once and not set right, a small cleft scar leading down to a part of pretty, pink lips that quirk up in the corners when he catches you staring. A few scars scattered across his sharp jaw you hadn’t noticed before and a light layer of blonde stubble around each engraving on his face.

“You’re pretty!?” You gasp, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. You bury your face in your hands while the others (Johnny) burst out in a fit of laughter. Simon’s shoulders shake in that signature, barely audible chuckle as he settles into the booth. Suddenly you feel a little less self conscious about the amount of space you take up in comparison.

John orders a round for everyone. Some light mixers to sip while you talk. You stick to listening, mostly, while the boys talk shop. You pick up a few personal tidbits here and there - specifically about Simon’s apparent sweet tooth as Johnny teases him about going through an entire package of licorice in one sitting. You file that away for later. Apparently John got his start after he enlisted in the military and got several very shitty tattoos during the first couple of years. Dropped out to get an apprenticeship, figuring he could do better. Kyle rolls his eyes, as if he’d heard the tale a few too many times.

“Where ye thinkin’ of lettin’ Kyle ink ye?” Johnny leans in close, breaking out of the group conversation.

You tilit your head. “Haven’t really thought about it. Wherever he’s comfortable, I guess.”

“Givin’ him free reign? Tha’s dangerous, bonnie. Might put it somewhere scandalous.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” You blurt, regretting it immediately when you see that impish sparkle in his eye.

Johnny dips closer to you, shoulder pressing against yours. “Oh? Thought ye were a good girl, hen.”

“I’ve got a couple you haven’t, and will never get close enough to see, MacTavish.” You laugh.

“Is tha’ a challenge?” He grins, hand just barely ghosting over your thigh.

You shrug, face hot. ”Even if it was, you’d lose.”

There’s probably something deeply wrong with flirting with your coworkers while your boss sits a foot away, but your skin is too warm and your drink tastes to good for you to focus on that fleeing thought for long.

“From the gentleman at the bar.” A woman appears in front of your table, sliding a glass of pink cocktail toward you.

You stare at it before glancing up to meet a pair of dark eyes. He’s handsome, smiles and nods before going back to his own drink. Something cold runs down your spine, the bar warping for only a second. Your lip catches between your teeth before you push it away.

“That’s bold.” John scoffs, a twitch in his brow.

“Not gonnae take a free drink, bon?” Johnny teases, batting at your arm. “He’s no’ half bad lookin’. I’d take a bite.”

“I don’t take drinks from strange men.” You snap, a little harsher than you meant as you push the glass even further. “You can have it if you want.”

There’s a beat where you keep your eyes square on the table, waiting for an insistence that you take it, that you talk to him, that you just do what he wants because he seems nice enough. That you’ve ruined the mood by being sensitive, like you always do. Instead, Johnny grabs the glass and downs whatever fruity cocktail was inside.

“Alright, if I pass out ye have t��� carry me now.” He laughs, the conversation returning to the same pace as before. You just look up at him for a moment - his eyes bright and unwavering.

The more you’re with them, the more guilt you feel for doubting them in moments like this - but, equally, the more unreal they seem. Too perfect of men for you to have stumbled across. Too good for something as damaged as you. There’s a pang of loneliness at the thought.

You’re one again pulled from your thoughts - well, redirected, more like - when John’s arm comes to rest around the back of the booth behind Kyle, fingers brushing against your shoulder ever so slightly. You’d been noticing it more recently - John’s tendency to hover. He doesn’t cling like Johnny but he stays just a hair away. Fingers ghost over your arms and a hand hovers over your back. Sometimes he holds the back of your seat, leaning over you while looking at the appointment book, that wafting scent of leather and petrichor enveloping you.

He doesn’t look at you, talking across the table to Simon about some business thing. At least you think, you really hadn’t been listening. Maybe you should have.

“We should go check out that new place up the street.” Kyle announces, scrolling through his phone. “They’ve got great room for dancin’, apparently.”

“Is dancin’ the mood for the night?” Simon sighs, tilting his head forward. Even without the mask his expression remains placid. Difficult to read.

“Aye!” Johnny wraps an arm firmly around your shoulders. “We’ve got t’ take our little lass out on the town!”

You scoff, cheeks warming at the idea that you’re theirs. Their lass - their girl. Fuck that last drink really good to you, huh?

Johnny walks with an arm sling around Kyle’s waist ahead of you, John laughing and shaking his head at them. Simon hangs back a bit as you walk, taking small, slow steps to stay beside you with his hands in his pockets. The same as when he walks you home every night you close together. You silently revel in the safety of it - of having this massive man in your shadow to block out everything else. You risk glancing up at his face - so new to you despite knowing each other for weeks. His skin glows in the passing street lights.

So not fair that he’s been hiding lips that kissable.

That’s totally the drinks talking.

“Y’alright?” He murmurs, glancing down at you.

You jump a bit, not realizing you’d been staring, eyes wide and hazy. Since when we’re you such a lightweight? “Yeah.”

“Still bothered about that guy?”

You blink. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten him. Too busy enjoying your time with your boys. Your boys. Your boys. Their girl. That feels really good.

“No.” You shake your head and grin. “Sorry for being weird about it.”

“Y’weren’t.” Simon shakes his head solemnly, lapsing into a comfortable silence as you walk. It’s made up for by Johnny’s forceful cover of Pink Pony Club.

The place is packed when you get there, Simon having to use his bulky form to push through and secure you all a standing table. Not that you really need it, it’s mostly so the four of you can do a few shots - as per Johnny and Kyle’s insistence. Yours too, but it’s more fun to use them as an excuse to down two green tea shots back to back. You’ve never been good at saying no anyway.

“C’mon, luv.” Kyle herds you toward the dance floor and you follow, not unaware of Johnny right at your back. Your head buzzes, the world feeling loose and slow and comfortable around you. That wall you might otherwise have up long gone as you’re safely pinned between two of your favorite boys.

Kyle’s hands trail down your sides to knead at your hips, guiding them to move in tandem with his. Johnny presses closer to your front, hooking your arms up around his neck. If you were any more sober, you might have thought twice about the way you grind back against Kyle and press your chest into Johnny - your coworkers - but as it stands you couldn’t care less. Your body buzzes with a comfortable warmth, the music seems to course through your veins. It’s so easy to let them guide you, to melt into them, to tilt your head back onto Kyle’s chest and grin up at Johnny’s big blue eyes.

It’s the loosest you’ve felt in a long, long time

Johnny says something you can’t hear, his head ducking and lips grazing the shell of your ear. A touch starved part of you wants to whine, to throw yourself into him and burrow into his chest. Bury yourself right between his ribs - surely it’s warm in there. The very sun itself housed where his heart should be.

Maybe you’re reaching the water-only time of the night.

You tilt your head, half-lidded eyes making contact with Simon’s. They’re boring into you, seemingly memorizing the way you three move against each other. Each step and sway stored away for future reference. Surely it’s in your imagination.

Eventually, you shuffle around - trading yourself for Kyle as John’s big hands come to rest respectfully on your waist. The music slows a bit, at least, making it easier to dance with your boss without feeling like you’re crossing a boundary. Not that you would mind crossing that boundary. You’d leap over it if you could - those pretty blue eyes smiling down at you in the multicolor bar light. Leather and petrichor fill your nose. There’s a spice to it that isn’t usually there. Your drunkenness sets your fingers alight as they trace up his strong arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Glad y’came tonight, dove.” John says, barely having to shout over the music. His voice just has that commanding timber to it that makes itself heard no matter the circumstance.

You give him a crooked grin. “Me too.”

John just hums, swaying you carefully. People don’t do this, a small part of you thinks. Don’t dance with their bosses. You look down to where you’re pressed together. It feels good, though. You wonder if you’re more to him than an employee - if he considers you a friend despite your inequalities of age and rank.

“Is it silly to say that I’m really happy?” You mutter, not expecting John to hear over the music.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, dipping lower so you can hear him more clearly. “I’m very grateful that we get to have you.”

Somehow your face gets hotter and in an attempt to calm down you glance over his shoulder to where Simon still stands, leaned against the wall with a glass in hand. His eyes rake over the crowd, sometimes resting on Johnny and Kyle, sometimes you and John, sometimes they seem to just look off into the distance. A woman walks up to him. She’s pretty. Tall with dark hair. You can’t see her face - can’t tell what she says. A slimy, nosy little part of you doesn't like it, despite having no right to an opinion. Simon’s expression remains flat as he responds and she stomps away.

You turn back to John. “Does Simon not dance?”

John chuckles. “Rarely.”

You pout. “I hate that he’s all alone.”

“He’s fine, love. Promise.”

“I’m gonna ask him.”

“Good luck.” John laughs, letting you push your way out of the crowd as the current song comes to an end.

“Si!” You call loudly over the music, movements sloppy.

“Hm?” He cocks a brow.

You lock your hands around his wrist like a child trying to pull their parent toward some bright thing that caught their eye. He doesn’t pull away like a more sober you might expect. “Come dance with me!”

“I don’t dance.” He scoffs.

“Please?” You beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Not nearly as effective as Johnny’s but they’ll have to do.

“No.” Even in your drunken state you notice the corner of his mouth quirk up before he forces it back down.

“You can’t stand over here all night!”

“Watch me.” Simon huffs.

You pout and let your fingers drift over his forearm, all muscle and so very vascular. His skin is warm under your hands, the ridges of scars dancing across the pads of your fingers - invisible to the eye under his tattoos.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to do what you like to do!” You say with a discerning nod, clambering up onto the stool at the table beside him.

He frowns. “Don’t let me take you away-“

“I don’t wanna leave you alone!” You continue to pout, the cotton in your head only making things fuzzier outside of your new single minded goal: Hang Out with Simon.

He looks you over for a moment, something passing through those dark eyes of his. They’re so mysterious - so deep. Like the Mariana Trench. That’s the really big one, right?

Simon sighs and downs the last of whatever golden drink was in his glass, setting it on the table beside you. “Fine. I’ll give you one song.”

You’re practically preening as you pull him into the crowd, hand firmly around his thick wrist. Part of you briefly acknowledges a few jabs from Johnny and Kyle as you pass them on their way toward the bar.

A squeak escapes you as Simon suddenly turns you around, pulling you close and leading you to the beat. He’s good. Weirdly good. You feel a bit like a floundering fish all of a sudden. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re a lot more drunk than you felt five minutes ago. He smells like spice, too.

“So much for can’t dance!” You laugh.

“I said I don’t dance, bird. Nothin’ about can’t.” An arm loops around your waist, suddenly twisting to dip you low - holding your weight so easily. You fall into a giggling fit, face hot as you playfully push at his chest.

As the night goes on, things get fuzzier. Blurred. There’s one last shot with Johnny and Kyle and all you know is an overwhelming sense of joy.

A/N: Don’t love love this part but it’s cute and this is supposed to be my easy to write fic so I’m not stressing about it. Suuuuper excited for the next couple parts tho🤭

[gremlingottoosilly]

Reader who accidentally gives her virginity to Slasher!König? The lights were off, and she was planning on spending a romantic getaway with her boyfriend to finally seal the deal. She mistakes him for her boyfriend, assuming the mask was for some weird role play he wanted to do. Didn’t even question why her boyfriend’s body feels extremely different. It’s not until she turns on the light and curiously lifts up his hood after the deed was done that she found out that she just fucked a random guy, while her boyfriend was actually bleeding out in the next room over.

You boyfriend paid for the cabin. Said the owner -- a creepy fuck - dropped the price twice immediately upon hearing that it was for a couple's getaway. Said he is too fucking tired of groups of drunk partygoers - too much clean up after they're done with. Said it's nice to have fewer gusts sometimes. Tuck the payment immediately, though - said he doesn't make deposits, and too many people disappear after only giving him a third of what they own. Creepy fuck, like your boyfriend said - but you didn't care. It's the first nice thing he did in a long time - he won you over, pushed you in direction of finally agreeing for him to take your virginity - even though you were kinda scared at first. Your first time should be special, and your boyfriend lately wasn't...exactly a special feeling inducer. It's no matter though - you will have your romantic getaway in cozy cabin in the woods. The place looks like a mansion - you're shocked, really, even after a few hours spent settling in, sipping on a beer and nervously giggling each time your boyfriend made a sleazy remark about popping your cherry. He makes a joke about filming the process for history sake. About the owner of the cabin probably preparing to jerk off somewhere in the dark corner - you didn't like the jokes. Asked to turn off the light as you get under the covers, preparing to finally become a part of the sex club. Your boyfriend exited the room, searching for more booze, probably - came a while after, when you already started to feel weird about the whole thing. There is a bottle of sweet liquor - not beer, surprisingly - tilted to your mouth. You drink it, enjoying the sweet, alcoholic coffee poured into your mouth. They are gentle, but firm hands going over your body, grasping every bit of skin they can find. It's probably booze and your nerves, but the hands feel slightly different from your boyfriend's - bigger, rougher. You're probably just nervous, imagining weird things. He kiss you everywhere - you could feel a light stubble. It's funny, you didn't even notice your boyfriend didn't shave - probably your nerves, again, making you feel a bit dizzy from the kisses. You had a few fantasies about how the whole losing virginity thing would turn out - you never thought it would be like this. Soft and terrifying at the same time. Tongue licking you everywhere, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut and find his head, hoping he would stop the gentle assault on your nerves. You find his hair - suddenly, it feel shorter than a greasy man bun your boyfriend has - and tug on it. Feel the pressure. He moans. Rough voice, low voice. A bit of a boyish tone. "So good for me, Schatzen. Knew your boyfriend wouldn't put much of a fight, but you're a natural for me, ja?" This is not your boyfriend.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Hold My Hand

Where y/n is scared of flying and the stranger in the seat next to her offers some help.

Word Count: 1,993

Warnings: Planes, Anxiety

JFK was a whirlwind of noise and motion, a blur of tired travelers, rolling suitcases, and endless overhead announcements crackling through the speakers. Y/N tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin. She hated this part. Airports always made her anxious—too many moving parts, too many chances for something to go wrong. And flying? That was even worse.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of her bag as she inched forward in the check-in line. It was just a flight. Just a few hours in the air. And then she’d be in Italy, far away from everything she’d been trying to escape.

Her friend had insisted she come, practically begging her to book the ticket.

“You need this, love. Just get on the plane.”

Easier said than done.

She reached the counter, handed over her passport with slightly shaky fingers, and forced a polite smile as the agent processed her check-in. A few minutes later, she had her boarding pass in hand and one less thing to worry about. But the tightness in her chest didn’t ease.

A familiar, comforting scent drifted through the air—coffee. Warm, rich, slightly burnt in the way only airport coffee could be. She turned toward the kiosk tucked near the terminal entrance, weaving through the crowd, her suitcase rolling behind her.

A hot drink would help. Something to ground her.

After ordering, she wrapped her hands around the paper cup, letting the heat seep into her palms. She took a careful sip, the bitter taste settling her, just a little.

Y/N settled into a chair near her gate, her coffee resting on the seat beside her. The caffeine wasn’t doing much to settle her nerves, but at least the warmth in her hands gave her something to focus on. She sighed, setting her suitcase between her feet before digging through her bag, fingers fumbling past tangled headphones and crumpled receipts until she found what she was looking for, her medication.

She popped the cap off the small bottle of anti-nausea pills first, dry-swallowing one before reaching for her anxiety meds. Flying always made her feel sick, and the anxiety only made it worse. She wasn’t taking any chances today.

The terminal buzzed around her business travelers typing furiously on laptops, families wrangling restless children, couples leaning into quiet conversations. It was a world in motion, but Y/N felt stuck, waiting.

She glanced up at the departures board. Still time before boarding. She had no intention of rushing to get on the plane. She never did. The sooner she boarded, the longer she’d have to sit in that cramped space, feeling every bit of turbulence, every shift in altitude. Instead, she’d wait until the final group, boarding only when she absolutely had to.

She took another sip of her coffee, exhaling slowly. Just a few more minutes. Then she’d be in the air on her way to Italy. 

Y/N pulled out her phone, her fingers hesitating over the screen before she finally typed out a message.

“At the airport, waiting to board.”

She paused, then added, “Trying not to freak out.”

The message sent, and she took another sip of her coffee, tapping her fingers against the cup while she waited for a response. It didn’t take long.

“You’re doing great. It’s going to be okay. Just think about how good it’ll feel when you land. I’ll be waiting for you!”

She let out a slow breath, some of the tightness in her chest easing. Her friend always knew what to say, always had a way of grounding her even from miles away.

“I hope so,” she typed back before locking her phone and setting it in her lap.

One step at a time.

The final boarding group was announced, and Y/N let out a quiet sigh before standing, gripping the handle of her suitcase. This was the part she hated most walking onto the plane, finding her seat, and forcing herself to settle in for the long flight ahead. She rolled her luggage behind her, moving through the jet bridge, the artificial air-conditioning doing little to cool the anxious heat creeping up her spine.

When she stepped onto the plane, she was met with the usual cramped rows and the hum of quiet conversations. It was full, every overhead bin seemingly packed to capacity, every seat occupied. She checked her boarding pass again, even though she already knew where she was going, middle of the plane, window seat.

As she made her way down the aisle, dodging stray elbows and outstretched legs, her stomach twisted. Long-haul flights were bad enough, but sitting next to a stranger for hours on end only made her more uneasy.

She finally reached her row and glanced at the seat beside hers, her breath catching for a moment.

A man sat there, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh while the other scrolled idly through his phone. Brown curls fell slightly over his forehead, and tattoos peeked out from beneath the sleeves of his sweater. He was dressed casually, a soft knit fabric over jeans but there was something familiar about him.

As soon as she stopped beside the row, the man looked up from his phone and, without hesitation, stood from his seat.

“Need help with that?” he asked, gesturing toward her carry-on.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”

He took the bag from her with ease, lifting it into the overhead compartment and securing it before stepping back, giving her space to settle in. As she reached for her seatbelt, he spoke again.

“Do you want the aisle seat instead?” His voice was calm, casual. “I don’t mind switching.”

She glanced at him, caught off guard by the offer.

“I just figured,” he continued, “if you prefer it, I’m happy to swap.”

Her fingers tightened around the armrest for a second before she finally admitted, “Flying makes me nervous. Maybe sitting in the aisle would be better.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, of course.”

Without another word, he stepped aside, letting her slide into the aisle seat before taking the window for himself. As she buckled in, she took a slow, steady breath.

At least now, if the anxiety became too much, she had an easy way out.

Once they were settled, he turned to her with an easy smile, offering his hand.

“I’m Harry,” he said.

Y/N already knew that. She had recognized him the second she saw him—his face was too familiar, whether from his days in One Direction or the countless photos of him that circulated online. But she didn’t acknowledge it. He was just another passenger on a plane, and she had no energy to make a big deal out of it.

She took his hand briefly, shaking it. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm, effortlessly charming.

She nodded, managing a small smile before turning her attention to the seatbelt in her lap, tightening it around her waist. The plane wasn’t even moving yet, but the nerves were already creeping in.

The overhead voice crackled through the cabin, announcing that the doors were now closed and the flight would be departing soon. Y/N’s stomach twisted. There was no turning back now.

She exhaled slowly and fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, rubbing her thumb over the edge of her nail. The familiar hum of the engines grew louder, and she could already feel her heart racing.

Needing a distraction, she reached into her bag and pulled out her book, flipping it open to where she had left off. She gripped it tightly, her knuckles pale as she focused on the words, trying to lose herself in the story.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the way she took deep, measured breaths, the way her fingers tensed around the pages. He shifted slightly in his seat before turning toward her.

“That any good?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

Y/N blinked, her eyes darting to his. It took her a second to process his question.

“Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cover. “Yeah. It’s just a rom-com. Kind of cheesy, but in a good way.”

“Cheesy in a good way,” he repeated with a small smile. “That’s promising. What’s it about?”

Just as she opened her mouth to explain, the plane began to move, rolling slowly away from the gate. Her fingers clenched around the book a little tighter, her heartbeat quickening as she felt the shift beneath her.

She focused on Harry instead, forcing herself to speak, to explain the ridiculous but charming plot of the book. And as she did, as his interested expression encouraged her to keep talking, the plane turned onto the runway, speeding up for takeoff.

As the plane picked up speed, Y/N felt her words start to stumble, her thoughts tangling as she tried to explain the book’s plot. Her voice wavered, and she let out a small, frustrated sigh, gripping the armrest instead.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “I’m just–God, I hate this part.”

Harry glanced at her hands, noticing how tightly she was clutching the seat. Without hesitation, he spoke, his voice calm and steady.

“This might be weird,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “but if you need to squeeze my hand, you can.”

Y/N looked at him, uncertain for a moment. He wasn’t making a big deal out of it, wasn’t looking at her with pity—just an easy, open offer.

She swallowed, hesitating for only a second before reaching out and gripping his hand. His skin was warm, his fingers steady as she squeezed, holding on as the plane lifted off the ground.

He didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he gave her hand a small, reassuring squeeze back, grounding her just enough to get through those first few seconds of flight.

Y/N kept her grip on Harry’s hand as the plane tilted upward, her stomach lurching with the ascent. She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply through her nose, counting the seconds until the worst of it was over.

Harry didn’t say anything, didn’t rush her or try to distract her with empty reassurances. He just let her hold on, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand in an absent, soothing motion.

After what felt like forever, the plane finally leveled out, the pressure in her chest easing slightly. She let out a long breath and slowly opened her eyes, realizing then just how tightly she had been holding his hand. Embarrassed, she quickly let go, pressing her palms against her lap.

“Sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” Harry interrupted, offering a small, knowing smile. “Really. I don’t mind.”

Y/N exhaled, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time since she stepped onto the plane. She glanced out the window, where the world below was now nothing but clouds, soft and endless. The worst part was over.

She turned back to him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for that. I just… I really hate flying.”

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that,” he teased lightly. “But you did good.”

She huffed out a small laugh, finally allowing herself to relax into her seat. She picked up her book again, running her fingers over the edges of the pages, but before she could open it, Harry spoke again.

“So, tell me more about this ‘cheesy but in a good way’ book of yours.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised, but his expression was genuine, his body still turned slightly toward her like he actually wanted to hear about it.

She hesitated for only a moment before finally cracking a small smile. “Alright. So, it’s about these two people who used to be best friends, but then they had this falling out and—”

And just like that, the flight didn’t seem quite as long anymore.

[blixains]

Public Parkings and Private Sins (Sylus R18)

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content (NSFW, 18+), Public Sex, Filthy Vaginal Sex and Creampie, Cumplay, Fingering and Oral Sex, Dirty Talk and Degradation, Sex While Driving, Profanity and Graphic Language, Third Person POV, Self-insert Fic

This is inspired by the car chase scene from the most recent main story updates.

Note: This is also available on AO3 as part of a series of car sex scenario featuring all lads love interests.

Written by: @blixains on AO3, TikTok, and X

The tires screamed as they ripped around the tight curve of a dimly lit street, your heart slamming against your ribs, half from adrenaline, half from the half-glass-too-many you’d downed at that underground bar with Sylus an hour ago. Neon lights blurred past the windows. Bullets pinged off the back of the sleek black car too.

“Shit—” you hissed, glancing at Sylus, who sat behind the wheel, unbothered, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel while the other flicked his gun’s safety off. His blazer hung open, his dress shirt partially unbuttoned from earlier carelessness, and his smirk? That thing should be criminal.

“They’re getting bolder.” His voice was calm, low, almost bored. “Or more suicidal.”

“You’re drunk.”

He scoffed. “Tipsy. Like you. Don’t insult my reflexes.”

Another shot cracked behind you. You cursed and leaned forward.

“I’m taking the wheel. You need both hands if you’re gonna shoot.”

Sylus gave you a look, the one that usually meant, ‘You’re lucky I like you’. “Try not to crash. I hate cleaning blood off leather.”

You scrambled over the center console with a bit more ass than grace, and Sylus didn’t miss the view, you felt it in the heat of his gaze on your thighs as your dress rode up. You slipped into the driver’s seat, grabbed the wheel, and pressed the pedal down like a woman possessed.

He didn’t even buckle in.

Outside, the enemy car was still behind, but you took a hard right through traffic, weaving between taxis and unaware civilians like you had a death wish. Sylus leaned out of the window, one knee on the seat, unholstering a sleek matte pistol. When he fired, it was smooth and precise. A window shattered in the black SUV tailing you.

“That’s one,” he muttered, settling back inside.

“Could you shoot faster?” You snapped, swerving around a truck.

“Could you drive less like a civilian?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Later,” he said smoothly, that crooked smirk curving his lips. “When we’re not being shot at.”

It was insane how calm he was. The more chaos erupted around him, the more at ease he seemed to be. You caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, silver hair tousled by the wind, pupils still blown from the drinks, and the faint glow of red blooming in one eye.

You hated how hot that was.

Eventually, you lost the tail. You ducked into a sea of thick, congested traffic near the bridge, horns blaring, and every car around you crawling at a snail’s pace. You stopped in the middle lane, catching your breath, the heat between you almost worse than the gunfire.

Sylus sprawled back into his seat, rolling his neck.

You turned to look at him. Really look.

“…Have you always been this fucking jacked?” Your eyes dragged slowly across his chest, lingering on the tight stretch of his shirt, where buttons fought to contain his chest and abs. “I swear to god, you’ve grown an entire new muscle group.”

He gave a low chuckle, tilting his head at you, cocky as ever.

“You’ve been ogling me this whole time, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been driving,” you said, though your gaze hadn’t moved from his chest. “But I’ve got peripheral vision. And it’s telling me you’ve been doing something in that gym when I wasn’t looking.”

Sylus reached up lazily to loosen another button. You watched the next sliver of skin appear, your mouth suddenly dry. His voice dropped lower, just enough to scrape your nerves.

“You sure it’s the gym, sweetheart?”

You blinked. “What, did you evolve into this out of spite?”

“I adapt quickly.” His smirk widened. “Unlike you, apparently. You’re still drooling.”

“I am not—”

He leaned closer. The crowded traffic outside disappeared from your awareness completely. His hand slid over to your thigh, warm and steady.

“Say it,” he murmured, “Say you want to fuck me right here with your foot still on the brake.”

Your breath hitched.

Traffic crawled, and the sun had started to lower behind the skyline, slanting a burnished gold across the dashboard. You were sweating, not from the heat, but from him.

You glanced over at him. His smirk hadn’t moved.

“You don’t get to look like that after a gunfight.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re still talking about my arms?”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Your everything looks suspicious right now. Like a fucking cheat code.”

Sylus hummed lazily.

Then his hand… moved.

Slow at first. Not even touching you. Just hovering near your thigh like he was testing the air pressure, like he had all the time in the goddamn world and knew you didn’t.

Your pulse jumped.

He didn’t touch.. no, not yet. His knuckles ghosted close, brushing the hem of your dress. His fingers dragged slow arcs against the fabric. Not even skin yet, and it was already lighting your nerves on fire.

“Sylus…” you warned under your breath, though you didn’t really mean it.

He tilted his head just enough for his hair to shift over his forehead. “You’re driving. I’m not doing anything.”

His fingers slipped a little higher. Not quite between your legs. Just to the edge of your inner thigh, where heat pooled and your panties were already damp with how long you’d been thinking about this smug bastard.

“You’re stalling,” he murmured, red eyes on the road ahead, not even looking at you. “You want me to touch you, but you’re trying to pretend you don’t.”

“I just escaped death by car chase.”

“So you’re still alive,” he said coolly, dragging a single finger along your thigh. “Might as well feel like it.”

You cursed under your breath. His hand hovered again, then this time… finally pressed down.

His fingers slid beneath your dress slowly. There was no rush in him. His touch was deliberate and teasing. He brushed the thin line of your inner thigh, fingers spreading slightly, your breath catching as the pads of his fingertips skimmed the edge of your panties.

Then he paused.

He didn’t speak.

Just let that charged silence stretch between you while his fingers rested there, firm but unmoving. As if waiting for you to beg.

You gripped the wheel tighter. “Sylus—”

“Shh.”

With no more warning, he slid two fingers against the center of your panties. Right where it was wet. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The fabric was no protection at all. He dragged his fingers up, slow as sin, letting the soaked material cling to you as he stroked lightly. He was still looking at the windshield.

You felt like you were going to combust.

“That’s soaked,” he said, voice low. “You’ve been like this since I pulled the trigger, haven’t you?”

“Damn you.”

He chuckled.

“I think I’ll take my time.” his fingers hooked into your panties and pushed them aside in one smooth, practiced motion, knuckles brushing hot skin.

The cool air of the car hit your soaked folds, and you gasped. His fingers slid between your slick pussy lips. He groaned, low and almost to himself. You tried to keep your foot steady on the brake as he slipped a finger inside you.

Then another.

Fucking hell.

His fingers curled just right, slow and deliberate. He moved like he was trying to memorize the way your walls clutched around him. The heel of his palm dragged against your clit, subtle and devastating.

“I should stop,” he said. “Traffic’s moving again.”

You glanced out the windshield. Three whole cars had moved ahead. You hadn’t even noticed. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

He leaned over just slightly, mouth at your ear now, voice a shade darker.

“Then drive,” he murmured. “Let’s see how well you multitask with your pussy squeezing my fingers.”

You tried to breathe evenly as traffic inched forward again. Foot off the brake, hands on the wheel. Your thighs tense, your pulse thudding through every nerve ending. You were driving… technically. The car was moving. But your brain? Your brain had been hijacked by Sylus’s fingers buried inside your soaking cunt.

He sat reclined in the passenger seat like he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, like he wasn’t curling his fingers inside you just right while you attempted to operate heavy machinery. Every slow stroke made your hips shift involuntarily. Every time he pressed his palm up against your clit, your foot twitched on the gas.

“You’re gripping the wheel so tight, sweetie,” Sylus muttered, eyes lazily half-lidded as he watched you. His voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “Should I be jealous of that poor steering wheel?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Not when he crooked his fingers inside you. Like he knew exactly where your sweet spot lived and wanted to make you crash the damn car just to prove a point.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp. Your hips jerked forward slightly, legs spreading more, instinctively trying to chase the friction his fingers offered.

“Oh… fuck, Sylus—”

That earned you a grin.

“I love when you say my name like that.” His thumb moved to brush your clit now, the movement lazy and circular. Not fast enough to finish you. Just enough to drive you insane. “You know how many enemies I’ve shot in the face today and didn’t blink? But this—” he curled his fingers again, dragging them out and back in with obscene squelches that made your cheeks burn, “—this is the part I enjoy.”

You couldn’t look at him. If you looked at him, you were going to fall apart right there in traffic.

“I swear to god, if I crash this car—”

“Crash, and I’ll finger you harder,” he muttered against your neck, suddenly leaning in to kiss the skin just under your ear. “Maybe I’ll even fuck you over the hood while the city watches.”

Your foot pressed down on the gas a little too fast. The engine growled.

His fingers pumped into you with more confidence now, the rhythm slick and steady, the heel of his hand rocking against your clit just enough to keep you wet and shaking. Then, you felt it building tight in your abdomen. You gritted your teeth.

“Sylus, fuck—don’t stop.”

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, you’re close already? What happened to all that mouth, sweetheart?”

Your thighs were trembling. You tried to keep your hands steady, tried to keep the car moving straight, but it was so fucking hard when his fingers were fucking into you like that, massaging your inner walls like he’d studied the blueprints of your body.

Then he leaned in again, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Come for me,” he murmured, breath hot and filthy. “While you’re driving. Come on, sweetie.”

That did it.

Your foot stuttered on the gas again as the orgasm hit violently. Your mouth parted in a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering half-shut as your hips rocked forward, riding his fingers through it, the pleasure rippling out in waves you barely controlled.

Sylus didn’t pull away.

He kept those fingers deep, feeling every clench around them, letting you squeeze and shake and twitch under his hand. You swore the bastard moaned, low in his throat.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice molten with amusement and arousal. “You drive like a goddess when you’re dripping all over my hand.”

You swallowed hard. You were still panting, still twitching around him.

“You’re a fucking menace,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said, smug as ever.

The second your legs stopped trembling enough to trust the brakes, you swerved into the nearest public parking lot with no intention of making it subtle. The tires crunched over gravel as you pulled into a far-off space beneath a flickering light pole, half-hidden behind a dirty white delivery van.

You threw the car into park and exhaled hard, still flushed, panties still shoved to the side, Sylus’s fingers soaked with your release and still resting between your thighs like he had no plans of moving them. The bastard looked too smug for someone who nearly made you get off in traffic.

But you weren’t done either.

Your eyes flicked to the backseat. “Move.”

Sylus raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I said move, Sylus.”

There was a glint in his red eyes, hungry and amused. He slid out of the passenger seat with that unhurried elegance of his and slipped into the back like a fucking panther claiming his territory. You followed, crawling between the front seats without a second thought, the heat between your thighs only getting worse the second your legs were free again.

You didn’t waste time. The moment you turned and dropped back into the middle of the car, your spine curved over the edge of the front seat, arms bracing against it as you spread your legs wide, one heel pressed against the left rear door, the other hooked awkwardly behind the front passenger seat.

Your panties were still crooked and soaked. Your slick glistened in the low light, and Sylus’s eyes dropped to it like gravity pulled them there.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, silver hair falling over his brow.

“Well,” he murmured, sinking to his knees between your spread thighs, one hand bracing your knee open. “You do know how to beg without speaking.”

You glared. “If you’re not gonna eat it, I’ll find someone who will.”

He chuckled. “You always get this bratty when you’re desperate?”

Then he didn’t wait anymore.

He leaned in.

His mouth met your pussy like he meant it. No teasing now. No fingers hovering, no mocking. His tongue licked a wide, slow stripe from the bottom of your slit to the aching bundle of nerves at the top. He groaned into you like it fed something in him.

“Fucking—” your hips jerked. “God, Sylus—”

He didn’t answer. Just locked his arms under your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer, your ass nearly off the seat now, suspended by his grip and your folded spine over the front seat.

Then he got filthy with it.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your whole vision white out for a second. His tongue flicked, slow and steady, circling you, then flattening out to press fully against your soaked folds. He moaned again, like he liked the taste of you way more than he should.

And you?

You were wrecked.

Your fingers clawed at the front seat, breathing heavy, chest heaving. Your thighs quivered from how wide he kept them spread. His tongue slid inside you now, curling just like his fingers had minutes ago.

“Sylus—fuck, right there, a-ah—!”

He pulled back just a little to speak, lips slick, red eyes glowing faintly under the dim parking lot lights. “Louder,” he said. “Let’s make sure the whole damn lot hears how sweet you sound.”

He dove back in before you could snap something back.

His tongue flicked your clit with ruthless rhythm now, while one hand moved and slid two fingers deep into your slick cunt. He pumped them in time with his mouth, moaning against you, nose brushing your clit as he devoured you.

You were shaking again. You couldn’t stay quiet. The slap of his fingers and the obscene sounds of his mouth on you echoed in the car.

“Ah—I’m gonna—!”

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, brutal and hot. You gasped, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his arms held you wide, kept you open for him as he kept licking through it, dragging out every twitch and cry and soaked ripple of pleasure.

Your whole body sagged back, boneless and fucked-out, still twitching with aftershocks. You barely realized he’d slowed his fingers, dragging them out so painfully slow, coated in your cum, lips brushing your inner thigh like a closing kiss.

When he finally looked up, he wiped his mouth, then licked the fingers he’d pulled out of you like you were the first real meal he’d had in weeks.

“Now that was better than killing people,” he muttered.

The windows were fogged. Your inner thighs glistened under the low, flickering light. Your chest still rose and fell in uneven pulls of breath, but Sylus wasn’t even winded. He rose from between your legs with the same easy grace he always carried, like he hadn’t just buried his face between your thighs and ruined your ability to think.

But your eyes weren’t on his face anymore.

They dropped, immediately, to the sharp ridge in his slacks.

He noticed.

“Oh?” He said, head tilting with deliberate mockery. His voice was silk over steel, taunting as hell. “Didn’t even touch me and I’m already hard as a fucking rock. Look what you’ve done.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were too busy staying locked on the shape in his pants, the obvious, mouth-watering bulge that had your throat drying up fast. His hand brushed over it absently, fingers slow like he wasn’t just adjusting, he was posing for you. And you were falling for it.

He smirked, caught the way your thighs twitched again, how your gaze sharpened.

“You keep staring,” he said as he undid the belt. “You’ll have to deal with it.”

Then the zipper.

Then silence.

You blinked and he pulled his cock free.

Fuck.

Thick, fucking big. Long enough to stir something primal in your gut, your breath hitching instantly. It curved slightly upward, veins ridged and pronounced, tip flushed dark and already glistening with pre-cum. Even the way he held it, gripped lazily at the base, thumb stroking along the side like he was toying with your sanity was enough to make your mouth fall open.

“You gonna say something?” Sylus asked, voice smug and lazy. “Or are you just gonna keep eye-fucking it like you’ve forgotten how to speak?”

You swallowed.

“…you keep getting bigger,” you muttered, voice hoarse, low. Admitting it only made him grin wider.

He leaned forward slightly, cock in hand, brushing the flushed head against your inner thigh, not even on your clit, just there. Teasing. Letting it smear a trail of pre-cum across your skin.

“Sweetie,” he murmured, voice low, lips almost against your ear now, “you should’ve known from the attitude alone.”

You twitched.

He dragged the thick head down, slow and deliberate, nudging your slick folds just barely, just enough for you to feel how wide he’d stretch you, how deep he’d sit. But he didn’t push in. No. He just pressed his cock against your entrance and slid it upward, letting it glide through your pussy lips without ever giving you what you actually wanted.

“Still wet from my mouth,” he murmured against your neck. “Good.”

His cock rubbed along your clit again, making your hips twitch, chasing it. But he pulled back just a little, his hand gripping the base as he tapped it twice against your entrance with obscene little slaps.

“I should just make you beg for it,” he said, watching your face closely. “Should I?”

His cock was still in his hand.

Heavy, flushed, soaked now in your slick as he dragged the head through your folds again and again, testing your limits. The veins along the shaft pulsed with every lazy stroke, and every brush over your clit made your thighs jolt. Your muscles were tense, your breathing uneven, and your whole body practically buzzed with the need to be filled.

But Sylus wasn’t done playing.

“Look at that,” he said, watching his cock slide up the length of your pussy without ever sinking in. “You’re soaked. You’ll take me easy, won’t you?”

You let out a frustrated breath through your nose. Your thighs trembled with every pass of his tip over your clit. Your hands had been gripping the front seat for support, but you snapped because he wasn’t going to stop until you did something about it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice shaking.

You moved without hesitation, one hand flying down, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, warm and twitching in your grip. His eyes widened slightly, not expecting the sudden move.

“Someone’s getting bold,” he murmured, but you didn’t answer. You shifted your hips, lined him up, panties already shoved to the side, cunt soaked and twitching for him, and pushed down.

The head stretched you instantly, thick and unrelenting. Your walls gripped him so tight, even the initial press in made your back arch, mouth parting in a strangled sound. You didn’t even wait, you sank further, gasping out a moan as the thick inches filled you slow, slow, deep—

“Fuck—!” you whimpered, nails digging into the seat.

Sylus groaned low under his breath, hips flexing forward instinctively at the heat of your pussy swallowing him.

You bottomed out with a broken cry.

He was all the way in. Every inch of him stuffed inside, and you could feel it, feel every twitch of his cock, feel the stretch, the fullness, the pressure so deep it made your toes curl. Your thighs trembled on either side of him, wide open, your ass just barely on the seat.

Sylus hissed a breath through his teeth, one hand gripping your waist tight. “Desperate little thing,” he growled against your ear. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”

“I’ve had enough of your teasing,” you snapped, but your voice cracked, wrecked from the feeling of him pulsing so deep inside you.

He chuckled, low. “Guess you do know how to beg. Just not with words.”

His hips shifted just enough to move inside you and your breath hitched again. You were still getting used to the size of him, how he seemed to stretch you in every direction, slow and unforgiving. You tried to lift your hips, adjust—

But his hand slammed down on your thigh, holding you in place.

“No,” Sylus said, mouth right by your neck. “You don’t get to move now. You made the choice.”

Then he pulled back just an inch, then slammed forward again, enough to make your whole body jolt.

Your moan echoed inside the car.

His cock dragged out of you slow, so slow it felt like your entire body clenched around the absence of him.

The thickness of it scraped along your inner walls like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. The veins, the curve, the stretch.. all of it made your breath choke in your throat.

Then he slammed back in.

“Ah!” You cried out, body jolting forward against the front seat, hands braced uselessly on the leather as he bottomed out again with that same unforgiving rhythm.

Sylus groaned, sharp and rough. One hand gripped your hip with bruising force, the other slid between your legs, palm flattening low on your belly just to feel the outline of himself moving inside you.

“You feel that?” He rasped. “That’s me all the way in. Fuck, you’re tight, sweetie.”

You could barely answer. The sheer stretch had your legs shaking, your pussy sucking him in greedily with every thrust. His cock was too thick, too deep, too much, and still…

Still it wasn’t enough.

You needed more. Needed him harder. Deeper.

“F-faster,” you begged, voice raw and wrecked. “Please, Sylus—deeper—just—fuck—don’t stop—!”

He chuckled low, teeth grazing the back of your shoulder. “Now you’re starting to sound like you need it.”

He pulled out again, slow and torturous, until only the thick, swollen head remained inside your dripping pussy, and then snapped his hips forward, hard. You gasped, body slamming against the seat, his cock plunging back into your soaked pussy with a filthy squelch that echoed in the car.

Your legs nearly gave out.

“You like this cock wrecking your little cunt, don’t you?” He hissed, picking up the pace, slamming in and out of you with raw, deliberate force. “Fucking dripping down my cock. Can’t believe how wet you got just from teasing.”

You were crying out now, sobbing his name between broken moans, your voice shaking every time he pounded into you. His cock curved just enough to hit your spot every single thrust, making your walls flutter tight around him like you were already about to come.

“S-Sylus—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—please,” you begged, voice high and desperate.

He reached forward, fisted your hair, pulled your head back with a groan in your ear. “Then say it right,” he growled, cock grinding deep, deeper, hitting your cervix with a bruising kiss.

Your knees buckled. “—please don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop!”

His grip on your hips tightened. He snarled under his breath, pace suddenly brutal now, slamming into you like a man possessed, fucking you with focused force. Your pussy clamped around him, loud wet sounds filling the car, your moans dissolving into gasps and incoherent cries as he hit that spot again, and again, and again.

“Good girl,” he hissed, hips slapping against your ass now. “You beg so fucking pretty.”

Every thrust drove you closer, while your walls clench around his cock with desperate hunger, each slam harder than the last. His free hand had found your clit again, fingers circling it in tight, furious spirals as his hips thrust deep and faster. You could feel every ridge of his cock, the way it stretched you, filled you, consumed you.

You were teetering on the edge, vision blurring. Your heart thundered in your ears.

“Sylus—please—!” you wailed, voice raw.

He groaned, a deep, animalistic sound, and pressed his thumb down hard on your clit. His thrusts became savage, pulling nearly all the way out, then slamming back in so fast your head slammed against the headrest. You could barely breathe as the overload of movement and friction set your nerves alight.

“Fuck—!” you screamed, profile pressed into the seat.

Then it happened.

Your climax ripped through you. Your back arched, thighs shaking as your pussy clenched violently around his cock. Your toes curled, your nails dug into the leather, and a hot, blinding wave of pleasure shattered you. You clamped down on him, panting, your cries echoing in the cramped car.

But Sylus didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you. Faster. Harder. His thumb rubbed your clit in maddening circles, drawing out every twitch, every ragged gasp. And as the overwhelming sensitivity made your body convulse, a warm gush of clear liquid spurted from you, wetness flooding his cock, running down, dripping off your thighs.

You couldn’t hold back. It sprayed in little jets, slick and astonishingly abundant, like you’d peed, only so much more intense, more urgent.

“Shit,” he breathed, slowing his pace only slightly, leaning forward to lap up the squelching wetness at your entrance before burying his cock all the way in again. Each stroke drove more of your release out, splattering the backseat carpet.

You hung on the edge of another orgasm, legs trembling.

He hammered into you, thumb still circling your clit, teasing the last shreds of your high.

Your second climax hit you like a punch, but no less explosive, igniting your drenched core again. You screamed, gripping the front seat so hard your knuckles went white.

He rode you through every spasm, thrusting until you were entirely spent, until your legs folded around him, until his cock felt like the only thing keeping you from collapsing completely.

Your breath came in sobs and shaky gasps as you collapsed back against the seat, utterly wrecked.

You barely had time to breathe.

Your legs were still twitching from your second orgasm, your pussy raw and soaked from everything he’d dragged out of you. But Sylus wasn’t done. His cock was still hard, still dripping with your juices, and the way he gripped your hips, it told you everything.

He was going to finish. And he was going to finish inside.

“Get back here,” he growled, dragging you by the waist again, positioning you over his lap now, your knees straddling the center console while his back leaned against the rear seat. “I’m not wasting a drop.”

Your arms trembled as you balanced on top of him. You barely managed to grab his cock, still soaked and twitching in your grip. The size of him never stopped being shocking thick, a vein running along the underside like a warning.

You didn’t ease him in. You sank down, hard.

“F-fuck—!” Your mouth dropped open as the stretch hit all over again, even more brutal now that you were overstimulated. Your pussy clenched around him immediately, too tight, too goddamn wet. He filled you up fast, his cockhead punching deep, and your walls locked around him like you didn’t want to let him go.

Sylus hissed between his teeth, jaw tight. “Sweetie, you’re still dripping. Still milking my cock like you need it.”

You could barely speak. He was buried deep. So deep you felt it in your gut. The angle made him hit everything, every nerve, every sweet spot, and you were already close again.

But he grabbed your waist, held you still.

“No,” he muttered, eyes burning red beneath his silver lashes. “I’m in control now.”

Then he slammed up into you.

Your moan shattered the air, loud and helpless. He started thrusting up into your pussy from below, forcing you to take it again, each stroke brutal and thick and fast. His grip on you tightened, one hand on your waist, the other grabbing your ass, pulling you down to meet every thrust.

Wet sounds echoed. Your arousal mixed with his precum, coating both of you in sticky heat.

“I’m close,” he growled, fucking up into you now in a punishing rhythm, teeth gritted. “You want it inside? Want me to ruin this pussy?”

You were already gone. “Yes—yes, inside—please—Sylus—fill me up—fill me—!”

That was all it took.

His entire body tensed. He shoved you down on his cock one last time and held you there, balls pressed tight against your skin.

That’s when he came.

Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your insides, each pulse stronger than the last. His cock jerked inside you, every twitch coating your walls. You felt it filling you up, spreading deep, dripping out around his cock as your cunt clenched tight to milk every drop.

You gasped, eyes fluttering, as the sensation overwhelmed you. You could feel it leaking out already, a slow, sticky trickle down your thighs.

Sylus exhaled roughly, forehead dropping against your shoulder. “Fuck… you’re a mess,” he murmured, his voice ragged with satisfaction. “Look at you.”

You trembled against him, boneless, lips barely forming words. “I don’t care,” you breathed. “Just… keep it in.”

And he did. He kept you right there, cock still buried deep, cum still leaking slowly as the two of you sat in that ruined back seat.

He chuckled darkly in your ear.

You were still on top of him, his cock softening slowly inside you, the heat of his cum thick and unmistakable between your thighs. The windows were fogged. Your skin glistened with sweat. And neither of you had moved an inch.

You tried, feebly, to lift your hips, but Sylus just smirked and kept you there, one lazy hand sliding along the curve of your ass to make sure nothing spilled out.

“Don’t waste it,” he muttered, nipping at your shoulder with a sharpness that made you flinch. “I worked hard for that.”

You scoffed breathlessly. “You fucked like you were trying to breed me.”

“Was I successful?”

You rolled your eyes, head lolling back against the seat, until you heard it. A sound. Footsteps. Talking. A goddamn stroller squeaking by.

Your eyes shot open.

“…We’re still in a public parking lot,” you hissed, panic rushing back into your bloodstream. You tried to sit up again, but his grip was firm.

“Mmhm,” Sylus hummed, completely unbothered, eyes still half-lidded and smug. “And your legs are still open. You want them to see the mess I made of you?”

“Are you serious right now—”

A sharp tap tap hit the window.

You both froze.

Outside the passenger side window, blurred slightly by fog and cum-smear, stood an old security guard with a walkie-talkie in hand and a very pointed look on his face. He couldn’t see anything, thank fuck, but he clearly knew.

Sylus didn’t flinch. In fact, his only reaction was a slow, sideways grin.

You panicked, trying to sit up, trying to yank down your dress, but Sylus kept his hands where they were, still gripping your waist. His cock twitched once, inside you, still thick and warm.

He leaned toward the window, bare chest on full display through his open shirt.

The man outside raised a brow. Sylus raised one back.

Then? The window rolled down automatically. Sylus had pressed the button with one long finger, just for the hell of it.

“Problem?” He asked dryly.

You were dying. Dying. Hiding your face in his shoulder, wishing you could evaporate.

The security guard cleared his throat. “Sir. Ma’am. This is… not a private space.”

“I wasn’t aware she needed privacy to enjoy herself.” Sylus’s voice was velvet and violence.

The man blinked.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” he muttered finally, eyes looking everywhere except at you. “Then I expect this car out of the lot.”

As soon as the window rolled back up, you punched Sylus in the shoulder, hard.

“You’re insane! Are you proud of yourself?!”

“Immensely,” he said without missing a beat. “I made you squirt, came so deep I can feel it dripping, and now we have a witness to how shameless you are.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…You’re a menace.”

He grinned, licking your shoulder once, slow and amused.

“I’m your menace.”

[raekensluver]

green sweater

masterlist | main masterlist

description: a party, a familiar flat, and the boy in the sweater you bought him. the breakup felt final. seeing him again makes you question everything.

pairing: ex!arthur frederick x fem!reader

contains: angst, fluff, platonic!chris md x fem!reader, platonic!harry lewis x fem!reader, drinking.

song rec: the cut that always bleeds by conan gray- "but even though you're killing me, i need you like the air i breathe."

w.c: 1.7k

you didn’t expect your stomach to drop the moment you stepped into the party. but there it was—the air thick with music, sweat, and the kind of memories you’ve tried your best to forget.

harry’s flat is buzzing, packed wall to wall with familiar faces from old nights and youtube screens. someone’s yelling about a game in the living room, bass from the speaker rattling half-empty bottles on the counter. it smells like cheap beer, perfume, and someone’s cologne that tugs at something in your chest before you can stop it.

you should’ve turned around the second you walked in.

but then harry spots you from across the room, grinning like he’s genuinely surprised. he’s a little flushed from drinking and heat, hoodie sleeves pushed up, holding a nearly empty pint glass. “no way,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug. “you came!”

“hey,” you say, laughing lightly. “thought i’d crash for a bit.”

“i thought you were still living it up across the globe. didn’t know you were back in town.”

“just got in last week,” you say, scanning the room like it might settle the nerves crawling up your spine. “still getting used to the jet lag.”

“well, you’ve been missed,” he says sincerely. “beer’s in the kitchen. go grab one before chris drinks the rest.”

you nod, muttering a thanks before weaving through the crowd. it’s easier not to think when you’re moving, easier to pretend this is just another night out with old friends. you head for the fridge and grab a drink, your hand barely around the cold can when you hear someone shift behind you.

you turn—and freeze.

arthur.

he’s standing just a few feet away, red cup in hand, leaned casually against the counter like it doesn’t cost him anything to be here. his hair is longer than it used to be, curling slightly at the ends like it always does when he forgets to get it cut. and then there’s the sweater. the green knitted sweater. the one you bought him for your first anniversary.

your heart lurches in your chest. it’s a little stretched now, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the yarn softer from a hundred washes—but it’s unmistakably the same. seeing him in it feels like getting the wind knocked out of you. he kept it. he’s wearing it. tonight, of all nights.

he sees you. and for a second—just one brief, unbearable second—neither of you says a word.

“hey,” he says finally, voice low and stiff around the edges.

you blink, your breath catching. “hey.”

the awkwardness hangs there, thick as fog. you glance around, pretending to be more interested in the condensation on your drink than the way his eyes linger a little too long on your face.

“you look… good,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

you nod slowly. “so do you.”

there’s a pause.

too many people around to pretend this is private, but somehow, in the middle of the noise, it still feels like a spotlight’s been thrown right on the two of you. like everyone else faded into the background the second you locked eyes.

you hadn’t prepared for this. for him. for how just seeing arthur again makes your lungs forget how to work properly.

“how’ve you been?” he asks eventually.

you take a sip to delay answering. “alright. just getting settled again.”

“you’re back, then?”

“yeah,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “for good.”

he nods. you think you see something shift in his expression—surprise, maybe. or hope. but it’s gone before you can hold on to it.

chris appears like some sort of guardian angel, stepping beside you with a comforting grin. “there you are,” he says. then, seeing arthur: “hey, mate.”

arthur gives a small nod. “hey.”

chris senses the tension, obviously, but doesn’t comment on it. he’s always been good at reading the room. instead, he turns to you. “you alright?”

you nod, smile a little too tightly. “yeah. just… didn’t expect to see him here.”

chris follows your gaze back toward arthur, who’s now turned slightly, talking to someone else but not really looking at them. his fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his cup.

“ah,” chris says.

he gets it. they all do, really. you and arthur were a thing—the kind people saw and said, they’ll last. he was the calm to your chaos, the softness in your sarcasm. he used to say you made everything feel slower in the best way. like time paused when you were with him.

“looks good,” you murmur, bitterness tucked just behind your teeth.

chris nods, soft. “he’s been trying. been a bit quiet since you left. keeps busy with work and filming, but…” he trails off. “i think he’s still figuring it out.”

you look down at your drink, watching the bubbles pop at the surface.

“he said he understood when i left,” you say, voice low. “said he supported it. but the look on his face…”

“yeah,” chris says. “sometimes the right thing still breaks you.”

you blink fast, swallowing around the lump rising in your throat. “it wasn’t easy for me either.”

“i know,” chris says gently. “he knows too. deep down. but that pride, you know? gets in the way. especially with someone you loved like that.”

“loved.” past tense.

it tastes wrong.

chris is pulled into a game of beer pong shortly after, and you’re left standing on the edges of the party, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending not to notice arthur looking your way again.

except you always notice.

you feel him in your peripheral vision like a pull. and when your eyes meet for the third time that night, it’s like gravity. he looks away first. you take another sip.

an hour passes. maybe two. you don’t remember half the conversations you’ve had. don’t remember the names of the people you’ve smiled at, the things they said. you only remember that arthur’s still here. that he hasn’t left. that every time he laughs across the room, something aches deep in your chest.

it’s late when the crowd starts thinning. the music lowers. people leave in pairs or threes, jackets tugged on, rides called. you’re standing near the hallway, coat draped over your arm, ready to go—emotionally drained and emotionally full all at once—when you feel it.

that presence again.

you don’t hear him approach until he’s there. close. too close.

“hey,” he says.

you turn, heart in your throat. “hey.”

he looks older now. not in a bad way—just… different. his eyes are a little sadder, jaw a little tighter. but it’s the sweater again that breaks you.

you can’t stop staring at it. and he notices.

“i didn’t think you’d remember this,” he says, his voice barely audible over the soft music.

“of course i do,” you whisper. “i bought it.”

he exhales, like that meant more than he’s willing to admit. like it cracked something in him too.

“i didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.

“wasn’t planning on it,” you say. “kind of just… showed up.”

he nods. there’s something in the way he looks at you now, like he’s trying to piece together everything he can’t ask.

you hesitate, then decide to tell him. because maybe it matters. maybe he deserves to know.

“i quit my job.”

his eyebrows lift, surprise flickering across his face. but he doesn’t say anything. just waits.

“i’m moving back to london,” you say. “been here a week. staying with a friend while i look at flats.”

he blinks. “seriously?”

you nod.

the silence that follows is heavier than it should be. not tense—just full of all the things left unsaid.

“what happened?” he asks quietly.

you breathe in, slow. “it wasn’t what i thought it’d be. it was exciting. busy. fast-paced. everything i thought i wanted.”

he doesn’t say anything.

“but i was tired all the time,” you admit. “lonely. and i realized i didn’t love it enough to keep losing pieces of myself over it.”

your eyes find his. “so i came home.”

that word—home—hits him. you see it in the way his lips part slightly. in the way his grip on his cup tightens. like he’s trying to stay still when everything in him wants to move.

“i don’t really know what i’m doing next,” you say. “just… figuring it out as i go.”

your eyes drift over his face, drinking him in like a memory you’ve missed too much. his hair. his eyes. the familiarity of him that settles in your bones. god, you missed him. more than you ever let yourself say.

seeing your ex at a party hurts in a way you weren’t prepared for. not because you want to cry or scream. but because he’s still him. still the boy you loved. still the man you might still love. and pretending you could ever go back to being just friends feels like a cruel joke.

“does it feel weird being back?” arthur asks softly.

“everything feels weird,” you admit with a quiet laugh. “but this? talking to you like this? i don’t know. it kind of feels like i can breathe again.”

his eyes flicker—just for a moment. and you see it. the crack in his armor. the part of him that still feels everything you’re trying not to say.

“you really are here,” he murmurs, more to himself.

“i really am.” and you don’t say it, but it echoes in your head anyway: i think i came back for more than just the city.

arthur nods slowly, like he’s making a choice in real time. “do you wanna… go somewhere quieter? talk, maybe?” he asks. “just us?”

you look at him, heart thudding like it might burst out of your chest. not from nerves—but from hope. timid, fragile hope. “yeah,” you whisper. “i’d like that.”

he doesn’t smile big. he just nods again, like he’s afraid a bigger reaction might break whatever spell this moment is holding over you both. but his eyes—they say everything.

and for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like you’re standing in the ruins of something.

you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re standing at the beginning of whatever comes next.

[kaiser1ns]

The after-party was getting dull, and you were exhausted, longing for the comfort of home, the warmth of your bed, and the fluffiest blankets you owned. The soft mattress, the mountain of plushies—some gifted by Itoshi Sae, others by Michael Kaiser—called to you. Sae watched the scene from afar, swirling a champagne glass as he observed you and Kaiser sitting on the cold balcony stairs, sharing a piece of cake. The striker leaned closer, taking small bites as you offered, enjoying your company. The midfielder sighed and eventually joined, sitting beside you, which put you in the middle of them both.

A chilly breeze swept through, and you shivered slightly. Your dress, beautiful but strapless, wasn’t much protection against the cool air, though It was gorgeous, something you’d want to wear every day, but sadly, it was from a fashion house and would have to be returned. Suddenly, warmth settled around your shoulders. Kaiser had wrapped his jacket around you, flashing a soft smile before smirking at Sae. You didn’t notice Sae’s reaction, distracted by the night sky above. So many stars—a constellation not unlike the football stars in the team you worked for, Re Al. The best team in the world, a rare privilege you held, to be close to legendary players like Modric, Kroos, Ronaldo, and Zidane.

And now, the team’s rising stars—the Japanese and German prodigies, both members of the New Generation World XI, each easily affected by the other’s smallest provocation.

"Quick on the field, slow to treat a lady, aren’t you, Sae?” Kaiser teased, raising an eyebrow, and running a tattooed hand through his hair. The midfielder shot him a glare, moments from tossing his drink to wipe the smug grin off his teammate's face, but you interrupted, resting your head on Sae’s shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder… what life would have been like,” you murmured. The two paused their banter, curious. Snuggled in Kaiser’s jacket, you went on, “…if we’d never joined Re Al, or the world of football at all?”

Sae and Kaiser exchanged glances, taken aback. It wasn’t like you to ask questions like this, and you rarely drank that much. But when they looked back at you, your eyes were closed—not asleep, just calm, relaxing for once without making Sae jealous or flirting with Kaiser. For now, you stayed neutral. You knew you loved them both, but the question was—who?

A question for another time, you thought. Reopening your eyes to watch your breath form a small cloud in the cool night air. “Usually, both of you have something to say��� so?”

Sae answered first, setting his glass down and absently twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. “I probably would have had a normal life. A happy one. Maybe my personality wouldn’t have turned out quite like this.” You hummed softly, glancing over at Kaiser, who looked uncharacteristically sad, and … upset. Had your question touched a nerve?

“Do you want to share, Misha?” you asked. He quickly regained his composure, losing his blue tie as he too looked up at the sky

“Probably a criminal, or something,” he shrugged it off quickly, yet the pain lingered behind his eyes. After Kaiser’s answer, a soft silence settled over the three of you. You could sense that this wasn’t the time to dig further; if he wanted to share more, he would. Instead, you shifted, resting your head on Kaiser’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“There’s no salvation in the past,” he murmured, his voice low. “So don’t think about it. Focus on what’s happening now.” But his words drifted past you as sleep tugged at your eyelids. Kaiser noticed, chuckling softly at how peaceful you looked as you began to doze off.

Carefully, he nudged you up, steadying you on your feet. Sae, still sitting, glanced up at the way you seemed exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep right here on the spot as he too thought the same, that you were so cute.

“Might be the last time we have such a peaceful moment like this,” Kaiser said quietly. “Let’s bring her home.”

The two of them helped you down the stairs, keeping you steady. They’d make sure you got home safe and sound and hoped for no paparazzi photos first thing in the morning. Both of them here, looking out for you, felt like a gift from the universe itself—having them not only in your life but in your heart.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light (pt. 2) // H.S.

part 2 to Golden Light! please read that first if you haven't already!

synopsis: you and Harry go back to your apartment after your date, and learn a little more about each other in the process.

warnings: smut, kissing, fingering (f receiving), i think that's it?

wc: 3.6k

a/n: the (maybe) long-awaited sequel to Golden Light as so many of you requested! thank you all so much for all of the love on that work, i'm so happy you guys enjoyed it. let me know what you think of this and if you'd like to see a part 3! :)

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The crackle of the fireplace (and the wine you were drinking) was almost enough to soothe your nerves. Almost. 

You and Harry were sprawled on your living room floor, backs against the couch, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire as Harry described what he had gotten his family for Christmas this year. It was only the beginning of December, but he had everyone’s gifts already. He was so prepared, and the gifts he picked were so thoughtful. Each came with a backstory of exactly why he chose it, usually after the person mentioned something in passing once or twice. 

A vintage whale-shaped coffee mug for his sister, who’d talked about how much she enjoyed a documentary about them over brunch one day. A beautiful landscape by a local painter for his mother after she admired another of her works when they’d gone to the art museum. He’d even gotten a custom doll made for his goddaughter after she complained one day that none of the ones at the store looked like her.

You’d picked out a riesling from your small stash of wine when you two arrived at your flat, remembering that’s what Harry preferred. You’d quickly changed into soft shorts and a graphic t-shirt, needing out of your dress, before the two of you settled on the floor and fell back into comfortable chatter.

It was probably for the better that he was the one speaking at the moment, because you could feel your head get fuzzier with each sip from your glass. As much as you tried to stay focused, you couldn’t help but run your eyes up his frame. He’d draped his blazer over the back of one of your barstools as he’d come in, leaving him in just his slacks and half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked stunning.

Harry noticed the way you were looking at him but elected not to say anything as he continued his story. “I’m really hoping she’s going to like it. How about you? Anything special you’ve gotten for anyone?”

His question snapped you out of your mild stupor, and you racked your brain. “Not really – I’m not nearly as prepared as you are. I only need to get a couple of things, though. Just something for my mom and a few for my friends. Nothing major.”

“No siblings?” He asked.

“Nope. Well, I do have them, but they’re my step-siblings, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since I was like 14 or so. My dad kind of packed them up and ran for the hills with his new wife at that point.” Your statement was blunt, and you picked at the skin around your nails as you explained. It wasn’t anything you had a hard time discussing anymore, given it had been upwards of 10 years. 

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say. You probably should have said that differently, you thought, not wanting to overshare and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Harry. It was a long time ago, and probably for the better. My mom and I have only gotten closer since then, and I wouldn’t change it.” He nodded in understanding with a small smile but didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift to the artwork hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

A hush fell between the two of you, the noise of the fire and your creaky New York City radiator the only things audible. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just calm and peaceful. You stood to open the window – the heat was getting to be too much. It was nearing midnight at this point, so there wasn’t much commotion on your street, but the sound of cars driving by now and then was familiar and soothing.

You returned to your seat, slightly closer to Harry than you had been previously. He seemed deep in thought, arm draped lazily over the seat of the couch behind him. His eyes hadn’t left the window after they followed your movement there.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You questioned softly, turning to face him and pulling your knees to your chest, leaning to rest your shoulder against the cushions. You didn’t mean to pry, but you wanted to know what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Honestly,” he exhaled, brows furrowing slightly, “you.”

“Me?” Not the answer you’d expected.

“Yes, you,” he spoke with a hint of teasing, flashing a quick smile at you before glancing away. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself this much on a date. I really like you, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours like they were searching for your response.

His earnestness left you speechless for a moment. You stared back at him - his eyes were so green, so beautiful, like waves were crashing against white sand just behind his pupils.

“I like you too, Harry.” He relaxed slightly, shifting his position a hair. “This is definitely the best date I’ve been on in a long time.” You weren’t always great at expressing emotion, but it was only fair for him to know how you felt too.

He grinned, then, and pushed himself up to slide closer to you on the floor. His eyes were still locked on yours, both of you smiling at each other like giddy teenagers. His arm was almost around you now but remained on the couch as you lowered your legs, returning them to a cross-legged position. Harry reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before allowing his hand to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your jawbone slowly. He looked you up and down, again admiring how gorgeous you looked before flitting his eyes to your lips. 

He inhaled briskly, hand not halting its movements on your face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask, but I appreciate it.” As much as you liked Harry being a gentleman, right now, you honestly just wanted him to be anything but.

He nodded quickly before pulling you forward, pressing his lips to yours. It started with slow, gentle movements of your lips together, but quickly became much more desperate. His hands roamed your face before moving to your waist, gripping the skin above your hips just firmly enough to drive you crazy. Your hands were pressed to his chest over his thin silk shirt, and you could feel the muscles there flex as he moved his hands around your body. You weren’t normally one to care about muscles, but something about his drove you crazy.

Harry’s thumbs brushed your lower ribs as he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath for a moment. Your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers knotting through and gently gripping his short curls. A small groan left his throat, shooting straight to your core. His hands suddenly gripped your hips harshly, lifting you to pull you into his lap. He swallowed the small gasp you let out as he did so, flattening his hands on your back to pull you against him as you settled on his thighs. The kiss was sloppy, now, almost depraved, as he tried to pull you as close as physically possible. The way you were tugging his hair was driving him wild, you could tell, and it only encouraged you.

You pulled away from his mouth for just a second as your fingers moved to toy with the small buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Harry sighed, loosening his grip on you so you had the space to work. As you undid the last button, he pulled away from the couch and shrugged the shirt off, allowing it to fall onto the floor behind him.

He was breathtaking. At dinner, you could see the tattooed heads of what you assumed to be two small birds peeking out from under his shirt, but you weren’t expecting him to have so many more. Those swallows sat just underneath his collarbone, above a large butterfly on his stomach that almost appeared lifelike, the ink stretching and compressing as he breathed. His left arm was nearly covered in various small symbols and words, and you made a mental note to ask about them later. 

Your hands returned to his chest, this time without barriers. The skin there was soft to the touch but you could feel the firm muscle underneath. It was warm. Hot.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smirk at your wide-eyed gaze. After a few seconds of letting you stare, he pulled your lips back to his, unable to wait. It was just as desperate as before.

His large hands slowly slid down your back as your mouths moved together, finding the hem of your shirt before reaching underneath it to grab your hips. The feeling of his warm hands contrasted with the cold metal of the rings he wore, pulling a small gasp from you.

His firm grip on your hips was short-lived as his hands quickly began drifting upwards, thumbs slightly massaging your lower ribs. Fingers splayed on your back, Harry felt you pant into the kiss, unable to catch your breath.

He pulled away for a second, removing his hands from your skin. A small groan escaped you at the loss of warmth, which you hoped Harry didn’t notice. One hand moved to hold your face and the other bunched the hem of your shirt and tugged on it slightly. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. He needed to make sure you were okay with it, just like he would with whatever else ended up happening that night.

You nodded quickly, helping him lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor beside you. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you away slightly so he could see you.

Harry thought you were stunning. His eyes raked longingly over every inch of you - shoulders, arms, breasts, and stomach, taking it all in. His hands slid off your shoulders to press against your ribs again, thumbs brushing the skin just under your bra. He tore his eyes away from the fabric and skin, gazing at you slack-jawed with blown-out pupils.

“Y’so beautiful, Y/N,” he panted, words slurred slightly from the breathlessness, and your heart just about burst in your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like this, and it made you nervous, but the look in Harry’s eyes told you there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn’t look like he just wanted to fuck you – he looked like he wanted to worship you.

Instead of a response, you smashed your lips back to his. One of the hands gripping your ribs shifted to cup you over your bra, and you couldn’t help the moan that you let out. This only spurred Harry on as he followed suit, groaning into your mouth. The noise was divine – a low, throaty rumble that went straight to your core.

You needed more of his skin on you. Now. 

You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, shaking it off your shoulders until it dropped to the floor on top of your shirt. While you appreciated Harry asking for permission to continue with everything, you couldn’t wait until he worked up the nerve to ask you before feeling his bare hands on your chest.

He took your invitation to continue grasping at your breast, this time with no barrier. A louder moan left you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, electricity pulsing through your veins. Harry groaned into your mouth again, his other hand resting on your ass and bringing it forward until you sat directly on top of his length. It pressed deliciously against you, pulling another gasp from your throat. He was hard beneath you as you ground back on him, hips rocking in sync with the kiss.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, continuing to move against him. Your head fell back until you were panting up at the ceiling. Harry wasted no time in connecting his lips with your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, licks, and soft bites along it and down to your shoulder blades. The room was quiet apart from the symphony of both of your breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the odd car passing by.

He continued to kiss down your body to the soft tissue of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. The feeling was heaven as his tongue flicked the bud before moving to the other side, his thumb replacing it. His other hand was reaching down your stomach to the button of your shorts, toying with the seams of the fabric. He removed his mouth from you, and you had to hold back a whine of disappointment.

“Is it alright if we get these off of you?” he asked tenderly, staring into you again. You nodded hastily, helping him unbutton them and lifting your hips so he could pull the fabric down your legs and over your knees. You kicked them off, leaving you in just your underwear as he looked you up and down again.

With the layer of fabric gone, your center met his again. You could feel the warmth radiating from his shaft as you pressed onto him, the two of you both groaning in pleasure. The rigid zipper of his pants rubbed firmly against your clit addictively.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over you as you realized the situation you’d put yourself in. Here you were, on a blind date with a near stranger, and you were already sitting on top of him in just your underwear while he was still in his pants. It wasn’t like you to give in to a man this quickly, but Harry’s face and smile and body and charm had gotten into your head and pushed away your ability to reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be doing this - it was quite the opposite, you were having a lovely time. You just didn’t want Harry to think you were easy, or that this was your plan.

You didn’t realize your movements against Harry had stilled until he was holding your face again, forcing you to look at him. He knew you were in your head about something, and he needed to find out what before taking things any further.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong? Do y’need to stop?” His voice was thick with concern as he searched your eyes for discomfort. You shook your head hurriedly, not wanting him to think you weren’t enjoying yourself.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you sighed, face flushing in embarrassment. “I’m just– I’m not usually the type to fuck on the first date. I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you.”

“Well, ‘f it helps, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you tonight.” Before you could react negatively (as you were about to) he quickly continued, “I just want to make you feel good tonight. You said you’ve been stressed out all week about work, and I just want to make that go away for you for a while. S’that okay, baby?”

Of course, he knew the perfect thing to say. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at how considerate he was, and the pet name at the end was the cherry on top. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Harry.”

He chuckled before lifting your hips off of his and setting you on the floor next to him, making sure you were close to the fireplace so you didn’t get cold. His hands prompted you to turn your body so you were parallel to the couch. One hand took root in your hair while the other caressed the bare skin on your hip as he kissed you again, slower this time. Harry used your hair as leverage to slowly pull you down until you were on your back on the floor, him slotted between your open legs.

“I want to take care of you, sweetheart, is that okay?” As if you would say no.

Your whiny ‘yes’ was rewarded with his hands caressing your inner thighs slowly, teasingly. You assumed you were noticeably soaked, the baby pink cotton of your underwear unforgiving when it came to hiding your arousal. He massaged the soft skin, moving upwards until his thumb brushed over the fabric’s seam nestled in the crease of your thigh. Your hips moved of their own accord, lifting in search of any friction they could find. Harry tsked quietly, securing a hand on your hip and pushing it back down on the floor.

He rolled onto his side from between your legs, supporting himself on an elbow with his hand cradling your head and wrapping an ankle around your leg to keep them open. His other hand traced a soft line over the wet patch between your legs, fingers brushing your clit with a feather-light touch. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry, please,” you whined, trying to regulate your breathing. 

He chuckled teasingly. “What d’you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I need –” you cut yourself off, unsure of why you were embarrassed to say it when you knew he already knew what you wanted. “I need you to touch me, please.”

That was all he needed before he slipped his fingers underneath your underwear and swiped them through your wet folds. The contact was heavenly, forcing a choked moan from your throat as he drew circles around your clit in a precise rhythm. He was obviously experienced, building that warm feeling in your stomach faster than even you could yourself.

“Need these off,” he ordered, tugging your underwear down your legs and helping you kick them off before he hooked an ankle around your knee and spread your legs again. His hand returned to your core, this time with his thumb pressing on your clit and his middle finger teasing your entrance. Your soft groan encouraged him to slide it into you, pulling a myriad of lush sounds from your mouth as he pumped in and out. When he curled his fingers into you and brushed against the spongy patch that felt so good, you thought you were a goner. That was until he slipped his ring finger in alongside his middle and picked up his motions on your clit once more. It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the edge, the feeling building in your insides until you felt like a rubber band about to snap.

“Harry, I’m gonna –” a prolonged moan interrupted your statement.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke softly in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your cheekbone. “Let it go for me.”

That was all you needed. The rubber band inside you snapped, and your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. You clenched tightly around Harry’s fingers, hips writhing, as he worked you through your release. He whispered praises in your ear but you could barely hear them as the room seemed to disappear, leaving just you and the feeling of Harry’s touch. You had to grip his wrist to remove his hand from you after a few seconds, the continued motion turning overstimulating quickly. 

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you rolled onto your side to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and pull him closer to you. Your nakedness was catching up to you as not even the warmth from the fireplace was enough.

Harry quickly realized how cold you were and turned to grab the throw blanket off of the couch, draping it over both of you. That was something you were quickly learning about Harry – he was very attentive, and he seemed to be able to anticipate your needs before you even realized them yourself.

After a few moments of quiet, the sounds of your breathing mixing with the other ambient noises, you spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for you? I feel bad leaving you, you know, high and dry.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss against your hair. “I promise m’okay, Y/N. What you can do for me, though, is let me clean you up and get you in bed. Our backs are going to kill us tomorrow if we stay on this floor any longer.”

----------

After Harry helped you clean up and change into a fresh pair of pajamas, he slipped out of his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. You’d both crawled into your bed, and you rested your head against his bare chest as his arm stroked small circles on your shoulder. It took everything in you not to fall asleep, but you didn’t want this night with him to end quite yet.

“Harry?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere in the room with your words.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

“Y’ don’t have to thank me – I had just as good of a time. You’re really special, Y/N. I’d love to do this again, if you’d let me?”

“Which part?” you laughed, “the dinner part or the after-dinner part?”

“Well, honestly, preferably both.” You were both laughing now, his stomach muscles tensing under your hand. 

“I think I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, knowing deep down you’d probably beg on your hands and knees for him to let you see him again.

“Thank you, baby. Now get some sleep.” He pressed another kiss to your hair and pulled you tighter to his chest, his other hand ensuring the blankets were tucked snugly around your shoulders before he allowed his body to sink back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a certain brown-haired boy that you knew wouldn’t be leaving your mind anytime soon.

[figtreesandmoonlight]

“I’m Glad You Called”

Bucky X Reader One Shot. 

TW: sexual harrassment, swearing, drink spiking

Synopsis: Things quickly go south during a blind date that Wanda had set you up on. After listening to Jake talk about himself for three hours, you leave the bar together, and it becomes clear that Jake has certain expectations for where the evening will go next. The world becomes blurry around you as you make it clear you won’t be sleeping with Jake, but when the ground shifts beneath your feet and Jake gets aggressive, you make a phonecall. Cue one angry super soldier coming to the rescue, confessions of feelings, and lots of fluff. 

You checked your appearance in the mirror one last time, appraising your appearance and shifting the tight black dress that clung to your body ever so slightly. It wasn’t that you were excited for your blind date, per se. During a girls night with one too many glasses of wine consumed you’d finally confessed to Wanda and Natasha that you were ready to give dating another shot after a catastrophic end to your former relationship (he’d cheated on you, and after finding out, you never heard from him again. You couldn’t say for sure, but it was pretty clear your friends had had something to do with it.) The next thing you knew, Wanda had sent a message into your groupchat telling you to ‘put on that sexy black dress and be ready at 8’ for a blind date with someone she knew. So, not so much excited, as a mix of nerves, trepedation and skepticism. But you’d said you wanted to get back out there, and that meant going on a date eventually. You tousled your hair, checked your lipstick one final time, before grabbing your leather jacket, slinging it over your shoulders as you grabbed and walking through the door to your bedroom in the compound. 

You walked along the corridors, heading to the kitchen for a drink to settle your nerves as you had half an hour before the mystery man was supposed to be meeting you, and you’d do anything to alleviate the nagging feeling in your gut telling you this was a bad idea. You walked in, trailing your hands across the marble counter and pausing in front of the fridge, taking a breath as cool air burst out at you, stilling some of the thoughts in your mind. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be going on a date. It was that whoever the guy picking you up was, it wasn’t the man you wanted it to be. But you shook your head, allowing the cold feel of the bottle of wine on your palm to draw you out of your head and back to reality. There was no point in thinking about that now. With a few glugs, you’d poured yourself a glass of wine, standing at the island counter of the compound's kitchen, lights dimmed, soft music playing as you continued to hype yourself up for the evening ahead. Or at least you tried to, until a voice pulled you out of your thoughts:

‘Wow Doll’, a low voice rumbled out. The wine glass that was making its way to your lips paused mid air as you turned to look at the source of the sound, already knowing exactly who would be there. As you suspected, there was James Buchanan Barnes, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, smug smile on his lips and head cocked to the side, staring straight at you. You felt like his steel blue eyes were burning a hole right into you, and ducked your head to hide the slight blush that rose to your cheeks. Running your free hand through your hair as you regained some composure, you smiled at your friend, some of the nerves settling in your stomach just from being in the same space as him. ‘Hey Buck,’ you replied, turning to face him and holding your hands out to your sides slightly to give him a better view, ‘what’d you think?’ He didn’t need to know that his response could very well decide for you if you were still going out or not. 

Bucky’s eyes slowly trailed down and back up your form, taking you in with a small smile, as he replied ’I think the guy you’re going out with doesn’t know how lucky he is’. You let out a small laugh at his words, picking up your wine glass to be able to have something between you, to distract you from him, to offer you something to hide behind. ‘Ever the charmer Barnes’, you reply. ‘You know me Doll’ he laughed back, walking past you in the direction of one of the stools on the other side of the counter to you, ‘a true 40’s gentleman could never walk past a dame looking as beautiful as you and not tell you’. And there it was, that slight defferal that always came with Bucky’s compliments. It was always the case with Bucky that compliments wouldn’t come from him, more the charming 40’s ladies man act that he liked to put on. He was one of your closest friends, and it wasn’t like he didn’t compliment you, didn’t look out for you. Hell, when your sleep was disturbed with graphic reminders of your past in the form of some less-than-pleasant nightmares, Bucky was always the first one at your door. You’d given him access after your first nightmare, and it wasn’t uncommon now that you’d be woken up from the horrors of your mind with surprisingly soft touches, concerned blue eyes and gentle reminders that ‘you’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here, they’re not going to take you again, I’ve got you’. He’d slip into bed next to you, hold you until you drifted back into sleep, or if it was one of those nights you knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, he’d walk with you to the TV room, and you’d watch reruns of Doctor Who until sunrise. But when he said anything that could be read as even remotely romantic, it was said through that ladies-man facade. So, Bucky was one of the people you were closest to in the compound, and that was exactly why you couldn’t tell him that your feelings for him had developed into romantic ones. 

Instead, you bantered back and forth a bit, Bucky sat opposite you, joking about spraypainting redwing pink to annoy Sam, and how he just ‘didn’t get’ the idea of a blind date, saying ‘back in my day, you just told someone you liked them and went out for a dance’. His comment felt like a million pins stabbing into your heart all at once, reminding you once again that the man in front of you, who had slowly helped heal and won over your broken heart, only saw you as a friend.  Still, Bucky had called you ‘beautiful’. That was enough of a boost that when FRIDAY announced that your date was here, you left the remainder of your wine in the glass on the counter, grabbed your purse, and called over your shoulder to Bucky that he needed to ‘remember to eat something’ as you left. What you didn’t see was how his eyes followed you all the way down the corridor until you were out of sight. You didn’t know that inside, he was kicking himself once again for not telling you how he felt about you. And most of all, you didn’t know how it tore him up inside to see you going out on a date with someone else. No, instead, you walked to the front door of the compound, to be met by your blind date.

The date itself had started off badly and only gotten worse as the night went on. You’d got into his car, which was piled high with rubbish from various fast food joints and discarded pieces of clothing. You could have sworn that you’d spotted another girl’s dress buried underneath another jumper. Still, you didn’t know what he had going on in his life, and a messy car was far from a deal breaker. No, that would come later. He pulled up to a run-down, beat-up bar, outside of which two older men, clearly drunk and still sipping on their beer bottles, were hanging around. The second you stepped out of Jake’s car, one wolf whistled at you, as the other called out, ‘Hey gorgeous, why don’t you ditch the kid and let us show you a good time?’. You’d expected Jake to say something. Not necessarily to jump into a fight to defend your honour, but a simple fuck of, a shake of his head, or a reassuring hand on your back as he led you inside. But no, instead, he simply barked out a laugh with the two men, and grimly claimed, ‘this one’s all mine’. 

You should have left then. You know you should have. But Wanda and Natasha had set you up with the guy, so surely he couldn’t be that bad? And you’d never hear the end of it if they found out you hadn’t even made it inside the bar on your first date. So, you gritted your teeth, forcing your lips into a pursed smile, and walked into the bar. It’d only got worse from there. In the hour and a half you sat opposite him, all Jake had showed you was that he was only capable of talking about himself. About his job. About how much money he made. About his ex-girlfriend. About how excellent he was in bed. You’d sat there, becoming more and more bored, and then more and more uncomfortable as the night went on, questioning if you could get away with going to the ‘bathroom’ and sneaking out a back door. Sadly, the bar he’d brought you to didn’t exactly look like it would have a back door you wanted to go through. You’d wondered if you could play sick, or text Wanda and Nat SOS to come and save you, but decided that, while he was clearly an egotistical dickhead, he wasn’t ‘dangerous’. It was just a bad date, and, mercifully, it’d be over soon. He’d picked up the check, and after two hours of hearing all about Jake, you were grateful to be heading back to his car to be dropped off home, and never to see him again. After your second glass of wine, you’d started to feel a little off, too, so getting back into bed and forgetting the whole night couldn’t come quickly enough. 

You and Jake walked back through the door of the bar when his arm snaked itself uncomfortably tightly around your waist, hand pressing into your left hip with enough pressure that you thought it would leave a bruise. You tried to laugh it off, placing your hand over his and very clearly trying to lift his grasp on you. His arm didn’t move. If anything, it got tighter as he yanked you into his side, before twisting his body in front of you and pinning you against the brick wall at the side of the restaurant. Your head spun as it collided with the bricks now behind it, making you feel far dizzier than it should have, as you realised something was seriously wrong. His arms met the wall on either side of you, pinning you in, unable to escape, his breath stinking of rum as he said, ‘Come on now, baby. Don’t try and fight. You know you want me.’ Your legs felt weak beneath you, and the world continued to spin as you tried to force the words ‘get off of me’ out of your mouth, but it was so dry, and your tongue felt like lead. All that came out was a jumble of sounds. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your brain was screaming at you that you’d been spiked, but everything was too loud, spinning too much, and Jake’s body was pressed too tightly against you as his hands trailed up your sides for you to even acknowledge it. 

Jake’s hands made their way up your body, resting on your breasts and kneading them with too much force as he began forcing kisses onto your neck, your shoulders, your lips. Tears were streaming down your face and you kept pleading out ‘no, no, no’, as Jake continued his assult on your body. It was when his hands trailed down between your thighs that something in you snapped. You didn’t even register your body moving as your knee connected with his groin as he cried out. What you did register, though, was the burning heat across your face that sent you spilling to the ground as his fist connected with your cheek, splitting the skin and leaving a nasty cut behind. Somewhere your brain registered Jake, spitting down at you and calling you a ’fucking slut’, as he aimed a brutal kick into your stomach, knocking all of the air out of your lungs and making you see stars while you wheezed out ‘help’ to anyone that might hear you. More kicks followed, as your mind went blank, but the next thing you registered was the sound of footsteps walking away from you and a figure receding in the distance. 

Your mind was bleeding in and out of consciousness as the pain from Jake’s assault left your body reeling. It took all the focus your drugged brain could cling onto to reach your grazed arm out to where your bag had fallen during the assault and pull it close to you. Your hands, feeling heavy and uncoordinated, dug helplessly into the bag before connecting with the metal of your phone. Pulling it out as you heaved in breaths muddled with tears, blood and shame, you opened your contacts, fingers shaking as you pressed on the name of the one person you needed right now. Your head was still spinning, feeling conceringly warm and wet against the cold, damp concrete below it, and your vision kept blurring as you tried to focus your eyes on the screen, pain rippling through your chest with each breath. You didn’t hear the sound of the phone ringing, but the second you heard Bucky’s voice, something in you broke. 

“Doll?” His voice came, light but tinged with what could have been concern or confusion as he answered, “Aren’t you meant to be out with your mystery man?”  A noise ripped its way out of your throat somewhere between a cry of pain and a plea for help, sounding animal, and wounded and helpless. Bucky’s voice immediately softened on the other side of the line, urgency lacing his tone. “Doll, are you okay? Can you hear me?’. Had you been more with it, you would have heard the fear cutting into Bucky’s voice, the sound of him running around grabbing a jacket and his keys. As it was, it took all of the effort you had left in your weakening body to whisper out a broken ‘Buck, he-help.’

‘Ok, ok Doll, I’m comin’. I’m tracking your phone, but you gotta stay awake for me sweetheart, come on now, stay with me!’ 

But you were in too much pain. Various moans of pain were mixing with the words you were trying to say to Bucky. Your head, which once had been spinning, was now pounding as you vaguely felt blood trickling into your hair from where you’d been forced against the brick wall, and each breath shot daggers into your lungs. Bucky’s desperate pleas continued to pour out of your phone, but at this point, it’d fallen out of your hand, and you’re too weak to pick it up again. As the darkness from the sky above began to bleed into the edges of your vision and unconsciousness tried to claim you, a sense of calm began to wash over you, knowing that Bucky was coming to save you. 

‘Oh god, doll, what did he do to you’

Gentle hands were on you, lifting your head up off of the cold ground and cradling it in a lap. You struggled against the touch, remembering enough of what had happened for fear to strike through you, thinking Jake had come back to finish what he started. You tried to get your eyes to open, you limbs to move, but the gentle hands that held your head moved to your arms as a voice, desperate and low spoke above you: ‘you’re okay, you’re okay Doll, it’s me, it’s Bucky, I’ve got you’. He didn’t need to say who it was, you would’ve recognised the warmth in his raspy voice anywhere. But he sounded sad, and you never wanted Bucky to be sad. So you forced your eyes to open, blinking up at him as you tried to get them to focus. You’d never seen such an intense combination of sadness, worry and rage painting his face as it came into focus. ‘Hey, hey sweetheart, there’re those pretty eyes’, Bucky murmured above you, some relief washing his features at seeing you awake. ‘Do you think you can sit up?’ He asked, brushing some blood-tainted hair out of your face. You nod slowly back at Bucky, not trusting yourself to speak yet. ‘Ok doll, ok that’s good. I’m gonna put one of my hands on your back and help you sit up okay? On three. One, two, three.’ 

Your world turned white as hot pain shot through your ribs, and your head spun violently. You let out a string of curses and an excruciating cry of pain, doubling over yourself and placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gripping hard, trying to ground yourself against the pain attacking you. ‘OK, you’re okay, just breathe, breathe through it with me’. Bucky started exaggerating his breathing through his shoulders, the same as he would do when you’d had a nightmare to help you match your breathing pace to his. When the wave of pain finally passed, you settled on your knees and looked up to the steel blue eyes looking down on you with so much worry. Before you even realise it, a train of words come out of your lips, ‘Bucky, he, Jake, he - something in my drink… he tried to, to - I fought back I swear I did, I tried, and then he, he’

‘Woah woah Doll, it’s okay, you don’t gotta explain everything right now’, Bucky said, pulling off his jacket, noticing you shiver, although whether it was from the rain, the drug that was working its way through your system, or the pain, he didn’t know. In his mind, he was raging. His heart had all but broken in two when he heard you cry out for him over the phone, and now his mind was railing against the asshole who hurt you. Bucky would end him. But that wasn’t his focus right now. Now, Bucky was channelling all of his focus on helping you. After quickly understanding some of the trauma of the night, Bucky checked ‘Doll, can I touch you?’ Before he moved again. You nod back, your heart racing in your chest, desperate for someone to just hold you and tell you it was all going to be okay. Quickly, Bucky’s jacket was slung across your shoulders, enveloping you in his warmth, smelling of burnt wood and vanilla, and Bucky had moved himself to be crouched in front of you. 

“I’m gonna pick you up, okay, Doll? Gonna get you back to the car and home to the compound, okay?” All you can do is nod, as tears slip down your face. Bucky’s thumb is there to collect the tears that fell, whispering to you ‘it’s okay, Doll, it’s not your fault, none of this is. You did so good calling me, so good.’ He pulls you into his arms as if you weigh nothing, but you can’t help but grimace at the movement, your head still dizzy and your ribs burning. ���I know, I’m sorry, Doll. We just gotta get you back to the car, then I can take care of you.’ You whisper back, ‘K’ Buck’, feeling the safest you had been for weeks, held in his arms, your head resting on his chest as he moved gently across the car park. You didn’t catch the way Bucky’s pain twisted in anger as he looked down at the small puddle of red rainwater left behind where you had been lying. He had thought his heart was going to stop when he saw you lying there. It took him a second to be able to move, before sprinting to your side, trying to assess the damage and calling in every favour with every god on the earth for you to just be okay. He needed you to be okay. Then he could end whoever had done this to you.

Now, he nestled you in the passenger seat of his car, placing you down like you were made of porcelain, as he pulled off his hoodie, bundling up his jacket to use as a pillow, as he pulled the warmer, more comforting material of his hoodie as gently as he could over you. Something about the safety of being with Bucky turned off the adrenaline that had been running through your system, and as he moved round to the driver's side of the car, you shifted your head to look at him. Your voice, quiet and broken whispered out to him ‘I’m sorry Bucky’. Bucky simply shook his head, placing a hand gently on your cheek and saying back, ‘you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for Doll. Try to get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when we’re back at the compound’. And once again, you let unconsciousness claim you. 

‘Hey Doll, can you open those pretty eyes for me?’ A soft touch on your shoulder brought you back to reality, feeling more coherent now as you opened your eyes, than before. Whatever that asshole had put into your drink was starting to wear off. That didn’t help the constant pain hammering at the base of your skull as you opened your eyes, this time having to use less effort to bring the world into focus. 

‘Buck?’ 

‘Yeh sweetheart, I’m here. We’re back at the compound. Gonna get you indoors so we can have a proper look at you’. You hummed in agreement, lifting your head as Bucky reached to collect his jacket. You shuffled to the edge of the seat and, with no warning, pushed yourself to your feet. Or at least you tried to. Almost immediately, your knees buckled as you let out a sharp hiss of pain, hand immediately going to cover your ribs as you folded in on yourself. But you never felt your body hit the floor. Instead, gentle arms hooked under your knees and across your back as once more you’re scooped into Bucky’s arms. 

“Yeh Doll, don’t think with that nasty head injury I’m gonna be letting you walk anywhere anytime soon.’ Bucky huffed out, smiling softly down at you, looking at you like you were his whole world. 

‘I -‘

‘Don’t even try doll, we both know you’re too stubborn for your own good. Just let someone else take care of you for once.’ You look down at your hands, softly nodding your head. ‘We gotta get you cleaned up doll, are you okay if I bring you into my room? My kit’s in the bathroom’  You could only nod again, your brain struggling to keep up with what was happening, Bucky’s softness and questioning voice such a sharp contrast to the man who earlier that evening had tried to take whatever he wanted without consent. 

‘Okay doll, I’m just gonna sit you down on the bed here.’ You’d been into Bucky’s room plenty of times before, whether that be to watch a film, to comfort him after a nightmare or just to chat, but a sense of shyness crept over you as he placed you down on the bed. Without a word, Bucky started gathering his medical supplies from around the room and knelt down in front of you, worry still clouding his features as he looked up at you. ‘This isn’t gonna feel the nicest doll, but I’ll try and be gentle.’ Slowly, Bucky started to clean up the worst of your injuries. You’d had plenty before, of course, but there was such a difference between an injury you got in battle and ones you’d got when you were supposed to be out on a romantic evening. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from letting out whispers of apologies each time you grimaced as the disinfectant stung against your cuts. He gently made his way behind you, hands lingering on your shoulders, letting you know exactly where he was and what he was doing the whole time, making sure you felt safe as he was checking the back of your head. ‘Ok Doll, you’re gonna have a concussion, but I don’t think you’re gonna need stitches. Is there anywhere else I need to look at?’ You whispered out ‘my ribs’, and as you pulled down the top of your dress, you heard a sharp inhale from Bucky.

 ‘I’m going to kill him’. You looked down, something between shame and embarrassment clouding your features. Bucky’s fingers quickly found your tilted chin, forcing you to look at him. ‘This is not your fault doll. I am so sorry. We should have been there. I should have been there. But this is not on you. None of this is on you.’ Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours with intense pain, searching for permission before he touched you again, letting you feel completely in control of the situation. You nodded your head slightly, as a cool vibranium hand came to hold your back up while his flesh one pressed gently against your ribs, already a mix of purples and blues and dark bruising encased your side. 

‘I think you’ve got some fractured ribs,’ Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. ‘I’m gonna get you some of my sweats to change into so we can wrap your ribs. Is that okay?’  Once again, all you could do was nod. The next ten minutes pass in relative silence as Bucky helps you into one of his Henleys and a pair of his joggers, before wrapping your ribs with as much care as he possibly could. Once he was happy that your physical injuries had been addressed, he sat himself down on the ground next to the bed, looking up at you. Not pushing, but there, as a presence, as a reassurance. Promising you he was there. Promising you were safe now. That’s when you drew in a shaky deep breath, lowering yourself with Bucky’s help to sit next to him on the floor, resting your head on his shoulder, seeking any kind of physical comfort you could get. You told him what had happened.

‘I um, god I didn’t even want to go on this date in the first place. It became clear he was a prick pretty quickly. There were these guys outside the bar who made some comments on our way in, and he just laughed with them. Said I was ‘his’ like he owned me or something’. The shoulder your head was resting against tensed briefly, before relaxing again, and you heard Bucky take in a deep, shaky breath, barely containing his rage. ‘I went to the bathroom and when I came back, he’d bought me a new drink. I didn’t question it. I was a fucking idiot. He must have slipped something in it. I hadn’t even clocked it until we left the bar. He was on me in seconds. I couldn’t -‘ You broke off, looking up at Bucky with red eyes, who only smiled at you through the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, ‘take your time doll, there’s no rush.’ 

You took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I couldn’t get him off of me. He slammed my head against the wall and started pushing himself against me. Kept kissing me, groping me and not letting go.’ You could hear the mechanics of his metal arms whirring softly as he clenched his fist tight enough to leave a dent behind. Behind his eyes, a storm was raging, but you’d started now, and you needed to get it all out. ‘It was when his hand reached down between my legs that something in me snapped. I, uh, I kneed him in the balls to try and get him away, but uh. I guess he didn’t like that. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, my cheek split, being kicked in the chest. I don’t know how long it went on for I, um, I passed out, I guess. All I knew was that I needed help, that I needed you. I, I’m sorry I called you, but I knew you’d come for me, Bucky. I knew you’d save me.’ Tears were streaming down your face now, freely and with no remorse. Slowly, you felt the figure you were leaning on shift so that Bucky was kneeling in front of you. ‘I will always come for you, Doll. Always. The end of the world wouldn’t keep me away’. Slowly, he leant forwards, placing the gentlest kiss imaginable to your forehead. 

As he leant back, he let out a deep breath. ‘Now might not be the best time, I know Doll. But you gotta know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I like you, sweetheart. Like, a lot. So much I think my chest is gonna burst when you walk into the room. You don’t gotta say anything, you don’t gotta like me back, I’m not asking you for that. But I promise you now, I will always be here for you. I will turn this world upside down for you. God, I am so, so glad you called me. I will always come for you Doll. Always.’ 

You couldn’t help the tear that slipped down your cheek. But you paid it no mind. Instead, you leaned into Bucky, softly pressing your lips to his. Bucky didn’t move for a second, didn’t kiss you back, didn’t pull away, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But slowly, he started to kiss you back, a kiss full of love and promise and softens. Slowly, you sat back against the bed, looking up to Bucky, before whispering out ‘Buck, I have liked you since the first day I met you. I didn’t think you felt the same way, it’s the whole reason I stayed away.’

‘God's doll, I’ve been an idiot. But I’m gonna make it up to you I promise. If you’ll let me?’ The tear tracks on your face that had been caused earlier that evening by so much sadness were suddenly replaced with tears of happiness, as you nodded back at Bucky. ‘I’d like that, a lot.’ Bucky simply leant in to kiss you again, gently, another promise of love and comfort as his hands cradled your face, thumbs wiping away your tears, before pulling away to pick you up and gently place you in his bed, careful the whole time of your ribs and head. You felt the bed dip next to you. Bucky shifted towards you, gently resting his arm over your waist as if in a question of ‘is this okay’. It was when your hand rested over the top of his, pulling his closer to you that he was enveloping you in warmth and love as he held you. ‘No more blind dates, doll. Once you’re all healed up, I’m taking you on a proper date, one you deserve, and I’m gonna show you how you mean the world to me’ Bucky whispered into your hair, placing a kiss over the butterfly stitches on your cheek as you drifted off to sleep next to Bucky. You’d shared a bed so many times before, after nightmares, or the other simply falling asleep. But this time, your heart was full and warm, and you drifted off to sleep safe, protected and next to the man you loved. 

Authors Note: Hi Friends, welcome to my first oneshot on Tumblr! It's been over three years since I've last written any fan fiction, but after reading a bunch of @marvelstoriesepic 's work, I've been inspired to get writing again, so welcome to the chaos 🤍

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 1: moving in ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 3.4k SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his. <vs> You're proud of being self-sufficient: moving alone to New York, supporting yourself with a stable job, balancing a social life with your friends... until Wade brings Logan into your life. Someone who, unbeknownst to you, will crack the very foundations of your identity, for better or for worse. WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, SLIGHT ANGST, cursing/swearing, breaking the fourth wall, eye contact lmfao, this author cannot stop using italics, domestic situations?, there will be no shoes indoors AUTHOR'S NOTE: thank you for all the love for this series so far! i appreciate every single reblog/reply/what have you <3 hoping my motivation will be enough to see this through lmao

The first time you saw Logan smile, your heartbeat stuttered a little. 

It must’ve been one of Wade’s movie nights, the first few you attended. You hadn’t known Logan long at this point in time, much less Laura. While trying to get a glass of water, you found them standing by the kitchen counter, drinks in their hands, Laura talking about something that was undoubtedly pleasing to him. 

Because then you saw it.

Not the terse pull of his lip that he does when confronted with a funny moment in the movie that’s playing—was it Shaun of the Dead or The World’s End? A genuine smile, quietly offered to the younger woman standing to his side. An expression you’d never seen before on him, so much rarer than a comet in the sky that you found your inhale seizing midway.

You felt like you interrupted something private. You turned around quietly and decided you weren’t that thirsty.

Just like that, he was no longer “Wade’s friend”. He became the metaphorical pea that you can’t help but feel, no matter how many layers of thought-mattresses you try to sleep on. 

And as if he wasn’t captivating enough from the get-go, he had to be sweet, too. The fact that he doesn’t just show that face to anyone ignited a tiny spark of something in you.

Something akin to greed.

What exactly does it take to see more of that smile?

Now you are, for most cases, pretty self-aware. Nobody lives past their mid-twenties without physically sensing their prefrontal cortex finally settle down, instead of squirming around so much.

You knew that that moment you saw him smile, there was a neurological reaction. Maybe it was your hormones—god knows it’s always the hormones—or your soft spot for older men who are trying their best.

Regardless, there was a reaction. You’ve experienced this before, but despite its familiarity, it never fails to make you nervous every time it makes itself known.

A goddamn crush is what it is.

Since you saw that smile, you’re certain you started seriously crushing on Logan. Funny how that happened right after witnessing a man like him show a sliver of emotional honesty.

At surface level, the symptoms surely match. A mix of excitement and nerves when Wade mentions his name among the dinner attendees. Hoping you don’t smell when the object of your infatuation decides to sit next to you on the couch. The sense of curiosity, even for the most trivial things: the kind that wonders if he liked that brand of popcorn you brought the last movie night. 

So when Wade offers Logan as tribute to become your new roommate, you figure the jig is up.

Because someone always notices a crush, no matter how hard you try to cover it up.

Now Wade, he’s a manchild, but he’s an observant one. That means he’s probably already picked up on it, and he’s definitely not above using that knowledge against you.

You hum as you look over at Logan for his reaction. Stay calm, you tell yourself. Nobody needs to know your internal organs are screaming on a roller coaster ride right now.

At least the older man didn’t respond with an outright ‘ew, no’ and you count that as a small win. He appears to actually be giving Wade’s suggestion a serious thought, silently chewing on his donut. The sight pulls Wade’s mottled lips into a cheeky grin.

You don’t miss that look. It’s the same look as the one he had after he told you, months ago, that he swapped Al’s coke with baking soda.

It means he’s up to something. The son of a bitch isn’t even trying to hide it.

Logan’s eyes suddenly snap to yours, and you nearly jump in your skin. His eyebrows are raised slightly as if saying ‘are you seriously okay with this?’

A split second decision.

Do you or do you not agree to potentially sharing a living space with this man? He’d be a good roommate if he weren’t already squatting in your head—you just couldn’t charge him rent for occupying so much of your mind. 

Perhaps the more important question to ask at this juncture is: can you? You’ve let your crushes wither and die because it’s always been so easy to keep your distance. Their classes were on the other side of campus. They took a different train home. They often occupied an entirely different world than you do, one that you always decided you’d never belong in, anyway.

Which is why maybe it’s ego that tells you you can.

It’s just living with your crush, how hard could it be? There’s going to be plenty of distance. He has a job. Well, so do you. With his irregular work schedule and your regularly overtimed one, you probably won’t see much of each other anyway. Hell, maybe the two of you would fight over something so menial that it would stomp this fluttery feeling dead, and you can continue halving the rent with a friend. Problem solved.

But you can’t deny the fragment of something warm in your chest, quieter than the empty echoes within your raised walls. It tugs at you, almost imperceptibly.

Hope.

Not the kind that’s gentle and wispy and wears a soft smile—the crazy stupid kind that’s lost all its teeth but gets up to fight again. The kind that still dares you to dream despite being bruised and battered. 

It tells you to admit you’re curious enough to see where this takes you.

So you reply to Logan's look with a nonchalant one of your own, paired with a slight head tilt.

‘Only if you are.’

Your gaze shifts to Wade, seeing that he’s registered that bit of eye contact between you and Logan. There’s a glimmer in the merc’s eyes that says ‘I know your fucking secreeet’ in his sing-songy voice that you can just hear, but that could also just be you projecting your internal fears, now that you’ve sealed the deal.

You shoot a withering glare back at Wade.

Then it’s total quiet.

The prolonged silence almost makes you want to diffuse it with a defeated sigh and tell them you’ll ask around instead, maybe even put up an ad online, but Logan’s voice cuts it before you can even uncross your arms. 

“Can Laura come over?”

Your heart jumps. He’s already thinking that far ahead? 

“Of course,” you reply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You love her. 

That was the only thing he asks you before he purses his lips, and—

“So we gonna split the rent in half, or?”

—and then that. You expect a more disgruntled confirmation, but he’s being… almost professional about it. Cutting to the chase, getting things aligned, talking numbers. You’re thankful for the way he’s approaching the proposition, as it activates your own work switch. Easy to hide your feelings behind a conversation about bills and co-living arrangements.

“Man, this fic better be good,” Wade mutters under his breath as you and Logan discuss hygiene standards. 

“Huh?”

What Wade suggested is both a blessing and curse. To Logan, living like you sounds like the best of Heaven and the worst of Hell.

Heaven because then he’ll finally know what lotion you use to smell so damn good all the time. Hell because he’d rather cut his own head off than perceive that you’ve brought a man back home to spend the night with.

But despite the situation, the logical part of his brain is still intact… somehow. Whether or not it’s a good idea, it’s still an opportunity worth considering. Thoughts of moving out have percolated in his mind before: he’s slightly worried he’s ruining Wade’s chances with Vanessa, and it’s not fun having to vacate the premises whenever they have a date night planned. Those two are loud in bed.

Much like Wade’s self-proclaimed brilliant idea, his heightened senses also always toed the line between blessing and curse.

Being able to see, hear, and smell things much better than average humans has saved his ass many a time in life-threatening situations, but sometimes it gets overwhelming.

Which is why he’s trained himself to tune in and out. Keeps him calm. Informed.

This makes him feel like a pervert, because it doesn’t matter if he’s supposed to watch a movie or listen to Dopinder’s story about whatever fuck. When you’re around, he can’t stop tuning in to you. It takes everything in him to not just glance at you every five seconds, like a fucking puppy. Always honing into you in a crowded room: your laugh, a little bit of what you’re talking about before he scolds himself for eavesdropping, your heartbeat…

Your heartbeat is usually a steady thing. Average bpm for someone your age.

Now, though, it’s a little faster. Became faster when Wade offered him up as your new roommate out of the blue.  

It’s not like he’s knowingly monitoring your heart rate, he just… heard it.

The same way he always hears your voice clearly over the din chatter of the party while you’re on the other side of the room. The same way he knew you’re seconds from knocking on Wade’s door when you came over, because he can smell your perfume and the box of sweet treats you have with you.

Like a hypnotized cartoon character levitating towards a fragrant pie on a windowsill. That’s how he fucking feels when you’re around.

So now he can’t help but wonder what’s got your heart beating faster. Can’t help but think, speculate, wish, that it’s because there’s a chance you’ll have him as your roommate.

You’ve always been slightly guarded around him, though not at all unfriendly—so perhaps that signals a deeper, more complicated sentiment? Something similar to the twist in his chest he so often experiences? The feeling an old fucking relic like himself shouldn’t have?

The conversation has moved on to habits, making sure there are no red flags. Smoking? He hasn’t done it in a while but he’ll use the fire escape. Dishes? You agree that there shouldn’t be any dirty ones in the sink before bed. No shoes in the house? He’ll take ‘em off, no big deal.

He doesn’t even realize how easily he’s agreeing to these things. If it means moving in with you? Sure.

Guests?

“Please tell me you’re going to host,” Wade coaxes.

“Only if you bring Mary Puppins along,” you reply. “And you need to make sure Althea doesn’t bring her drugs here.” Logan scoffs softly in amusement.

And just like that, as if you weren’t talking about a possibly life-altering decision, the conversation shifts into something playful. Wade is running his mouth off about being such a great co-living Cupid. Logan doesn’t register half the words.

He hears you laugh dryly before chewing on your donut. Vanilla glaze, your preferred, as far as his observations go. Logan observes a thoughtful silence on your end, before you finally speak.

“I’ve never had a guy roommate before,” you say, looking out the window wistfully like you just realized this but a second ago.

That was it, then. The reason why your heart rate spiked. Had to be it. 

Wade chuckles. “Well, honeybee, get ready to argue over the toilet seat being up all the time—”

Logan tunes Wade out completely and finishes his donut, one with chocolate frosting, trying to override the hint of a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Of course. You’re only nervous about sharing a living space with a guy.

He is a guy, a sample out of a bigger group. You could be moving in with fucking Peter and you’d probably be just as nervous. 

He didn’t know what came over him, how he let himself think for one second that it could’ve been attraction.

You, a grown woman who’s got herself together, who keeps getting treats for your friends because you think of them while passing by random shops on the street, who smells so good, who coos at Mary Puppins despite a scratchy lick to the face… you, attracted to him?

He feels ashamed of himself.

Before the voices get louder—she’s probably scared of living with a drunk brute like you; too polite to say no to Wade, much less you, disgusting son of a—he abruptly declares that he needs the bathroom. 

He ignores the way your eyes stare at his back as he disappears down the hallway.

After that day, Logan discovers that his self-loathing still doesn’t stand a chance against the sheer longing for excuses to be near you. 

Logan looks around your now bare apartment, your belongings in cardboard boxes scattered around the living room. One glance at a box next to him shows that they’re labelled and sealed. Kitchenware. Shoes. The one marked Books even has a little paper pasted on it, listing down its contents. 

He looks around the space. He’s never been here before. Sure, he’s returned your Tupperwares on behalf of Wade (an excuse) and helped carry your groceries that one time he bumped into you in the elevator (another excuse), but he hasn’t been inside. Back then, you seemingly insisted on toeing the line between treating him as Wade’s friend or as yours, and he didn’t want to scare you off by pushing boundaries.

Now it’s barely an apartment. With all your belongings in boxes, he can’t exactly figure out the type of place you like to live in. Things you use as decoration. How many Tupperwares you own. How you live.

Only a couch that faces an empty wall. The dining table and kitchen counters, bereft of books or fruit bowls that he thinks you might have. No clues as to how you pass your days and nights. Just a place that is ready to be abandoned.

He swallows. Amidst the little grief of not knowing much about your life here, there’s a warm sensation in his chest at the fact that he’ll have the chance to discover it through living with you. 

You emerge from what he thinks is the bedroom, carrying a box and placing it with the others.

“Logan! You’re early. U-haul won’t be here till two.” 

He nods politely at you. You’re pretty in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Packed up in half an hour, thought you might need a hand.”

“I’m just about done here,” you announce, tapping your phone. With that last box accounted for, the checklist on your Notes app is all crossed out.

His eyebrows scrunch, and his lip pulls in a teasing smirk. “That a list?”

“Yeah,” you reply, though there’s an unspoken ‘what’s wrong with that?’

“Did you assign a deadline for each box, too?” he adds. Shit, that’s the most amount of playfulness he’s ever injected in a sentence since he arrived in this timeline.

You put a hand on your hip, staring back at him with a jokingly flat look. “It’s a packing list, Logan. Everyone has it when moving out.”

He smiles then, deciding that’s enough teasing. He quietly approaches you, remnants of mirth in his eyes before grabbing one of the boxes next to you.

“The movers can handle that,” you tell him.

“’s fine,” he replies, easily hauling a big box and gently placing it near the front door for easy access.

You can’t help but stare at the simple show of strength. You know he’s a mutant—you’ve just never seen him do anything that betrays his powers before.

Eyes dart to the bulge of his biceps. An almost instinctive reaction. They’re huge under his white tee, the fabric hugging his figure for dear life. His usual flannels look great on him, but this is something else. How can a person’s arms be that big?

You snap out of it when he returns to grab a second box.

“Logan, you don’t have to,” you chide. He simply pretends not to hear you. You huff, unable to stop him, and shove your phone into your pocket before starting to move the boxes yourself, though not nearly as effortlessly as he does. 

He shoots you a scolding look, but lets you be stubborn. It’s cute, that slight pout of yours.

The two of you end up in a silent competition of ‘who can bring the most boxes near the front door’, completely disregarding the fact that the movers are going to load them onto their truck anyway.

Obviously Logan wins. Without breaking a sweat, too, a direct contrast to your slightly pink cheeks, a thin layer of sweat forming on your neck. That’s his prize. He watches as you wipe a bead of sweat with the back of your hand. And the “thank you” you murmur also doesn’t hurt.

Twenty minutes later, U-Haul arrives, surprised at how neatly the boxes are stacked at the front door. 

The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur of cardboard boxes and furniture being moved into your new unit. 

Logan’s eyes sweep over the bare place for the first time. He trusted in your assessment that much.

It’s a two-bedder, just right for two adults. The door opens to a short entryway, before the space broadens to reveal an open area that is the living room, a couch already placed in the center of it with a flat-screen television on the wall it’s facing. On the furthest end, near the windows, sits a small round dining table and two chairs. Looking to the right is a kitchen and a hallway with three doors—one on each side and one at the end. The two bedrooms and a bathroom, he assumes.

Picking a bedroom takes up a total of two minutes.

“Which one do you want?” he asks.

You look at him like you were expecting him to pick first.

“Um. I was thinking you should get the one near the fire escape,” you reply. “So you can smoke?”  

Of course, how considerate of you. “You okay with the other one?” he says. 

“Mm-hmm. It’s perfect, actually.”

After that’s settled, he carries your work desk into your chosen bedroom before you could even think of doing it yourself, proud to elicit the surprised look on your face when you find that it’s already been moved. 

The two of you decide that some clean-up is needed in order for you to unpack some essentials. Dividing and conquering, you volunteer yourself to give the kitchen and bedrooms a good wipedown, leaving Logan with the rest of the communal area and the bathroom.

From there, it’s go time. You and Logan work in silence. The bedrooms are easily taken care of, what with the lack of personal items cluttering the space. Clearing both yours and his in about half an hour, you emerge from the hallway to hear the whirring of a vacuum cleaner. From the sounds you heard while cleaning up, it didn’t take long for Logan to finish spraying down the bathroom, either, because now he’s in the living room.

One hand on the vacuum, the other on his hip, walking across the room with his gaze locked on the floor. 

You feel a tug in your chest as the sight stops you in your tracks. It’s your first time seeing him do something so… homely. 

The realization dawns, slow and steady into your bloodstream: you and Logan are going to be living together.

The sun sets, bathing the living room in pink hues. He instantly understands why you like this place so much. It’s only a few blocks away from Wade’s, but the sunlight changes so much of the scenery, it feels like he’s peering out the window at a different city. 

A little surreal, how changing just the last digit of a zip code can feel like a different world. He should know—he moved from a whole other timeline.

He spies a little cafe across the street. Trees lining up the roads on this block, more than Wade’s. Someone’s walking their dog. Maybe there’s a park further down. 

He’s so deep in thought that he hears footsteps outside only moments before the doorbell rings, breaking his reverie. 

You rush to the door before he can even turn off the vacuum. Sneaky—looks like you ordered pizza behind his back.

“Finish up soon?” you ask, setting the boxes on the nearby dining table. It takes him three minutes to pace the room one more time and put the vacuum aside.

He joins you after washing his hands. You’ve helped yourself to a slice, chewing quietly as he sits across you. 

When he looks at the array of boxes, he sees his favorite toppings. And yours. 

“My treat.” You smile sweetly at him. “Thanks for helping me move, roomie.”

A stutter in his heartbeat.

Yep. He’s in trouble.

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested

next chapter

[socialobligation]

december, again | d. kaminari

you wrote "december, again" about heartbreak. you didn't expect to meet someone who'd sing every word back like he'd lived it too.

the green room was quiet—dim and humming with low light, the scent of hot tea and stage dust clinging to the corners. you sat cross-legged on the worn velvet couch, cradling a chipped mug between your palms, listening to the soft static of the soundcheck being patched through the in-ear monitors coiled beside you.

your guitar sat in its stand nearby, already tuned, the strap worn from years of shows and nerves. you had done this so many times before—but tonight felt different.

tokyo was the biggest venue on the tour so far. a full room. a sold-out show. an unfamiliar city and a familiar ache in your chest. you'd played coffee shops, tiny festival tents, even the occasional college auditorium—but this was your first international stage, and the butterflies were relentless.

you glanced at your phone, already on do not disturb, but still lit up with a few unread messages. one was from your tour manager. one from your sister. and one, tucked between them, was a twitter notification.

@lightningmcme

im the guy in the front row screaming every word. respectfully

you smiled without meaning to. your thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary, rereading the tweet. it was stupidly charming—just like all his other tweets.

you remembered him. the blonde with the ridiculous username. he'd been tweeting about your music for years. always saying something half-sincere and half-stupid, like your lyrics had personally destroyed him in the grocery store or that he'd cry if you ever released a deluxe version.

and he always meant it. every word.

you weren't supposed to follow fans back—not often, anyway. but his account had popped up more times than you could count. sweet. supportive. never creepy. just... soft.

so when you followed him and sent a quick thank you, you hadn't expected the all-caps panic or the flustered spiral of gratitude. you definitely hadn't expected to still be messaging him days later. he was funny. kind. endearingly honest. it was easy.

and now he was here. somewhere in that crowd. front row, he'd said. you hadn't looked yet. didn't dare. not until the lights hit you.

you pressed your hand to your chest, just for a second, trying to calm the stupid flutter that rose there.

"two minutes," someone called from the hallway.

you stood slowly, adjusting your mic pack, and reached for your guitar. as you walked toward the wings, the sounds of the crowd drifted in—laughter, chatter, low excitement building into something tangible. the air buzzed.

the lights backstage flickered as the crew called final cues. you did one last breath check, settled your fingers on the strings, and exhaled.

showtime.

the stage lights washed over you in a warm gold as you stepped out, your guitar slung across your shoulder. a hush fell over the audience, the kind that always made your heart beat a little harder.

"hi," you said into the mic, breath catching on the tail end of a smile. "i'm... really honored to be here tonight. i've been writing songs in my bedroom since i was sixteen, and somehow you all made it feel like something real."

soft cheers rippled through the audience. somewhere near the front, someone whooped.

you scanned the barricade briefly, and there he was—blond hair tousled, jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, absolutely beaming. he looked like he hadn't blinked since you walked onstage. mouth already forming the lyrics before you even began.

denki.

you felt a grin pull at your lips.

"this first song..." you said, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. "it's called 'december, again'. it's about holding onto something long after it's let go of you.

the opening chord rang clear. you let yourself fall into it.

i bought your favorite drink out of habit left it in the fridge 'til it went bad wore your sweater out in public just to see if anyone would ask

you sang like you were remembering every ache in real time. the lights were low and soft, like candlelight, and you could hear the audience singing with you.

your name still fits wrong in my mouth but it's the only thing i don't spit out

the lights dimmed slightly, drawing the audience closer. you caught sight of denki mouthing the words, his hands clasped against the barricade like he didn't trust himself not to float away.

it's december, again and i swore i'd be fine but the lights look like your headlights and the cold feels like that night when you left without saying goodbye and i still stand by the door like i'm waiting for you to come back in it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened

the audience went silent as you strummed your guitar. it was a silence that proved they were listening. really listening.

friends ask how i'm doing i lie like it's my second language there's still boxes in my closet of the pieces i can't manage

a girl in the third row wiped her eyes. you caught her movement out of the corner of your eye and softened your voice.

i sleep better with the TV on but you still show up when the volume's gone

it's december again and i swore i'd be fine but the lights look like your headlights and the cold feels like that night when you left without saying goodbye and i still stand by the door like i'm waiting for you to come back in it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened do you think of me at all? when it starts to snow when someone plays our song too slow i burned all the letters but not the words i still remember what i never heard

you opened your eyes again and let them rest on him. denki. he hadn't moved. his expression was soft, reverent, like he'd never seen anything more important than you at that moment.

it's december, again and the silence is loud you're still gone but i'm not proud of the way i keep breaking like it's some kind of vow and i still stand by the door like i don't know how this ends it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened

the last chord faded into a hush.

a beat of silence.

then the applause began—gentle, reverent. a swell of warmth.

you scanned the crowd.

denki was still at the barricade.

still glowing.

not in a flashy, spotlight kind of way—but in the way someone looks when they've found something they didn't know they needed.

you played the rest of your set like you were singing just for him.

⋆˙⟡

when you stepped offstage, your hands were still buzzing. you passed your guitar to one of the techs, accepted a bottle of water with shaking fingers, and headed straight for the security staff near the wing.

"hey," you said. "can i ask a favor?"

one of them looked up. "depends. how weird is it?" you smiled. "sweet blond boy. front row. looks like he sings along to everything even when he's about to cry. think you can bring him back here?"

the guy laughed. "yeah, i know exactly who you mean."

⋆˙⟡

denki didn't know how to move.

people were leaving. voices echoing. but he just stood there, staring at the empty stage like it still had something to give him.

he was pretty sure he hadn't blinked since you looked at him. actually looked at him. he had replayed it ten times in his head already. the exact second your gaze found his and you smiled.

his knees were weak.

and then a security guard was walking toward him.

"hey," the guy said. "you're the blond one, right? artist wants to see you backstage."

denki had exactly three brain cells functioning, and all of them screamed.

he followed the guard without speaking. his legs felt fake. his mouth was dry. this had to be a dream. it had to be.

backstage smelled like lights and sweat and something warm—something safe.

he tried not to trip over a cable as the door opened.

⋆˙⟡

you were curled up in a hoodie over your stage outfit, sat in a chair, when the door opened.

there he was.

golden and breathless and so clearly overwhelmed you almost stood up just to steady him.

"hi," you said, heart hammering. "denki, right?"

he nodded fast. too fast. "hi—yeah. yes. oh my god."

you laughed. "it's okay. you made it."

he blinked. "did i black out?"

"maybe a little."

you motioned for him to sit. he did. slowly. like it might be a trap.

"i just wanted to thank you," you said. "like i said, i've seen your tweets. your support. it's... it's meant more than you know."

denki looked like he might combust.

"i'm the one who's grateful," he said. "you wrote the soundtrack to my favorite breakdowns."

you grinned. "best compliment i've ever received."

there was a pause. something soft.

he glanced around, cheeks flushed. "this is... insane. you're, like, the reason i made it through last winter. that song? 'december, again'? i think i listened to it every day for two months. not even because i was heartbroken, i just—i don't know. it made me feel like i wasn't broken for feeling too much."

you blinked. slowly. carefully.

then denki tilted his head and said, "can i ask you something kind of personal?"

"sure," you said. "shoot."

"what got you into music?"

you smiled, soft and a little faraway. "i guess... i always felt a little too much. too loud in my head. writing was the only way i could let it out without exploding. and then one day, i put it to chords, and it stuck. it felt right. like i was finally telling the truth."

denki was quiet for a moment, like he didn't want to break the silence. then he said, "well, i'm really glad you did."

you looked at him, his wide eyes and messy hair and nervous energy. and then, without really thinking about it, you asked, "are you doing anything right now?"

he blinked. "me?"

you laughed. "yeah, you."

denki shook his head. "no, i... i mean, i was probably just gonna cry in a ramen shop alone about this whole night, so—"

"perfect," you cut in. "come cry in a ramen shop with me instead."

he stared. "wait. you're serious?"

"dead serious," you said. "you comin'?"

he nodded vigorously. "yes, of course."

you stood, grabbing your jacket. "cool. i know a good noodle spot. let's go, sweet blond boy from barricade."

and denki followed you out into the cold tokyo night, warm from something that had nothing to do with the stage lights.

and everything to do with you.

[peterm4rker]

(𐙚⋆.˚) nine years shy

⋆ 𐙚 ⭑.ᐟ [johnny x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 3k w. age gap, swearing, very slightly suggestive! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

spending time in bars was never your preferred activity.

sure, it was fun to have some drinks with your friends in a place where you could meet new people. but still, there were a million things you could have been doing instead.

thats what you thought before your eyes settled on the handsome man by the bar, anyways. 

there was a big group, maybe around ten people that sat close to where the drinks were flowing from incessantly. still, even when surrounded by many other attractive men, your eyes could only focus on him. he was tall, his hair brown and his body looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. 

“quit staring, you’re drooling,” one of your friends spoke with a small laugh, taking your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“sorry, what were you saying?” you mumbled, trying your hardest to focus once again and ignore the gorgeous man. to no avail, of course. your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, watching as he spoke and made everyone laugh; how one of the girls that accompanied his group was very clearly trying to seduce him, and how he rejected her so politely and naturally that you almost didn’t feel bad about it.

at some point of the night, two of his friends had approached your table and somehow managed to whisk away two of the girls you were with, and yet he still stayed exactly where he was in the first place. ultimately, he was the only one left on his table, and your chance was presented.

his eyes were piercing as he watched your every move when you approached, one of his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly in curiosity.

“hi, i’m yn,” you greeted, standing by his table and not daring to sit down just yet. “can i buy you a drink?”

he studied you for a couple seconds before speaking up for the first time. “i just got one, but we can pretend you did. i’m johnny, by the way,” he introduced, reaching out to pull a chair out for you.

you let out a small chuckle, sitting down and nodding at his words. “perfect then, nice to meet you.” 

he seemed to be amused by your attitude, judging by how the sides of his lips quirked up the more he looked at you. “nice to meet you too,” he said before taking a slow sip of his drink. “can i ask to what i owe the pleasure to?”

you could feel the nerves begin to form in the pit of your stomach, starting to doubt at what point of the night you thought it was a good idea to approach someone like him. 

“well, i wanted to ask you if you would like to go out sometime… assuming you’re not taken?” you said, putting aside the fear and masking your shaky voice with taking a sip of your own drink.

“i’m not taken,” johnny shook his head, the amusement still twinkling in his eyes as he noticed your nervousness. “may i ask how old you are, though?” the question took you by surprise. it was a little odd, but nothing bad.

“i’m twenty three, why?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

a scoff escaped his lips, once again taking you by surprise. 

he watched as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion rather adorably, and he almost felt bad for the words that left his mouth next. “i’m nine years older than you.”

he expected you to grimace, to give him some type of sign of discomfort at the newfound information. “okay, and?”

a small laugh of disbelief escaped him as he studied your face and looked for his next words. “nothing,” he settled for something simple. “mind telling me what a very attractive twenty year old is doing here with me instead of with the other attractive twenty year olds that were very clearly hitting on her?” his words seemed to start clicking in your head, a small smile making its way to your perfectly glossed lips as you shrugged. “twenty three year-old,” you corrected, “and to be honest, i already know them and i figured you’re far more interesting.”

“yeah? how come?” he asked, his deep voice making the simple question sound millions of times hotter than it should have.

“well, i’ve been watching you for a little while,” you admitted, crossing one of your legs over the other, “you didn’t talk much but everyone laughed when you did, you haven’t really drunk that much and you’ve rejected every girl that has tried to approach you.”

he let out an impressed whistle, leaning back on his chair and taking the opportunity to give you a once over. your clothes hugged your curves beautifully, and you carried yourself with incredible confidence for someone your age.

“you sure are observant, i’ll give you that,” he muttered, amused, “you must be really confident if you thought you could be different.”

he expected you to falter, but you chose to surprise him for a second time that night.

“that, and i’ve also been talking myself up to this and getting courage for the last two hours.”

your sincerity caught him off guard, it was honestly refreshing after a night of dealing with fake smiles and high pitched voices.

“how much courage did you need, exactly?” he asked, his eyes travelling to your glass for an instant. “i’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you assured, setting the glass aside for his sake, “but it’s nice of you to check.” he smiled again, nodding softly. “how confident are you feeling?”

you thought about it for a couple seconds. “pretty confident.”

he raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk still present on his lips. “and why is that?”

“well, i’ve made you smile quite a few times, you’ve called me attractive and you were clearly paying enough attention to me to know that i was getting hit on before i walked over.” you listed, smile still confident as your gaze didn’t falter once.

johnny had to admit he was impressed by how observant you were, but there was still something that didn't sit right with him. “i was a legal adult when you were nine,” he noted.

“and now we are both legal adults, it's funny how time works,” you joked, looking at his reaction before you stood up from your seat. “but i can see that it bothers you, so i’ll get going.”

he thought about asking you to stay, he really did, but his words betrayed him. “thanks for the drink.” you chuckled as he lifted the drink you hadn’t bought him towards you, mirroring him with your own. “you’re very welcome.”

with that, you walked back to your own table. your mood didn’t falter, the sour taste of his rejection fading with one swing of your bitter drink and your friends loud laughs. johnny watched you from his own seat, admiring the way you laughed and continued your night like nothing had happened. after a couple minutes of admiring the back of your head, he decided he was going to leave. his body had another idea, though, and it always seemed to win.

so really, he wasn’t half surprised at himself when he realised he was tapping on your shoulder. you turned back to him with a stunned expression. “hi?”

“hi,” he greeted shortly, giving you a smile that could’ve easily knocked all the wind out of your lungs if you hadn’t been staring at him for the past couple hours, “mind if i ask you some questions?”

the request was odd, but the way his eyes twinkled was completely overshadowing. “sure, shoot.”

“what's your favorite drink?”

“i don't know… margarita?” you asked, a little confused about the whole ordeal.

“okay… what do you do?” his arms now rested on the back of the booth you were sitting at.

“i study fashion and i’m currently working at ralph lauren.”

“oh shit, very rachel green of you.” he smiled, genuinely impressed by your accomplishment.

“i actually get that a lot,” you chuckled, now invested in his questions.

“do you have siblings?” he asked, back to whatever game he was playing.

“yeah, two, both older,”

“what’s your relationship with your dad like?”

and well, that kind of explained where he was trying to get to.

“great, actually.” 

“yeah? what does he look like?”

“the complete opposite to you.”

“perfect, can i buy you a drink?”

“of course,” you smiled, completely satisfied at how the conversation had gone.

“i’ll be right back with your margarita,” johnny assured, winking at you before moving to go to the bar, leaving you to turn back to your friends and let out a small, completely silent squeal at what had happened.

you didn’t have much time to continue your celebration before he slipped into the booth, handing you your drink and very slickly placing his arm over your shoulders on the booth. “hi ladies, i’m johnny,” he introduced himself to your friends with a polite smile.

both of the girls greeted him back, not missing a beat after checking their phones a second later. “oh, would you look at that? it’s time to go.” chaewon smiled, showing you the screen. 

“is it really?” you asked, masking a glare at her direction at how obvious she was being. 

“yep, i’m so tired,” she faked a yawn and you resisted the urge to hit her.

meanwhile, johnny was clearly not stupid and very, very amused at the entire situation. “do you guys have a safe way to get home?”

“yeah, the boys are here to pick us up,” she nodded, giving him a small smile before waving one last time. “okay bye, enjoy your night!”

just like that, you were abandoned by your friends in a bar with the most handsome man you had ever seen.

“i assume ‘the boys’ are the rest of your friends?” he asked, his attention now fully focused on you.

“yeah, the boyfriends,” you nodded with a small smile.

“either of them yours?” he raised an eyebrow, amused.

“nope, i’m free as a bird,” you smiled.

“good.”

...୨♡୧...

johnny’s lips felt entirely too good as they danced with your own.

they were on you the moment that you got to the door of his house, immediately pulling your focus to him as he pressed you onto the door while juggling with his keys to open it. it had been long overdue, and so much better than you thought it would be to have him pressed up against you. his hands travelled to the underside of your thighs to pick you up, closing the door with his foot and walking with you until he set you on the kitchen counter. his body settled between your legs, his hands pressed against the cold surface as he almost devoured your mouth in the most delicious way.

the moment continued when his hands travelled under your shirt to rub gently at the skin of your waist, pulling you even closer as you arched towards him. his lips began moving down your jaw all the way to your neck, leaving gentle nibbles on the skin.

your breath was labored once he moved away, his eyes hooded as he watched the faint marks beginning to form. “so pretty,” he mumbled, stealing another kiss from your lips.

you felt like you were positively going to explode when his hand slowly made its way under the fabric of your skirt, dangerously close to where you needed him the most. 

as the night progressed, you realized that feeling was constant when being with him.

...୨♡୧...

“so… i’m guessing i should call an uber now?” you spoke up softly after some minutes of comfortable silence. your head laid on johnny’s shoulder, his fingers running up and down your arm gently.

“no, i’ll drive you if you want to leave,” he said, his voice sounding almost offended that you thought he’d make you take an uber at such an unholy hour. “but you don’t have to.”

his words almost made you gasp in disbelief. a man that actually didn’t mind you staying after having sex with you? that was new.

“i’ll stay if that’s okay,” you answered, your voice small as if you were scared to say that.

“alright then,” he sat up a little, giving you time to move away before he stood up. you watched him as he moved, going to the adjacent door for a few seconds before coming back with a damp towel. he sat back down next to you and tapped your thigh gently to tell you to open your legs. you did as he asked you, utterly bewildered by the way he cleaned you up. “how about a drink? i’m an incredible bartender.”

oh, he had already ruined every other guy for the rest of your life.

“yeah, that sounds good,” you nodded, still a little in disbelief. he nodded and went back to what you assumed was the bathroom, returning seconds later and pulling out some clothes from the closet. he slipped into a pair of gray shorts and handed you a white cotton shirt which you put on wordlessly.

he watched you attentively when you stood up, your legs a little wobbly still when you walked towards him. 

“already sore?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“shut up and make me a drink, come on,” you rolled your eyes and fake annoyance as you made your way back into the kitchen.

you heard his laugh behind you as you settled onto a stool, watching him do his magic while he prepared a cocktail with alcohol that looked far too expensive to be used in a drink for a hookup.

“so, ralph lauren then?” he asked as he handed you the glass, looking at you with interested eyes.

“yeah,” you nodded, feeling oddly happy at the fact that he remembered. “what do you do?”

“i work in music, production mostly,” he smiled, leaning forward over the counter. “nothing too interesting.”

you chuckled at his humbleness, shaking your head. “that’s really interesting, actually.”

“meh, if you say so,” he shrugged, an amused  expression on his face. “it gives me enough free time to do other stuff, so that’s fun.”

you took the moment to really look at him, eyes running down the skin of his arms. you had already proven he was quite strong, and it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“i’m guessing you go to the gym a lot?” you raised an eyebrow, looking up at his eyes again.

“yeah, how did you know?” the man asked, tilting his head in mocked curiosity.

“well, apart from the past experience,” you began, following his little game. “you look like you could lift me up like in dirty dancing.”

it was a joke, of course.

except apparently it wasn’t.

“man, do i have a surprise for you.” he set his glass down, watching amused how your jaw almost fell to the floor.

“you’re kidding,” you said in complete disbelief.

“try me,” he dared, already having surrounded the kitchen island until he was standing in front of you.

“oh, i definitely will,” you set your glass down and stood up, eliciting a small laugh from him.

he moved a couple meters away, making sure you had enough time to get some impulse before he showed you his stunt.

“ready?” you asked, the anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach being overshadowed by the excitement.

“ready, go,” he nodded, putting his arms out for you. you couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips as you ran towards a perfect stranger you had just had sex with, trusting him with literally hauling you up in the air.

his hands wrapped around your waist before moving you into the air, having you hovering above his head as he looked up at you. you did your best to keep your body firm when he moved in slow, deliberate circles for a couple seconds before pulling you back down and safely on the floor.

“holy shit, you can actually do it,” you breathed out.

“told you,” he smiled, his arms still wrapped around your body. you looked up at his handsome face for a couple seconds before standing on your tiptoes and joining your lips together again, which he welcomed more than gladly.

“is that some type of move you do to get laid?” you asked as you sat on johnny’s lap on the couch, his hands rubbing the skin of your hips under his shirt.

he shook his head with a small chuckle, “surprisingly enough, no girls ever ask if i can lift them up like in dirty dancing,” he said, mocking your earlier words.

“so you’re telling me you had never done that before?” you asked, growing apart from his torso to look at him properly.

“no, but now i know i can,” he smirked, amused by your fake offense.

“i could’ve fallen,” you complained, hitting his chest playfully.

“but you didn’t,” he answered, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist and bringing you closer. “besides, it worked.”

“what worked?” you asked, trying your hardest to bite back the smile on your lips.

“i have a pretty girl sat on my lap right now,” he gestured at your position. “that’s a successful move if you ask me.”

you rolled your eyes with an amused scoff. “you’re terrible.”

“sure i am,” he nodded, looking down at your lips before capturing them again.

...୨♡୧...

“i can see your eyes closing,” johnny interrupted himself mid sentence, smiling at your sleepy figure.

“no you can’t, i’m listening,” you shook your head, adamant to ignore how much your body was screaming for sleep. you didn’t want the night to be over, even when you could see the sun beginning to rise behind the curtains of his room.

“sure, what was i saying?” he questioned you, feeling an unfamiliar tug in his chest as he watched you trying to stay awake rather adorably.

“something about jackson's party, you found a dog there?” you tried, clearly making stuff up from the small fragments you hadn’t missed.

“hmh, sure,” he laughed ever so softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him until your head laid on his chest. “you can sleep, i’ll tell you the story in the morning.”

his words made your heart swell with hope.

in the morning.

“ugh, okay,” you groaned, cuddling further into his chest. “but just because you insisted.”

johnny couldn’t make himself stop smiling as his hand went to your hair, scratching it ever so softly.

“yeah, it’s not like you’re-” he nodded, stopping as he realized you were already completely asleep.

maybe a couple years didn’t have to be an issue when it came to you.

𐙚 blue's corner ;; hi there ! soooo, this was originally written as mark tuan fic but since i dont post got7 i adapted it to be for johnny bc i LOVE that man thank you 𐙚 taglist ;; @neozon3nha @winwintea @spacejip @dudekiss3r @yizhrt @lyvhie @mae3xoxo @taroddori @hollxe1 + let me know if you want to join the permanent tl ! 𐙚 back to the masterlist. 𐙚 please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

© peterm4rker, 2025

[pankesitopank]

Hiiii, i have a request for nct 127

i was wondering if you could do a smut of poly nct 127 (all members or specific members) x reader and like reader has felt insecure either cause they were close to another female or she just felt insecure from the way she looks and they like comfort her w sex or whatever

thank youuu!!

Only Theirs~

pairing: Poly!Johnny × Jaehyun × fem!reader

word count: 2k~ | genre: smut mdni!!

cw: Jealousy, emotional insecurity, comfort sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, praise kink, spit, deepthroating (kinda... like chill), double penetration, overstimulation, lots of kissing!!, soft aftercare, poly dynamics, reader crying (from emotions/pleasure)

note: omgggg my first request thank you sooo so much!! I was just able to finish it now because I'm coming from a week full of exams!!! But here it is, I hope it's what you expected looovveee. im terrible with titles m so sorry and let me know if there are any mistakes or anything because I didn't check it properly! I'm tired, hehe

The party was too loud.

That was your first thought as the bass rattled through the walls of the penthouse. Too many people, too many flashing lights, and too much of everything—but you were doing your best to stay close to your boys. Johnny’s hand had been resting on your waist when you arrived, Jaehyun’s fingers brushing your own now and then to silently check in. It should’ve been enough to settle the nerves curling low in your stomach.

It was enough—until she showed up.

“Oh my god, Johnny? Jaehyun?! You never told me you were gonna be here!”

She was beautiful. That effortless kind of beautiful, the type that didn’t need to try. She was tall, gorgeous, dressed in a slinky black dress that hugged her like it was tailored for her alone. Her hair gleamed under the chandelier lights, her smile dazzling and familiar—too familiar—and the way she touched Johnny’s arm as she leaned in to whisper something in his ear made your chest tighten. You barely had time to register it before she was hugging Jaehyun tightly, lingering a little too long, then leaning into Johnny’s side like she belonged there. The way she touched their arms, tilted her head back to laugh at every little thing—it all felt off. You tried not to show it. Tried to smile, sip your drink, act like it wasn’t sinking in your chest.

But it got worse.

Because they were smiling back. Laughing. Chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you weren’t standing there, practically invisible. She touched Jaehyun’s chest once, her hand resting just a second too long. Then she tucked herself under Johnny’s arm, her body pressed in close while he grinned down at her with that easy charm.

You felt your throat close up.

Jaehyun smiled at her. Johnny threw his head back and laughed. They looked good together, the three of them. You knew she was an old friend—Jaehyun had mentioned it casually on the way here, something about catching up—but he hadn’t said she’d be like this. All touchy warmth and sultry smiles and completely, obviously, comfortable with your boys.

It shouldn’t have hurt.

You were confident. You were theirs. They’d made that clear in every way possible, night after night, word after word. But the jealousy was insidious, curling in your gut like smoke, wrapping around your ribs until it got hard to breathe.

You shifted your weight, set the untouched drink down, and tried to shake it off. It was stupid. You weren’t going to be that girl. Clingy, needy, insecure. No. Still, when Johnny’s hand settled low on the girl’s back as they moved toward the hallway, your heart dropped.

And Jaehyun’s eyes flicked to you—just briefly, just enough to see you before he looked away.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you mumbled, not even waiting to see if either of them heard.

You didn’t go to the bar. You went to the hallway, somewhere dim and quiet, and tried not to let the heat behind your eyes spill over. They wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t. But that voice in your head was louder. Look at her. Look at them. You don’t compare.

“Babe?” Jaehyun’s voice was gentle when he found you. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. Just a little warm.”

Johnny joined seconds later, his dark eyes scanning your face too sharply. “You sure?”

“Totally,” you lied. “Can we just… go home?”

They exchanged a look—quiet, serious—and didn’t question it.

The car ride was silent. Jaehyun drove, glancing at you through the rearview mirror every few seconds, his brows furrowed. Johnny sat beside you, his hand resting heavy on your thigh, fingers brushing small circles there. It was comforting, but it didn’t stop the ache.

You couldn’t get the image out of your head. Her skin pressed against theirs, the way they let her touch them, smile at her. It made you sick. Not because you didn’t trust them—you did. But because some small, awful part of you wondered if they’d be better off with someone like her.

Back at home, the second the door closed, Johnny turned to you.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” You walked past them, slipping off your shoes with trembling fingers. “I said I’m fine.”

“Baby,” Jaehyun said gently. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Don’t do that. Talk to us.”

You swallowed thickly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Johnny stepped in front of you, tilting your chin up. His touch was soft but firm. “Don’t lie to me.”

You tried. You really did. But the words spilled out before you could stop them.

“She was all over you. Both of you. And you let her. You laughed with her like she wasn’t trying to crawl into your lap. She looked like a goddamn model, and I just… I felt like I was disappearing.”

They were quiet for a beat. And then Jaehyun pulled you tighter against him.

“Is that what you think?” His voice was low.

You blinked quickly. “I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” Johnny interrupted, stepping closer. “It’s not. But baby, you need to understand something.”

Jaehyun turned you to face him now, his hands warm on your hips. “We didn’t even see her that way. She’s a friend. She hugged us like she always does, and we were being polite… nothing more.”

“We weren’t paying attention to her,” Johnny murmured. “We were paying attention to you. We saw how you looked. We saw you shrink away.”

You opened your mouth, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was soft at first. Barely a brush of lips. But then Jaehyun tilted your face back to him and kissed you again—longer this time, sweeter. Like they were trying to kiss the doubt out of you.

“You have no idea,” Johnny whispered, his mouth brushing your cheek now “how crazy you make us.”

“You walk into a room,” Jaehyun added “and nothing else matters.”

Their hands started moving then. Johnny’s sliding up your ribs, under your shirt. Jaehyun’s fingers pressing into the small of your back, pulling you closer until you were sandwiched between them, caught in the heat of their bodies.

“Let us show you,” Johnny said.

You nodded—shaky, breathless—and that was all they needed.

Clothes came off slowly. Johnny peeled your top up, his hands reverent, like every inch of you was something holy. Jaehyun knelt to remove your pants, pressing soft kisses to your thighs on the way down, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Beautiful,” Jaehyun murmured, his hands gliding over your hips.

“So fucking perfect,” Johnny echoed, his mouth trailing hot along your collarbone.

Their mouths and hands never left your body. It was like they were syncing with each other, every touch coordinated, every kiss driving you further under. Johnny’s lips at your neck, sucking a mark there like he wanted it seen. Jaehyun’s fingers teasing along the curve of your ass, squeezing possessively.

“You feel that?” Johnny rasped, grinding against your back now, his cock hard against you. “That’s what you do to me.”

Jaehyun pulled you to straddle his lap on the couch, letting you feel his hardness pressing into you too. “Every time I see you, I get like this. Every time.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed, arousal dripping down your underwear now. Johnny knelt behind you again, pulling your panties to the side and sliding two fingers through your folds.

“So wet already,” he growled. “You needed this, huh?”

Jaehyun cradled your face, kissing you deeply while Johnny teased you from behind. It was too much—in the best way.

“Want us to make you forget her?” Jaehyun whispered.

“Yes” you gasped.

“Want us to make you remember who you belong to?” Johnny added, his breath hot against your spine.

“Y-yes…please-”

And they did. They carried you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, Jaehyun’s mouth trailing kisses down your throat while Johnny undressed you with quiet reverence. You felt like glass, fragile and full of cracks, and they were determined to kiss every one of them closed.

Jaehyun laid you back first, kissing his way down your stomach, gentle but hungry.

“You really thought you weren’t enough?” Jaehyun murmured as he peeled your shirt away. “We crave you.”

Johnny knelt between your legs, hands pressing your thighs open. “Time to remind you.”

Jaehyun kissed you breathless, one hand on your breast, the other tilting your jaw as his tongue slid against yours. You moaned into his mouth as Johnny’s tongue dipped low, teasing between your folds, licking long and slow until your legs shook.

“You taste like you need us” Johnny murmured against your core.

“She does,” Jaehyun said, voice ragged. “Look at her.”

They worked in tandem, Johnny sucking your clit, Jaehyun kissing your neck and whispering everything you needed to hear.

“You’re perfect,” Jaehyun breathed. “Ours. No one else matters.”

Your first orgasm came fast and hard, your thighs trembling around Johnny’s head as Jaehyun bit softly into your shoulder.

But they weren’t even close to done.

Jaehyun lined up behind you next, sliding in with a groan as Johnny sat in front of you, cock in hand, his eyes dark.

“You gonna be good for us?” Johnny asked, voice low. “Let us ruin you a little?”

You nodded, already dizzy, and took him into your mouth.

Jaehyun’s thrusts were slow and deep, his hands gripping your hips as he murmured praise with every roll.

“So tight for me,” he groaned. “So warm.”

Johnny held your jaw as you bobbed your head on him, tears stinging your eyes from how deep he went. “That’s it, baby. So pretty like this. You’re ours. Only ours.”

You moaned around him, thighs shaking again.

Then came the shift. They laid you on your side, Johnny sliding behind you, Jaehyun at your front. Johnny was slow, careful, as he slid into your already-sensitive pussy, whispering against your neck.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded, desperate.

Jaehyun kissed your lips, then your chest, and slowly pressed against your other entrance—slick fingers first, easing you open, until his cock finally nudged into place.The stretch made you gasp, the fullness making you shake. You’d never felt so filled, so claimed.

“Breathe, baby” Johnny whispered, kissing your ear.

“You’re doing so well” Jaehyun groaned, voice breaking. “Taking both of us- fuck- you’re perfect.”

They started moving together, slow at first, then deeper, harder. The sensation was overwhelming. Every thrust sent sparks through your spine. You clung to Jaehyun’s shoulders, sobbing his name, Johnny’s hands wrapped around your waist like a vice.

They fucked you until you forgot what jealousy even felt like. All you knew was them, their voices, their bodies, their hands, their love.

And when you came again—harder than you ever had—your cries were swallowed by their kisses, your body convulsing as they spilled inside you, murmuring your name like a prayer.

After, they held you. Johnny wrapped his arms around your front, kissing your neck softly, again and again. Jaehyun wiped you down gently, then slid into bed on your other side, brushing hair from your forehead.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw.

You nodded. “More than okay.”

Johnny kissed your cheek. “Still thinking about her?”

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “Who?”

They laughed quietly, pressing kisses to both sides of your face until you melted between them, warm and loved and theirs.

Forever, only theirs.

[sshadow-heartz]

I Love You, I’m Sorry

•Squid Game C.AI bots here!

🤍Cho Sang-Woo x Player!Reader

🤍With one more game to go, Sang-Woo doesn’t like your odds. He loves you enough to know that you don’t need to continue suffering, taking things into his own hands…

🤍Word Count: 1.2k

🤍Tags: Angst, Murder, Slight Gore?, Glass Shard as murder weapon, Stabbing,False Hope, Betrayal

•masterlist

‼️If you are sensitive to the tagged topics, please keep scrolling!‼️

It had been a long day. After a dangerous game of glass stepping stones, you had watched player after player fall to their death. Only three of you remained - Sang-Woo, Gi-Hun and yourself.

Retreating to your bed, you looked up at the ceiling, the large piggy bank sending a soft, golden glow over the room. It had to be almost over, right? There were only three of you left, surely there were no more than two games to go.

You sighed, thinking of everything you would be able to do once winning. Pay off your debts, get a drink with your friends…

Start over.

Your thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, and you turn your gaze towards the sound. It was just Sang-Woo, you had grown to become fond of the man during your time. You had been apart of the same team, alongside Gi-Hun, Ali…

Painful memories crossed your mind, Ali was gone. He wasn’t coming back. You had to move on, no matter how tough it felt.

“Quiet in here, huh?” Sang-Woo’s voice speaks up, drawing you away from your own mind. He was stood above you, a few scrapes across his face from the glass tiles exploding. Dark eyes studied yours, his own expression unreadable. You could never tell what he was truly thinking.

“Yeah… it’s weird without everyone else here,” you shrug, the room holding a strange eeriness without the hundreds of players that once resided with you. “How many more games do you think there are?”

He stayed quiet, thinking. “One… maybe two? That’s my guess. Just a little longer and we’ll all be out of here and way richer than we ever were, too.”

You smiles, nodding at his reassurance. “Yeah, you’re right,” you nod, patting the space on your bed for him to sit down.

Taking a seat, Sang-Woo keeps his hand in his pocket, the other reaching forward to rest on your thigh. His thumb strokes your skin through the fabric of your pants, looking down at you with a slight hint of softness. “You’re coming for a drink with me and Gi-Hun, right? When we get out of here?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Settling into comfortable silence, you allow your eyes to slip closed. You could feel Sang-Woo’s hand on your thigh, a small comfort in such a place. The two of you had grown close rapidly, you admired him. He was smart, and confident and seemed to know what he was doing. All of that lured you in, made you desperate to win his affection. He had seen you during the dalgona round, working ever so calm despite the shootings around you. He knew you would fight to survive, and he wasn’t sure if he loved you for it, or hated it.

Sang-Woo looked down at you, eyes closed and breathing steady. He couldn’t work out if you were sleeping, though it’d be best if you were…

Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Gi-Hun across the room, taking a much needed nap. He turned back to you, sliding his hand out of his pocket. He glanced down, eyeing the object he had been keeping so secretly.

A glass shard, sharp and easy enough to stab someone with. He took a breath, steadying himself and his nerves. Sang-Woo had decided you needed to go nights before, a long thought-out choice. He theorised the final game would be between the three of you, some sort of direct competition against each of you. Sang-Woo knew there could only be one winner, one player who takes the amount home.

You had become a distraction to him, his feelings overriding his logic. You were beautiful, strangely optimistic after what you had been through, and gosh, he… he loved you. He knew that if you faced against him, he would let you win. Let you walk away with the money, and a better life. No, he needed that money for himself. It’d be him and Gi-Hun. He could take down his childhood best friend, surely…

Sang-Woo leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. A sick and twisted act of love before enacting his wicked plan. He watched as your eyes fluttered open, smiling up at him as though he’s the most wonderful man in the world. He wasn’t, not that you needed to know that.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, trying to make it easier. You wouldn’t struggle, or cry or yell. He didn’t want you to view him as a monster. In a way, he was doing something good for you. What if you suffered in the next game? What if you had to watch him die? No… that wouldn’t be an option for you. You’d have the peaceful way out, all thanks to him.

“Lay with me?” You ask, softly. It was such an innocent request, he couldn’t deny you. Laying down behind you, he wrapped an arm over your waist, pulling you against his chest. “You’re safe with me,” he lied. “Nobody will hurt you.”

Both laying in silence, legs tangled together, Sang-Woo waited for you to begin drifting off. He had to wait for the right moment, he didn’t want you to fight him on this. You wouldn’t realise it was for the good of things. His mind replayed everything you had told him. You were in severe debt, over a million won. You had nobody out there, no family, no friends. Loan sharks were waiting to get you.

It was no life for anyone. Even if you paid off your debts, you’d still be alone. There was no way you’d all make it out alive. He knew that, he wasn’t dumb. He, on the other hand, had plenty to return to. He could get himself out of debt, though his reputation would still be ruined. He could give money to his mother, have enough to live comfortably. Yes, Sang-Woo knew he needed to survive. It’d be better for him than it would be for you.

He leaned down, face nuzzled against your neck. A final moment of comfort, his arm wrapped around you tightly. He had the glass shard ready and waited, concealed in his free hand. Gi-Hun was still sleeping, nobody paying close enough attention to him or to you.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Before your half-asleep mind can process his words, Sang-Woo digs the glass shard into your stomach. He continues to hold you close, your blood pooling on the bed. He strokes your hair, whispering soft comforts to you.

“Shh, just let it happen. Its for the best, you’ll see that.”

You cough and choke, unable to say anything as the light drains from your eyes and blood pools into your mouth. You felt pain, and nothing more than that. A white, hot blinding pain as the room began to dim. You were tired, so… so tired. It’d feel so good to close your eyes right now.

As Sang-Woo felt you go limp in his arms, a small tune played over the speakers, a voice ringing out.

“Lights out! All players must return to their beds.”

As the lights shut off, Sang-Woo closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths to calm his shaking hands. One more game, he repeated in his mind. One more game…