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buckysleftbicep · 28 days ago

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just one race 𐙚 b.b

pairing: biker!bucky barnes x fem!biker!reader (modern au)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, bathroom sex, light choking, illegal street racing, past hook-up, unresolved sexual tension

summary: two years ago, you fucked bucky and never called back. when he sees you again, he's not just racing for the win.

word count: 4.2k

author's note: hi my loves, i am such a huge fun of biker!bucky and i had this fic idea for a few weeks now, and i am posting it in hopes it won't flop! thank you for stopping by, i love you guys and stay safe out there!

The night was thick with heat—not warmth, not comfort—but something oppressive, electric, alive.

Humidity clung to your skin like sweat-slick silk, rising off the pavement in ghostly waves, curling around bare shoulders and whispered sins.

The air reeked of asphalt and adrenaline, burnt rubber and gasoline, all of it mixing into a cocktail so heady it made your lungs ache and your blood sing.

Beneath the overpass, under a patchwork canopy of shadows, steel girders, and flickering neon signs, the city’s underground pulse came to life.

Not the kind that tourists raved about or cops pretended didn’t exist—this was the real vein, the one that throbbed with danger and speed and sin.

Headlights cut through the dark like predator eyes. Red, white, electric blue—each beam a challenge, each growl of an engine a warning.

Music blared from somewhere in the chaos—low, dirty, aggressive.

A bassline so filthy it made bones rattle. The kind of rhythm that didn’t just pulse—it throbbed, deep and rhythmic like the start of something inevitable.

They called it Race Night.

And tonight, it had drawn every devil out of their hole.

Bikes lined the cracked concrete in a gleaming, growling row—vintage beasts and futuristic monsters, chrome and matte black armour, custom paint that caught the flicker of streetlight and made it scream.

Exhaust hissed like serpents, engines purred and snarled, pacing like wolves too long caged.

Men leaned against the machines with practiced indifference—leather jackets unzipped halfway down chests, heavy boots planted wide, arms crossed, smirks loaded.

Cigarettes dangled from lips or fingers, flicked to the ground and crushed under heels. The air swirled with smoke and sweat and sharp-edged testosterone.

Women danced to the beat, hips winding slow, lip gloss catching the neon. Some perched on the backs of bikes like queens on their thrones—dangerous, and entirely in control.

It wasn’t just a race. It was a ritual.

And you and Yelena were right on time.

The moment your engines growled into the lot, the crowd shifted. A ripple moved through the bodies—heads turning, eyes locking.

They felt you before they saw you.

Yelena swung off her bike first—combat boots hitting pavement with a steel-toed thud.

Her blonde hair was cropped and slicked back beneath the dull orange glow of the streetlamps.

She wore a blood-red tank, skin tight, under a cropped black leather jacket. Black jeans clung to her hips like a second skin, tucked into her boots, a chain hanging low on her thigh.

Fingerless gloves flexed as she reached up and loosened the strap of her helmet.

She looked like hell’s favourite riot.

You matched her step for step, the throb of your boots a slow echo behind hers. Your bike purred low behind you, engine cooling, metal ticking beneath the night air.

You were dressed to kill—and not just in speed.

Black, heeled boots that clicked sharp against the asphalt. A leather jacket worn open, the cut just sharp enough to flatter and flare.

Underneath—straps, black as sin, crossing your chest and wrapping around your ribcage like a harness meant to tempt more than protect. High-waisted jeans hugged your thighs with ruthless precision, their seams stitched for seduction.

A man muttered, breath caught in his throat—“Holy fuck.”

Yelena smirked without looking. “Let them stare, honey”.

“Don’t they always?” you murmured back, voice low and amused.

And they did. The crowd parted for you like water bending around fire. Necks craned. One guy’s eyes trailing down your frame like a prayer that turned blasphemous by the time it hit your hips.

But you didn’t slow. Didn’t even blink.

Because you felt it. That pulse. That electricity. That pull.

And then—you saw him.

Standing across the lot, against the black gleam of his bike like he was born from the smoke that rose off the street.

Bucky.

The last time you’d seen him, your back had been pressed against a bathroom mirror and his hand had been shoved under your skirt, voice all gravel and grit. You hadn’t forgotten that mouth.

That stare. Those fucking hands.

And by the looks of it, neither had he.

He stood with his arms crossed, weight cocked to one hip, that leather jacket worn open just enough to show the black tee beneath—tight, stretched across his chest, framing muscle like it was poured on.

His sleeves pushed up just far enough to expose his forearms, thick and veined, skin dusted with sweat and sin. His jeans hung low on his hips, his boots scuffed, heavy, like they’d hit the pavement too many times to count.

His dark hair was longer now—wilder, swept back from his face in waves that curled just slightly at the tips. That jaw could cut glass, and that damn smirk.

And his eyes— Those goddamn eyes.

Glacial blue, intense, focused. Like he hadn’t looked away since that night.

And fuck, he was looking at you now like he could still taste you on his tongue.

You didn’t even have to close your eyes to remember that night, two years ago.

The bass has been deafening.

It throbbed through the floors, pulsed through your bones—like a second heartbeat, slow and carnal.

Lights strobed in erratic bursts of violet and cobalt, casting fractured shadows across slick skin and open mouths. The place smelled like sex and tequila.

You were on your third drink, fingers wet from the condensation of the glass, tongue still tingling from the last shot.

The crowd swelled around you, the music drowning your thoughts, but your body was wired—aware. Hips swaying with each beat, the weight of your leather skirt hitching higher on your thighs with every deliberate roll.

And then you saw him. Across the floor. Like a sin you forgot to confess.

Bucky Barnes.

He stood with a beer in hand, barely touched, jaw sharp in the flashes of blacklight, hair mussed like he’d ridden there with his helmet off.

A leather jacket hung off his shoulders like it had no right not to be wrapped around yours instead.

The black tee underneath clung to his chest, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal the hard cut of his arms, veins thick, hands calloused. Tattoos peeked beneath the cuff of one sleeve—dark ink winding over muscle.

And he was staring. Right at you. No shame. No hesitation. Like he’d seen a challenge.

Like he knew exactly what you’d taste like. And you didn’t run.

You danced. You let the music slink up your spine, let your hands drag slow down your sides, ass grinding to the beat like a dare. You could feel him moving closer before you even turned around.

Then—contact.

His hands found your hips. Hot, heavy, possessive. And you didn’t stop him.

You pressed back, spine arching against his chest, your ass grinding into the unmistakable bulge in his jeans. A slow exhale left him, rough and low.

“Didn’t think an angel like you belonged somewhere like this,” he rasped, voice dark velvet at your ear.

You smiled. Slow. Sharp. “If you think I’m an angel,” you purred, “you haven’t been paying attention.”

That was all it took.

The kiss was brutal. No hesitation. No finesse. Just need.

Teeth and tongue, lips bruising, breath stolen. His hands gripped your waist like he’d waited years for it.

You felt him—fuck, you felt him—thick and hard, pressing into the curve of your ass through the denim. He rutted against you, hungry, and you gasped, letting him swallow it.

You were stumbling through the crowd, laughing into his mouth between kisses, the club melting around you like it no longer existed. Your hand was in his, fingers locked, his grip tight.

You didn’t even make it to the hallway.

He kicked open the bathroom door and slammed it shut behind you, the echo swallowed by the thump of bass outside. The lights were harsh, the mirror already fogged from the sweat rolling off your bodies.

Then he was on you. Mouth crashing to yours. Hands everywhere.

Your back hit the counter. Hard. The marble dug into your spine. You didn’t care.

His fingers were already at your top, yanking it down, dragging your bra with it. His mouth latched onto your breast, sucking hard, his teeth scraping over your nipple with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle.

Your head fell back. You moaned loud and messy, fingers scrambling into his hair.

“Fuck—” you gasped, hips bucking.

He was feral.

Your skirt was shoved up, your panties torn at the seam with one sharp tug. He growled at the sight of your slick cunt already glistening, the heat of it radiating up at him.

“You that wet for me already?” he grunted, palming your thigh as he stepped between your legs.

Your legs wrapped around his hips before he could finish the question. He fumbled with his jeans, breath ragged, and his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking.

He rubbed the head through your folds, slow, teasing, gathering the slick there.

“Bucky—” you panted, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he gritted out.

“Bucky,” you moaned, almost begging now. “Please. I need—”

That was it.

He thrust into you in one hard stroke.

You cried out, hands flying to the edge of the sink to brace yourself as he bottomed out inside you. The stretch burned—in the best way. You were so full you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t give you a second to adjust.

He fucked you like a man possessed, hips pistoning forward, brutal and relentless.

His fingers dug into your thighs, bruising. The slap of skin echoed off tile. The mirror fogged with each ragged breath. You clenched around him and he groaned, low and wrecked, mouth moving to your neck.

“Goddamn, you feel good,” he muttered, biting your skin. “Tight little pussy takin’ me so good, baby.”

Your head rolled back. “Fuck, Bucky—yes, yes—don’t stop—”

His hand wrapped around your throat. Not hard. Just enough.

He pulled you forward, nose brushing yours, his breath hot and filthy. “Look at me when I make you cum.”

And fuck—you did.

Your orgasm hit hard. Sharp. Your back arched off the counter, pussy clenching so tight around his cock he groaned your name like a prayer he never should’ve learned.

He didn’t slow.

He pulled you closer, arms around your waist, fucking into you like he needed it to live.

You came again—a second wave crashing over you, messy and loud, your thighs trembling, nails scratching down his back hard enough to mark.

“Shit—fuck—” he cursed, hips stuttering. “You’re gonna make me—”

You tightened around him on purpose, voice a wicked little moan in his ear, “Do it. Fill me up, baby. I want it.”

And he did.

With a growl that tore from his chest, he came deep, hips snapping hard one last time before he stilled, cock pulsing, forehead resting against yours.

His breath was ragged. Yours was gone.

You stayed like that—panting, ruined—his arms still around you like he didn’t want to let go.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, this time. A little too sweet.

He gave you his number.

And you never called.

Bucky had thought about you for two years.

Every girl after you? A shadow. A placeholder.

None of them tasted like you. None of them looked at him like they knew exactly how far he’d go for another night with you.

Every time he rode—high-speed and reckless—he imagined it was your voice in his ear. Your nails on his back. Your legs around his waist.

And now?

You were back. And you looked better than the fucking memory.

He’s walking toward you now.

Hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans, his shoulders are loose—relaxed in the way only men who know they’re being watched ever are.

That cocky grin is already spreading across his stubbled jaw, slow and sure like a fuse catching fire.

His eyes are locked on you.

They don’t drift. They don’t flinch. They drink you in, head to toe—like he’s not just looking, he’s remembering.

The way your legs wrapped around him. The way you tasted on his tongue. The sound you made when he pushed into you so deep your fingers left marks on his back.

His voice, when it comes, is low and drawling, thick with that gravel-and-honey tone that had once made your thighs clench in a public restroom.

“Well, well,” Bucky says, eyes raking down your body with absolutely no shame. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Thought I scared you off.”

You tilt your head, watching the way his smirk deepens at your reaction. Your smile is slow—unchallenged. Dangerous.

“Scared?” you echo, voice laced with sugar. “Honey, you were begging by the end of the night.”

He laughs.

And fuck, it’s hot.

That kind of laugh that vibrates in your chest, that spills easy from his lips but feels like it was pulled from somewhere deep.

It’s warm and rough and full of something between amusement and desire, like he enjoys the memory as much as he resents how good it still makes him feel.

“So someone misses me, huh?” you add, tongue in cheek, brow arched just slightly.

His gaze darkens, subtle but unmistakable. His smirk slips just a fraction—replaced with something hungrier, sharper.

“Wouldn’t go that far,” he lies, and you know it. “But you do make one hell of an impression, sweetheart.”

Yelena chuckles beside you, cocking a hip as she crosses her arms. “Oh god, here we go.”

And then—he says it.

“You and me. One race.”

The shift in your posture is instant. You straighten, eyes narrowing just enough to read him—to feel the weight behind the words.

It’s a challenge. A contract, if you say yes.

Your brows lift. “What’s in it for me?”

He jerks his chin toward the bike behind him—an obsidian beast gleaming under the floodlights like something conjured from a wet dream.

The custom rims shine like teeth. The jet-black pipes curl sleek and lethal. A gold-plated clutch glints near the handlebar, polished to perfection.

The entire thing hums like it’s alive, like it’s listening.

“You win,” he says, voice slick with pride, “she’s yours.”

You let out a low, appreciative whistle, gaze dragging over the machine. “That’s your baby, right?”

He nods once. “She’s never lost a race.” Then that wicked smile is back, more teeth this time, more heat. “Neither have I.”

You take a step closer, arms still loose at your sides, heart ticking a little harder beneath your chest.

“And if I lose?”

His boots close the distance. One more step and he's in your space—warm, towering, magnetic. His voice drops an octave, low enough to rumble straight through your bones.

“Then I get a date,” he says. “Just one.”

Your smirk curls slow, unapologetic. Bold. “Making up for lost time, Barnes?”

He leans in, that stubble brushing against your temple as he brings his mouth to your ear. His breath is warm, and it smells like mint and sin.

“I’ve had this real pretty girl on my mind for a while now,” he murmurs, voice like velvet. “Can’t help myself.”

Yelena barks a laugh behind you, rolling her eyes. “You must be outta your damn mind, babe.”

You glance over your shoulder with a wink, not missing the way Bucky watches the movement of your hips, his eyes tracking it like a man ready to break all his own rules. “You’re just jealous.” you joke playfully.

And you walk away, hips swaying deliberately, slow and smug.

Behind you, Bucky doesn’t move.

He just watches.

Watches the way your fingers slide across the seat of your bike. Watches the flick of your hair over your shoulder. Watches like you’re still in that bathroom, flushed and moaning, mouth against his jaw and nails in his back.

That familiar hunger stirs in his chest like a fire being stoked to life all over again.

And tonight?

He wasn’t letting you go again.

Not this time.

The news spread like smoke—fast, thick, and impossible to ignore.

One whispered challenge under the overpass was all it took. Someone overheard Bucky offer you a race. Someone else repeated it and then it caught like a lit match in a dry field.

By the time the clock ticked past midnight, the meet had tripled in size.

The back lot was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people and bikes. Every alley that bled into the main strip was clogged with more engines, more tension, more noise.

The air felt tighter. Louder. Alive.

Some came to race. Most came to watch.

But all of them came for one thing.

Someone was going to race Bucky Barnes. And that someone might actually win.

Engines howled in greeting like wolves baring teeth. Tires screeched across pavement in celebratory skids.

Streetlights above buzzed like dying stars, casting long, warped shadows that danced between the strobes of red brake light and leaking neon.

A truck stereo rumbled from somewhere in the center of the chaos—its remix so loud it shook the bones in your chest, bass vibrating in the soles of your boots.

A girl in leather hot pants climbed onto the hood of a matte black Camaro, her legs glinting with oil sheen under the light as she threw her head back and moved to the beat, heels clacking against the metal roof as women and men shouted beneath her.

Yelena lit a cigarette with a practiced flick, the flame cutting bright against the shadows. She took a drag, letting the smoke curl from her lips like she owned the air around her.

When a guy in a sleeveless denim vest stepped too close, eyes crawling up your chest, she didn’t even look—just flipped him off without breaking stride.

“You sure you want to do this, honey?” she asked through the haze, the grin on her lips crooked with mischief.

You tightened your gloves, leather creaking softly beneath your fingers. “You scared I’ll lose?”

“I’m scared he’ll flirt you off the road,” she muttered playfully, her gazing towards Bucky stood across the lot, laughing with Steve like he didn’t just challenge the only girl crazy enough to ride him into the ground.

You smirked, tongue pressed behind your teeth. “Then he’ll have to earn that date, won’t he?”

And across the lot, Bucky stood like the street belonged to him.

That jacket, the same damn one from the night in the club, hung open across his chest, framing a tight black tee stretched over a torso carved by what seemed like adonis himself.

His jeans were dark, fitted, hugging his hips, his boots were scuffed and scarred—clearly having kissed asphalt at least once—but they were planted wide, solid, like nothing could move him.

Steve stood beside him, broad, blonde, a silver bike helmet tucked under one arm as he leaned in and murmured something low.

Clint and Natasha stood beside them, relaxed and deadly in their own right.

Clint had his brows raised, the redhead beside him leaned against her cherry-red Ducati, arms crossed, smirking like she already knew how the night would end.

They weren’t just racers. They were practically legends.

The kind of names you whispered at the edge of circuits in other cities.

And all of them had lost to Bucky. Some more than once.

And tonight they looked curious.

They weren’t watching him. They were watching you.

Because tonight wasn’t just another street race.

Tonight was the first time someone had the balls—and the skill—to try and take the king.

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, easy and loud, then tilted his chin toward you.

Bucky followed the look.

And when he saw you—standing there with your helmet tucked under one arm, fingers tracing the sleek frame of your bike like a lover, your mouth tilted in that slow smirk he hadn’t stopped thinking about—he smiled.

Not cocky. Not smug.

Like a man who knew.

The crowd started to shift, as if drawn by instinct, forming a loose barrier around the cracked stretch of asphalt that would be your track.

People climbed onto crates, dumpsters, the back ends of pickups. Someone mounted a tripod camera, already livestreaming, already narrating: “She’s gonna race Barnes. No fucking way.”

You adjusted your helmet strap, letting the tension roll down your shoulders. When you looked up, he was already walking toward you.

Swagger in his step.

Heat in his eyes.

His voice was low when he reached you—gravel-smooth and lazy as sin. “You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?”

You turned slow, eyes drifting down the line of his body. His hands. His boots. The unmistakable tension in his shoulders that said he lived for this kind of risk.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried.”

He chuckled, stepping close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his chest. “I’m not. Just wondering if you’ll let me take you out win or lose.”

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes.

“You’ll have to earn it. And you better hope I don’t look better on your bike than you do.”

He gave a long, low whistle, his grin spreading wide. “God, I missed your mouth.”

You could feel it in your bones.

This was going to be good.

The crowd parted like the red sea as Steve stepped into the center, raising his arm. “Alright, alright, you crazy bastards. Line up.”

You swung one leg over your bike, the weight of it familiar beneath you—the rumble of the engine like a heartbeat syncing with your own. You flicked the ignition, and it growled awake, deep and hungry.

To your left, Bucky did the same.

You could feel him without looking. That shift in his body as he dropped into the zone. The predator beneath the leather. Hands flexing over the grips.

Someone in the crowd whistled. Another voice rose—cheering, shouting. A girl near the front screamed, “Let’s go, baby!”

Steve raised his hand.

“Three—”

Your heart synced to the thrum beneath you. Every muscle tensed. Your eyes locked forward.

“Two—”

Bucky looked at you.

And smiled.

“One—”

The air split open.

Tires screamed. Pavement blurred. And you were gone.

You launched forward, tucked low, your bike a sleek black bullet cutting through the night.

Wind clawed at your jacket, ripped through your hair. But your hands were steady. Every motion was muscle memory. Every turn was pure instinct.

Beside you, Bucky stayed even.

Neck and neck.

His bike snarled beside yours—an untamed monster of matte black steel and engine fury. It spit sparks, hissed threats, surged into your blind spot. But you didn’t flinch. You twisted the throttle harder, took the inside curve so tight the gravel kissed your boot.

The crowd warped into streaks. The lights dissolved.

Nothing existed but you. Him. The road.

You felt him beside you—not just the movement, but the heat. The electricity in the air. That same impossible pull from two years ago, now wrapped in adrenaline and exhaust.

The next curve came fast. S-shaped.

You didn’t brake. Neither did he.

You downshifted, leaned in—nearly horizontal—your knee skimming a hair’s width from the asphalt as your tires screamed across the bend.

He mirrored the motion flawlessly, and for a moment—just a moment—you swore you heard him laugh.

“You fucking love this,” you muttered under your breath, smiling wild.

It wasn’t just a race. It was foreplay.

The final stretch loomed—too soon, too fast. The finish line was drawn in chalk and headlights. A wall of sound waited on the other side.

You pushed harder.

And then—

He edged forward.

Inches. Just inches.

Enough to win.

Your tires screeched as you slowed, the roar of the engine dying as you coasted to a stop, lungs heaving, heart still hammering.

The crowd erupted behind you—screams, cheers, claps, someone lighting a firecracker that whistled into the sky and burst red above the lot.

You pulled off your helmet, hair tousled, lips parted in a breathless grin.

Bucky rolled to a stop beside you, his chest rising deep and even, his bike still purring beneath him like a satisfied animal. He took off his helmet slowly, deliberately, shaking out his hair like he knew what the hell he looked like.

Smug bastard.

“Fuck,” you laughed, voice wrecked and thrilled.

He looked over, mouth twitching. “Close one.”

You stepped off your bike, still catching your breath. “You got lucky.”

He tilted his head. “Rematch, sweetheart?”

You smiled, cocking your hip. “Take me on that date first, Barnes.”

That grin. It spread across his face like fire on oil. “Oh, I plan to. I’ve been planning to since the minute you walked into my goddamn life.”

And for once, you didn’t stop him when he leaned in.

Didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed your waist.

Didn’t pretend it wasn’t already happening.

Because the race was over. But the chase?

The real chase had only just begun.

a/n: thank you for reading! please consider leaving a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this fic!

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 11 months ago

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night out

a/n: we back babyyy!!! i haven't been able to stop thinking about these two for fucking months, so i wrote both this aaaaand another part to wrap up their story and get it out of my system.

summary: “I can’t believe you’re fucking jealous right now…”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader x ex!peter parker, light smut, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, bffs kate bishop and yelena belova, french rave, dancing, kissing, over-the-clothes fun, foreplay, references to public sex, choking, manhandling, jealousness, possessiveness, angst, arguments, brat mode activated (though its totally justified), these hoes are not dealing with their emotions in a healthy way but it's just for the sake of yummy drama

word count: 1993

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“I thought we were just going to a cute little wine bar, not a fucking rave,” you yelled over the music as your friends dragged you further into the warehouse.

“Oh, come on, babe,” Yelena boomed, slinking her arm around both yours and Kate's neck, “don’t be a chicken now.”

“Yeah,” your brunette friend on the other side of Yelena tilted her frame to catch your apprehensive eye, “you already sneaked out, so you might as well make it count.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” you groaned, your gaze narrowed to a squint as you got used to the warm flashing lights that dully illuminated the club.

“Then you must always hate me,” a smug smirk spread across her features before the trio of you ventured further into the crowded space.

As the night faded away, you found yourselves bathing in the strobes of neon light as your bodies moved on their own accord, like you were all part of a hive, buzzing together in harmony.

But then when you tapped both of your dancing friends on their shoulders and ushered their ears to lean in close to your lips, you told them, “I’m gonna go get some water,” receiving two thumbs up before you made your way through the crowd to the curved bar in the corner.

However, after the bartender handed you a plastic bottle and you tilted your head back to take a much-needed sip, a familiar voice found your ears from across the bar.

“As I live and fucking breathe,” you tipped the bottle back down and glanced down the way at the unexpected figure moseying closer to where you stood.

“Peter!” a surprised smile couldn’t help but spread across your features, “what are you doing here?”

Settling in beside you, he said, “it’s a Saturday night, where else would I be?”

“No, I mean, what are you doing in Paris?”

“Oh, what, am I not allowed to be in your city anymore since the breakup?” he joked.

“No, of course, you can be here.”

Leaning in even closer so that he didn’t have to yell as loud, he asked, “so how are you doing?”

“Me? I’m good, yeah,” your head bobbed in a nod, “how about you?”

“Can’t complain,” his gaze washed over you as if no time had passed at all, “so… can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you shifted the water bottle to your other hand.

“You seeing anyone?”

“Oh, wow,” you half coughed, “Peter Parker, king of subtlety.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen you naked more times than I can count, so I figured subtlety went out the window a long time ago,” he smirked, “so, are you?”

“I–, uhm…” your eyes averted a moment as you uttered, “no.”

You weren’t, it was true. Though the reason for why you’d sneaked out in the first place did have to do with a matter of the heart.

You’d asked your friends what their advice would be if you hypothetically needed to get over someone. They both of course assumed that you were referring to the man standing before you in the disco and not the person who watched you like a hawk every minute of every day. The method they had suggested wasn’t a sound one, though one that still found you desperate enough to try.

To go out, meet someone else and bang the dude out of your system.

“Can I ask you something else?” Peter asked again, ripping you out of your thoughts, away from your bodyguard and back in the moment. As you offered him a nod, he smiled brightly, “you wanna dance?”

And that’s how you found yourself in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, plastered against your ex.

It didn’t take long before your lips reunited as well, staying locked as you both let your hands wander, though for you it wasn’t entirely in the spirit of rekindling something that you’d missed, and more to help you forget about the person who you truly wished to lose yourself on a dancefloor with.

“Fuck,” you heard Peter groan in your ear and his desperation poked your lower abdomen for the attention you used to give it, “you wanna go slip into the bathroom?”

“Uhh,” you giggled as his lips tickled the side of your neck, “what kinda woman do you take me to be?”

“Mine,” he smiled, “that’s who. I know you. A club bathroom is nothing… remember Amsterdam?”

“Y-yeah, I remember,” your body tingled at the thought.

“That’s also an option, if that’s the kind of mood you're in,” he winked.

Chuckling as he squeezed your tit, you shook your head lightly, “I’m not fucking you here on the dancefloor.”

“Oh, come on, it–”

But the rest of your ex’s sentence was cut short as a figure forced itself between you two and pried you apart.

Instinctively reaching out for Peter as he was forcefully pushed back, your arm then faltered as you blinked up to discover who had shoved him.

“Barnes,” a shiver ran down your spine at the stormy expression plastered all over his face, a side of him you’d never witnessed before, “I–”

But he cut you off, only to bark, “out, now.”

“But I–”

“Do you wanna walk on your own or should I just toss you over my shoulder?” he glared down at you just before you watched Peter’s hand plant itself on Bucky’s broad shoulder.

“Hey, dude, don’t touch her, back off,” your ex tried to square up to the intimidating guard dog.

“No, no, Peter, it’s alright,” you rushed to explain, knowing full well that your bodyguard could and would put him in the hospital, “he’s–…” your eyes briefly flickered up to Bucky’s steely blue eyes, still directed at you, “he’s my bodyguard,” before you let your touch graze Peter’s forearm, “I’m so sorry, it was great seeing you again, but I have to go.”

Getting dragged out of the club like a perp from a crime scene was not the way you’d imagined your night would wrap up.

After he’d virtually tossed you in the back and slammed the car door shut behind you, you fished out your phone and swiftly sent your friends an explanatory text while you half-watched Bucky march around the vehicle to the driver’s side.

The silent treatment he then served you nearly felt worse than the heated words you imagined tumbled around in his head as he fumed, his knuckles nearly turned white from how fiercely he was gripping onto the steering wheel.

But when you finally mustered the courage to break the eerie silence, your words came out just above a whisper, “I’m sorry…”

“Are you?” his eyes snapped up to find yours in the review mirror, “really? Because I don’t fucking buy it.”

“Well, I am!” you threw up your arms, “what do you want me to do?”

“Not sneak out like a fucking teenager to get drunk with your little boyfriend,”

“I’m not drunk and he’s not my boyfriend!”

Not taking any of your words to heart, Bucky went on, “you know how stupid this was, right? What if something had happened, huh? I know you didn’t personally read the threats you got back when I first got this job, but trust me when I tell you that if any of those fuckers had gotten their hands on you tonight, you’d be lucky if you were still breathing when the sun rose. This is exactly the sort of reckless behaviour that caused you to need my help in the first place.”

Your mouth then fell open, utterly stunned at his audacity, “oh my god… you’re unbelievable…” you uttered breathlessly before hazily commanding, “stop the car…”

“No–”

“Stop the fucking car!” you roared, casting your gaze to him once more till you felt his foot step on the break.

As the car screeched to a stop, you wasted no time ripping the door open and storming out.

Though you didn’t dare to look back, you still heard him exit the vehicle as well and shadow you as you wandered a few paces away, just far enough for you to be able to get some air.

“Y/n,” you heard him from just a few meters behind you, “get back in the car��”

But you didn’t shift your feet as you then interrupted, back still turned to him.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking jealous right now…”

“What?”

“Well aren’t you?” you heatedly twisted around to face him, “because it sure fucking looks like it. Getting all fucking possessive, ripping me away from my ex before I can crawl my way back to him, before I get the chance to feel anyone inside of me but you–”

“Stop–”

“Is that it? You just want me all to yourself?” you kept on poking, too blind by your fury to consider the consequences, “you want it to be you that I’m so in love with that I’d make you personalised porn, which would consequently ruin my life and cause me to have a babysitter essentially stalking me.”

“Stop!” he took a step closer as he barked.

“Unless you’ve already seen the tape,” your feet shifted back, keeping him at a distance, “fantasising that it’s for you, getting yourself off to the image of me bouncing on that pretty pink dildo–”

Your sentence then crumbled into a shrivelled yelp as you felt his cold metal hand seize your neck and push you the last few inches up against the brick wall behind you.

His fingers didn’t squeeze you in the slightest, though you still knew just how easy it would have been for him to tighten his grip and turn it into more than just a raging warning.

“You done?” he spat as his eyes pieced directly into your soul, “or do you wanna give me more reasons why you’re nothing more than a spoiled little brat, why I should just quit now and not have to deal anymore with what a fucking pain you are in my ass?”

For the life of you, no attempts at offering him an answer were successful on your lips.

He scared you.

He’d never scared you before.

Both because of the explosion you’d undoubtedly made even worse than it had to be, but also his fleeting threat of leaving you for good.

It all terrified you…

Though, there was also a different sensation that it awoke within you, one that caused your eyes to flutter down towards his lips, an action that your bodyguard surprisingly mirrored as well as your heated breaths synced up.

You had no idea who moved first, if it was you or him, but the next thing you knew, you were kissing him.

With adrenaline still pumping in your veins, you clawed at his broad frame as you let your tongue flicker out and flutter against his own. The steely hand that had locked itself around your neck softened and whisked down your form, mirroring your own starving touch as he securely held you like you were about to fall.

However, just as your palm slid down to find the bulge in his pants, rubbing it needily before your fingers tried to seize the short zipper, Bucky took a large step back, snapping to his senses and creating a wide distance between him and your melted form against the brick.

His eyes refused to meet your foggy ones as he held them to the ground, slowly catching his breath before uttering, “get in the car,” defeat shining through in his low tone.

“Bucky–,” you tried, but without success as he then cut you off.

“Please, just–…” his gaze fluttered shut a moment as you then heard him sombrely promise, “look, I’ll make sure your mom doesn’t hear word of what happened tonight. If we go now, then we’ll arrive before any of the staff wakes up, no one will notice.”

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sleepy-fiction · 6 months ago

Text

Adam Warlock x Reader.

NEMESIS AND I. 🏆 NSFW

syn: at galacta's inter-faction New Years party, you run into your mortal enemy, a new member of the guardians called Adam Warlock. and after some interpersonal battles, you allow yourself to fall into his charm, and he to yours. TLDR; mini slow burn where u hate Adam and then u fuck him

tgs: breeding kink, cunnilingus (fem r), fingering, masturbation, p n v, creampies, power play, bdsm, slowburn, soft dom adam, fem villian reader, overstimulation, cum black out, inappriopriate use of adam's soul bonding ability (sex), a lot of shit goes on in this fic my mind is blanking, oh and u kiss bucky too idk

an: it's finally done.... after five days.... BARELY PROOFREAD

13.3K WORDS

Galacta's New Years parties were the hit of century. Everyone always attended, from villians to heros, it was the one sanction of peace in the universe. On the month following and prior to the party, a ceasefire commended the rare seasons when paths crossed. And any who disobeyed such rules, or worse started an issue at the party, would have to face the wraith of both their faction's and the enemies. And yet again, Galacta's cosmic rager was started up again, only this time, an abandoned space station outside the Milkway was chosen to be this year's host.

Preparations were going smoothly on her in, as she fixed the place up well. Strobe lights, lazers, performers from across the galaxies flew out to attend, so it only made sense for you, and a few other villians to attend this year. By now, youd be terrorizing the galaxy, setting flame, birthing to chaos, destroying (or getting destroyed by) the guardians of the galaxy.

But for once, it was good to set a difference pace.

That's why you went all out on the night of the party. You wore your sexiest dress, paired with the slutiest heels imaginable. The combination a far cry from the violent and downright unapproachable nature you dressed yourself in. Though it wasn't your villian name, you wanted everyone to know that the Duchess of Galaxies had arrived.

Your space shuttle pulled into the station, as you slipped out into the airlock, feeling gravity return to your feet. You adjusted your top and breasts, checking your makeup one final time before the grand iron doors opened, and thr flooding of deep techno rave beats filtered in through the noise.

You smiled and shuddered, "the purr of chaos," whispering nothings into the air.

You were gonna get laid tonight.

But by who?

You passed through the final automatic door before you reached the inside. The lights were shut off, leading you into a world of bleeding LEDs and flashing neon lights. You recognized some familar faces as you passed by the dance floor. Of course, Sue Storm and Reed, finding their rhythm as they grinded against eachother. It made you scoff, but still, you shouted as you crossed them, "Don't hurt her now, Reed," winking.

"Ha-Ha! Enjoy yourself, Empress," Reed called back.

You slithered down to the drink bar, where lines of sofas and tables adoring the space. Along the far corners was a bar. And despite being off the crowded dance floor, this place was almost equally as flooded. That was the appeal of Galacta's New Year's. Alive and crawling with bugs.

Speaking of, as you pranched to the bar, blowing your kisses, and greeting friends, you stepped on something. "Y-owch," it suddenly yelped, it's voice like gravel.

In confusion, you whipped your head down, finding the kne and only Rocket Raccoon. Still, you didn't liff your foot, and the little creature pulled at it frantically. "Oooh. My, if it isn't Rocket Raccoon," you snarled as you lifted your foot. He stumbled back with a deadly growl. "I didn't know Galacta allowed pets in here," you snickered.

"What the fuck did you just say? Huh (y/n)? You wanna fucking go," he barked throwing up his puny fists.

It's then that you notice Peter Quill and his sister Mantis scurry on over.

You gasp dramatically, "Picking a Fight? At Galacta's New Years?" You spoke loud, purposely drawing the attention of others.

Rocket grits his teeth as he booms, "Hell yeah I'll fucking show this party the best facking fight its ever seen--" Before he could finish, Peter arrives to the scene, grabbing the Raccoon by its scruff.

"Hey- No, no, no. There will be no fighting," The Starlord huffs, turning away from you to whisper dead at the Raccoon, "I'm not missing out on another year, got it?"

It's then you glanced over to Mantis, her eyes narrowed on you, her fists clenched in anger. You quirk, raising a brow as you drop a deviously finger against your lip. "Oh? Cat's got your tongue," you speak.

Mantis flattens her top lip, hissing, "You should have never did that to Planet Yulean! Think about the Yuppies that got hurt!"

"I couldn't care less about Yuppies, they were hoarding fuel," you roll your eyes. "But they're dead now, aren't they?" You grin, staring her dead in her eyes.

Mantis shouts, "You monster! I swear. When we get outta' here I'll teach you a good lesson on-- On.... One everything!"

It's then a golden hand that flies between the two of you, and your eyes flicker up to see him. Adam Warlock. One of the new generations of the guardians. He was simple, plain, and easy to overlook, at least in personality. The two of you were fairly netural about each other, as you couldn't really get under his skin. You didn't know him, and you really couldn't figure him out. He seemed so weirdly honest that you were drawn away from him.

Appearance wise, you could easily admit how handsome he was. Definitely better eye candy than the squirrel, depressed oldest, and drax, that pulled down the looks on the team. Well, at least the old team. In all honesty, you hated the change. You hated how the guardians were moving ahead, you hated how you seemed to lack and fall behind in importance to them. Most of them split up and left, leaving behind these strange imposter's you didn't know.

Maybe that's why you were so off out by Adam. He was a symbol. A symbol of how you were now of the past. A symbol of change.

You immediately got irritated at his presence.

He spoke, "Now. Let's not start fights here. This is a netural setting on netural grounds. Although you are not physically fighting, Empress, you are starting a lot of them."

Mantis smiled, softly patting his arm. She says, "Thank you, Adam." And he grins joyfully. Mantis spares you one dirty look before turning away.

You seemed to burn with rage at the little gesture. You spit, "Ah-huh, You think you can talk to me, Tinman?"

He chimes, "No it's Adam. Adam Warlock."

Your eye twitched. You weren't stupid. "Yeah, uh'huh. Why dont you make yourself useful and go fetch me a scotch, robot," You wave your hand at him, dismissing him. He seems to stare at you, his eyebrows furrowing, before he simply walks away. His back slinking off into the dense crowd. You stood there a second, taking a breathy huff.

Now you were alone.

Good riddance.

You sigh, finding a spot on one of the sofas, leaning your head back against the back of it. Behind you, you heard the (usually) tantalizing sound of liplocking, but now it brought you nothing but rage. No one deserved to be happy but you.

How could you ever be when you were fading away. Not only were you no longer considered a priority, or barely even a threat by your nenemies, they were moving on. They were growing, no longer in fear of your threat to the galaxy. Thanos really reset the memter, especially after he took so much of your land from beneath. Fighting against him damaged you. You were weaker, insignificant.

You and many other villians.

Your eyes dotted across the room, watching as Captain America mingled with Miss Marvel and Cloak and Dagger. Your eyes honed in on them in disgust. They smiled and chatted away, laughing tenderly as if things were funny, exhanging looks, and glances at familiar friends and familiar faces. These heros always got what they wanted. They always get it in the end.

Then you glance over at Loki. The God of stories sits at the far end of the bar, drinking alone, lost in thought. Just as you were. All alone, all in thought. For the more sane villians, it was harder to "fit in", not that you wanted to, but still. Unless you were mindless and brainroted, seeking endless bloodshed with no sanction, you were alienated. That's the one understanding that kept you with a decent-ish relationship with the god. Sane villians who want power yet aren't respected.

In the end, it seems all us villains drift away. Your eyes sadly glance away from his cloaked back.

No fair. No fair when--

"Mmh-- haa," the couple behind you moaned. Your fists clenched tightly. Your magic swelled in your palms, burning hot to the touch.

"Fuck, not here," you heard the other one whisper. Inconsiderate fucks. You glanced behind you, watching the two blue skinned aliens swap spit. They weren't even heros or villians, just random rich folk who got in with connections or status. It only ticked you off even more.

No one should be happy.

Nothing about this was happy.

You whisper, "No one should be allowed to be happy but me." You spat out the last word, your whisper underneath your breath. Your palm burns, and without thinking, you shoot out magic. Wih a buzz, you shoot a shadow beam that curves backward, zipping through the dark, before it sneakily hits the champagne glass the couple held.

A splah rippled behind you. "Ah-- Shit! My shirt! Ugh! This was expensive," you heard one yell as they stood up abruptly, storming off to god knows where.

You smile, feeling the sofa shift as the other rushed off after them. "Hey! Wait," it's pitiful voice soon drowned out by the lull of techno. Your eyes dust close with ecstasy as you turn on the couch, laying your back against it and spreading your legs wide in the new room you gained. You rested your arms out against the back of the couch.

God, what were you even thinking before? It was too good to be you! You shut your eyes, rolling your head back with a soft groan.

"Your scotch, Empress," you suddenly heard Adam's voice before you.

What the fuck?

In disbelief, your eyes blank open, your head shooting up right. To your surprise, this wasn't a figment. Before you was the golden boy, Adam Warlock. He stood tall, his golden hair slip back, gorgeously complimenting the new suit he wore for the occasion. His golden light was a Stark contract to the neon-hellscape, the yellow and red almost comforting to the eyes. He held two glasses of scotch in hand, blinking at you, staring simply through lpng, frail, golden eyelashes.

"What?" You spat.

Adam looks off to the dance floor, lulling out, "You asked for a scotch, ma'am."

You were kidding.

You were making fun of him. Why the fuck did he actually get it?

Your eyes flicker to the whisky. It was served in a refreshing glass with a lemon slice, a straw, and a thick ice cube. You swallow, mouth parched and dry. You blink once. You suppose you'll enjoy it. You reach for it, but your fingers hesitate just before your fingertips brush the cold surface. Adam doesn't wait. He meets you halfway, pushing the glass into your hands, brushing his golden fingers under the pads of your fingertips before letting go. The scotch fits well in your hands.

You pull it into you, staring at it more quietly. He's the first to ever shut you up, huh. You feel the sofa sink next to you. When you glance, the Warlock is sitting beside you, not looking at you, as if to spare you the embarrassment, as he takes a sip. "Mmh," he hums, a smile dotting his face.

You quirk oddly, "You like it?"

He finally looks over at you, and you can clearly see the engravings of symbols on his golden face. "Yes, Scotch Whisky is good," he says. His voice is soothing, and it's deep and thoughtful. His jawline was perfect, strong, and dashing. He was truly sublime. Even you were taken aback. He speaks again, "Whisky is always good."

You take a sip, never taking your eyes off him. He's quite large too, broad shoulders with a small waist. You were almost jealous.

Your eyebrows twitch in annoyance. "Why are you doing this," you huff. You cut to the chase.

He awkwardly looks away. "I don't know much about you. And... This is my first party," he huffs shyly, his eyes meeting yours again. He doesn't break eye contact. Not even as he goes for another innocent sip.

"Ah-ha... Well. Do you know that I colonize and conquer planets for my bidding," you speak. Your eyes sharpen, your smile devilish and tight.

He winces, shaking his head. "Oh boy, trust I know," he sighs. "Dangerous stuff, you know. If you cross the wrong person, they'll be gunning for you," he speaks as if he knows that life, it irriates you worse, "It's never too late to call it quits," he continues.

You stand with a start, throwing a finger at his face, "So that's what you want from me! You're trying to turn me good, huh? Haha! How pitiful. One bland scotch isn't going to change me." You take a swing, hapzardly tossing the glass as you stare down at him. "You heros think you're so above all of us. All of everything. As if you get us all, standing up on your righteous throne."

His jaw slacks. He's about to speak, probably to sprout some more hero bullshit to you. No way that'll happen. You sway, pouncing before he can make one more move. You slide into his lap, pulling your hair away from your neck and leaning in close. Your perfume lingers on him. His thighs are a strong and steady support to you. Your knees rested on the soft sofa.

He flinches in surprise, his breath catching and then blowing against your neck.

You drag the side of your nail down his cheek, tracking your finger with your eyes before pinching his chin, pulling it down to part his mouth. You whisper seductively, "I'm rotten. I'm boundless and endless, ruler all of all, and nothing all at once. And I will return to terrorize you and your little gang again. And again. So you'll never forget me," you hush, so close that your breath mingled together.

You can hear and feel his panting against you, his chest rising and falling. "I'll haunt you forever. I'll dig myself beneath that golden skin. You'll be awake at night, trembling in fear of the mighty Empress of Galaxies," you hiss spitefully.

His eyes flicker between your features, mouth agape with a shaky breath. He's so still afraid to even move a centimeter. Either that or ill prepared. Your eyes narrow down on the etchings on his perfect, golden face.

"Mmh," a pleased sigh escaped you, "You're mighty handsome," you whisper, dragging your hand down his neck and to his chest. "I'll eat you for lunch," you grin.

He finally, finally, says something after a deep pause, "Y-You like me? You like me in that way?"

Your eyebrows furrow. You hiss, "Of course not. I'm fucking with you." You lean back away from his face, disbelief ans disgust in your eyes.

His hands slither around your hips, his eyes flickering. He gazes deep into your eyes. It lnly makes you tense up, your disgust brewing into bewilderment. Did he not listen to any of what you said? Or was he doing this on purpose?

"You like me? Is this what you're doing? Is this how you flirt? Have you done this with Quill, too," he asks. His face is blank, his tone is inquisitive.

Your face heats with humiliation, you lean back more, still held in place by his hands. You bark, "Of course not! He's! He's unattractive, to say the least."

He gasps quietly and the grins, "So I am?"

You sputter, "Yes? I already-- I already established that. I'm teasing you, Adam. This isn't real." You fold your arms and look away.

"Aah," he nods. You refuse to look. "Your dress is stunning. You have a great sense of fashion... You are definitely one of the best dressed here," he reaches and tugs on your jewelry, and that's what gets you to finally look at him. He speaks, "You have a beautiful style."

Your eyebrows furrow deeply, eyes flickering back between each of his features, searching for an answer. Was he? Fucking with you now? How fucking dare he.

You dawned a plastic smile, accompanied by a passive-agressive hum. You slid your hand from up his chest and to his neck. You lean into his ear and whisper, "I wonder what'd be like to melt you back into pure gold," your hand tightens around it, "I wonder if you'll finally learn to shut up." Your magic swells in your palm, and he can feel it against his neck. He gulps quietly.

For some reason, you can't bring yourself to peer out of his neck at first. You feel nothing but irration, nothing but the desire to squash this little bug and move on with your life. But also, a slight humilation kept you from looking at him. He was running circles around you. You feel the large, strong hands around your hips quiver, and you feel him half harden beneath you.

You jolt at the feeling.

"A-Ah... Melt me? O-Oh," he whispers, swallowing thickly.

You slip out of his neck with disbelief. He thinks this is real.

He continues, "W-Well. If you melt me, I don't think I'd be quite useful for my team. In fact, w-what I'm saying is that there could be other ways in which one could... Uh." He stops his rambling as he stares into your eyes. You're looking at him blankly. He only seems to clam up more.

Power spurs in your belly. You slowly, slowly, creep on a villainous smile. Oh yeah, you were gonna fuck with this.

He sighs and looks away, "Well. What I mean is--" You crash your lips against his, cupping the sides of his golden cheeks in your hands. He hums dutifully into it, melting and rocking his head forward to take over this kiss. His left hand raises from your hip to stroke up and down your back, reassuring and worshiping all at once. It then slides to your shoulder, as he wrosd his thumb around it, and beds his fingers around you, his knuckles facing away, his forearm against your skin.

You run circles around him now. He's a horrible kisser, yet he's trying to take the lead. His tongue laps awkwardly out of tune, and his teeth crash into yours. Was he really this inexperienced? It makes you chuckle. He surely has the passion. Your hands slip up to the back of his head, holding it as you pull apart and start anew. Only this time, the both of you keep your eyes open, staring, and letting you guide him into how to kiss.

He finds your rhythm, slurping you up, molding his lips against yours. Ever so diligent, ever so studious. He pulls apart to breath, and the two of you take this short intermission to stare oddly, contently into eachother’s eyes. He pulls your body in, you curve into him with a deadly giggle, and he takes the lead with his new knowledge.

You don't have to tell him twice.

That was fun, at least.

Your heart starts to race, your mind dabbling into dangerous places. You'll fuck him, split up the team from the inside, and then they'll never forget you. Yeah.

Adam sucks your tongue into his mouth before pulling out of the kiss. He licks up your lips, before catching your bottom lip in-between his teeth. You moan, spine-shuddering in excitement. He was too quick of a learner.

Your head buzzed in desire. You moan, "Ah- fuck." Then he releases your lip, dragging off of it painfully slow. It bounced back into place, all juicy and wet from his mouth. Your lipstick smearing on him. Your eyes lid. Maybe. Maybe just a little bit of him was driving you crazy.

Only a little.

He'd make for a fun toy.

One of his hands slides back to cup your ribcage, it fits swell in his palm. He moves you like a weightless doll back into his inquisitive mouth, swapping your spits, dragging his tongue up the roof of your mouth. Your tongue laps the beneath of his while he does so, but then he turns his head completely to dive in deep. Your hand falls, grabbing tight chunks of his suit. A whimper flies out of you.

Your tongues meet again, burdened with passionate fire, frictioned and brisk, lips brushing, growing redder, and plump. He's calm and calculated, at first slipping into your rhythm just to test it out and learn. To gain more of a human experience. Then, it bubbles into desire, a feeling he's not very sure with, then it turns competitive. He wants to turn you on too.

He's overpowering you fast, he doesn't need to take breaths as much as you do, and he's taking advantage of that. As you pull away to breath, you only get a mere second before he's suffocating you again with pretty, golden lips. So much so that you've begun to time your breathe, but, the strategist he is, he's even quicker to notice your pattern and sabotage it too.

You slam on his chest and forcefully pull away from him, leaning over the side of his lap a bit to heave and pant. Blood is brewing in your face and pussy, you can feel your clit swelling. You really couldn't breathe, you didn't know that feeling had such an effect on you. He didn't give you anytime to think. You knew it as an irriation, something you couldn't figure out. Adam knew it as your weakness, your head clouds you from reality.

He's just as smart as you. He knew greater than you that no villian would simply climb into his lap just to "fuck around". A part of you liked him. You just couldn't admit it.

As you pant, he cups the side of your face with his hands, your hair folding against his fingertips. He was admiring you with a soft smile and relaxed posture. The weakness. It made you want to curl up. You shut your eyes tight, trying to gain some energy to stand up, or brew up some sort of curse on him.

Adam's hand slips down, his thumb running over your kiss-bruised lips. You moan and mumble in discomfort. Your head meekly drops into his hand, and he can feel just how hot your forehead was on his palm.

He mutters, "You're thinking too much, Empress... You pick and choose your battles... Maybe... This should not be one..."

Your fists clench tightly. "Why do you talk as if you know me," you spoke. You try to bite back with force, but it comes off so weak. So sensitive, so vulnerable. The Empress was never vulnerable or soft with anyone.

The Empress ruled with a heavy hand, always in control, always in power. Always. Always...

Adam speaks, "Maybe I do."

You look up, glossy eyes finding his. This was a problem. You stand up, using his shoulders as support as you did so. "If you'll excuse me," you huff, face falling blank. You slink off into the dance floor, your usual strut more of a wobble, as you felt how disgustingly wet you were. It made your underwear so uncomfortable, not to forget how your aching clit commanded your knees to soften like jello.

Your neck was hot, your head was heavy. Your feet ached from the heels. You tried to dance in the tight hubub, as arms brushed against yours, as backs were dear to your body. But all you could do is think. Think about how wet you were.

"You think too much," Adam's voice appears in your head.

You hiss.

As if he knew you. You don't think enough. The beat flowed into a slow, sensual song as you released tension from your body with a huff. You slid your hands down your chest, cupping your breasts before sliding them down your stomach. You rose then high into the air afterward, trying to get into the groove, as you swayed your hips to the beat.

You heard the crowd shift behind you, feeling a presence on the custs of your back. They were close, whoever it was, as you lost yourself to the rhythm, eyes shut with your worries behind you. You felt large hands ghosts your hips. You reached down and pressed them down against you, feeling the smooth fingers curve around your hips in a secure vice. You moaned out a chuckle. You felt the stranger pull you into him, meeting you halfway as your bodies connected.

Your back laid against a sturdy, hard chest. You leaned your head back against it with a pleased hum, feeling their crotch brush against your butt. The heat, the pressure, the friction was cathartic. You almost forgot why you came here in the first place. You leaned forward, dropping your hands on your knees grinded against the stranger. You felt them lay a steady palm on the center of your middle back, the other hand sliding to old the side of your ass.

The touch.

Your brain flickered.

You know who it is. No- You knew.

But you kept your eyes closed vice. You didn't want to think about it. You couldn't do with the stress right now.

Maybe Warlock was right. Maybe you do think to much.

His hot rod was hardening beneath your quick, strategic ebbs and flows, your body moving in a addictive, rhythmic wave. The hand slid up and cupped and cupped your shoulder, it was cold and metallic to the touch. Warlock. You shuddered and mewled, pleasure erupting deep within you. You leaned back up into Adam, pressing your back against his strong chest again.

You reached up to cup his cheek, mewling out, "Warlock," as you look to admire him.

hello this next part of thr fic is rushed because I wrote it out the first time and it didn't save so..... but trust the og was juicy.

His long black hair, dewy peach skin and-- Your eyes hardened. Metal mask? You flung off him in an instant, in the process bumping into someone else. You steadied yourself and stared wildly at the man-- who wasn't Warlock.

You stared at a tall miscuksr man with long black hair bluntly cut at the shoulders, his skin fair and leach, a metal mask clamped over his mouth, accompanied by a cool metal arm. You recognized him immediately. "B-Bucky Barns," you stammer out, your eyes wide and frantic.

He stood tensely in place, his arms pulled up harmlessly, his face flushed in deep humilation. "Warlock," he squeaks out, but quickly covers his humilation with a gruff. He's just staring at you, not quite processing what was happening yet.

Your face grows deadly hot, your body tensed up. You nod simply, fleeing from his stare as you speak, "Sorry... I-I thought Adam followed me from the dance floor." Your tone was weak, barely surviving over the loud music.

Bucky's eyebrows quirked in surprise, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. It was rare to see The Empress blubbering. You were always so poised.

Winter Soldier spoke, "Aah. No, I've been watching you dance... I've been watching it for a while so," he blanks, looking away, "I-I thought you saw me approach you." He's quiet the slient type, you're aware. You never would of guessed he had taken an interest in you.

You knew of the Winter Soldier. You've seen him in here in at Galacta's every year almost. You've even once shared a drink, but that was maybe four or so years ago. You never had a real interaction. He had taken an interest in you? It was certainly flattering.

Bucky's brows pinch as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Adam Warlock?" He repeats, but this time it's framed as a deadly question. His tone is drowning in petty confusion. He spits the name as if it were a juvenile stain on your crest. You pale. But he continues, "Like The Guardian, Adam Warlock?"

He spoke as if the name was beneath you.

Truthfully, he was right.

Adam Warlock was beneath you.

At least to your Empress Persona.

Adam Warlock wasn't someone "The Empress" took after. No, in all honesty, someone like the Winter Soldier was perfect for you. He was quiet, filled with a powerful prowess mixed undeniable raw strength. Only such a cold and calculated powerhouse could be a perfect fit for the power-hungry, illustrious Empress. Meanwhile, Adam Warlock is soft and kind. The Empress isn't.

Humilation stung you. Your head felt so heavy. You sighed, pinching your temples, "I won't tell a soul about this if you won't." You shut your eyes tight, praying this all would fade away.

You failed to see the disappointment that flickered through his eyes. He still spoke, "Deal."

You quietly slipped past him. He watched you leave. Your head fell low, your arm suddenly felt cold and forlorn. You stepped off the dancefloor. Shame seemed to sting at every corner.

You were impossibly fond of Adam Warlock.

You were so vulnerable with a stranger. You embarrassed yourself again and again.

You found your way back to the sofa you saw Adam last and was instead greeted by the scorching sight of Captain, Stark, and Thor. They sat snugly like old chums, laughing loud, beaming with endless joy.

You clench your fist.

You glanced around the bar, searching for even the smallest flicker of gold. Luckily, you caught sight of glimmering gold, just behind a crowd of villains you didn't care about. You pushed through them and soon found your Adam, sat at the end of the bar top in between... Hela and Loki?

What.

Your palms burned with fury.

What did they even have in common?

Hela's face was slightly softened, as she peered down at him between upturned eyes. Loki was perched forward, chin resting in his palm as a pleasant, thin lipped smile grew on his face. Both of which had their whole bodies turned to face him. Adam sat in thr middle of them, talking with his hands as he shared some story. The light from the ceiling glowed down upon him, making him twinkle and shimmer in contrast.

You felt.

Bitterly insecure.

So he just talked to villains then, huh? You weren't special at all. You were easily replaced by two other washed-up phonies. You were friendly with both, but still. It stung.

But at the same time. You couldn't look away. Not from the air of pleasure that dimmed from the three of them, how entranced they seemed just by catching sight of Adam. You found yourself grouped up and frozen, just like them.

Adam really was...

Really charming. He naturally lowered people's guards, naturally brought them in, and captured them there. It made sense. He was pure gold, who wouldn't be called in. Your heart ached pitifully.

He was funny and witty. He was a true jewel.

You could easily see why his team valued him so much. He was unique.

He was precious. Not in a juvenile way, but a way that highlighted how lucrative and luxurious he was.

Your eyes trace down his red cape, his slicked back hair, those golden palms. How he was a direct contrast to the neon life, to the blur of black and green that sat next to him. He was glowing.

Hela reaches and lays a hand on Adam's shoulder, he turns to her as she speaks.

Your eyes softened.

You really think too much.

You were still The Empress, you couldn't forget that.

With a deep breath, you correct your posture, strutting on over. You get in close, reaching a hand to cup Loki's waist, the other squeezing Hela's nailed hands, leaning in close on Loki's back. You do this all at once as you slyly hush, "Hello, lovelies," eyes lidded as you stare at Adam, and Adam only.

He flinches, staring at you with a slack jaw. Loki doesn't budge at all, and pleased hum mixing from him, "Hello darling." He reaches back to briefly pat the back of your head.

Hela's eyes narrow down on you intently, eyebrows raising in delight. She slips her hand back into her lap, humming, "My Empress." A pleasure to have Hela's approval.

You pull back, moving to Loki's side as you drop your palms on the table. You speak, "May I borrow your little jewel for a while?" Your eyes soften down on him. You were displaying open affection to him? Adam's eyebrows pinch together, a soft smile glittering across his face. He leans back.

"By all means," Hela says.

"Ooh, but we were just having fun," Loki pouts, drunkenly sloshing his head about.

"He can play god-sitter another time," You say.

Adam awkwardly looks between the three of you.

That's when another steps to the group, laying big and heavy hands on Adam's shoulders. You flicker on over to them, seeing Thor standing just behind him. Thor asks, "Does the dear lad get a say on anything?"

You all seem to cackle, "No."

Loki groans, turning his whole body away from Thor as Adam stands. "Ugh, hurry ans escape while you still can," Loki slurs. Adam chuckles, almost rushing towards you as you lean up, raising your hands to be taken by him.

He grabs them fondly, pulling you along through the party, barely missing the bickering that erupted behind you two.

Adam pulled you off into a long winding hallway, that was, essentially, the bridge between the party and the shuttle board. The hallway was lined with large rounded windows on the right side, a grand observatory to view this side of the universe. Stars sprinkled endlessly, galaxies entertwining, glowing their saturated colors. The two of you sighed at the sight.

"No matter the faction... This sight is home," you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder as you walked.

He hums deeply, nodding with a breathless sigh. "I couldn't agree more. When I learned to fly this was all I ever wanted to see," he hums.

"Earthlings don't understand it," you snicker.

He chuckles, glancing down at you. "You're enjoying yourself, Empress," he says. His free hand cups your cheek, running a thumb underneath your eye.

He's warm and smooth to the touch, you're not sure at all how you mistaked him for Winter Soldier.

You spoke, "Well of course. I have successfully pried you away from two duplicates of me."

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. He nods, "You have."

You continue, "And now, you will take me to your ship."

He freezes, "Oh wait... Groot's in there."

You groan bitterly. You pull away from Adam and lean against the windows, kicking one of your legs back, a sly look on your face. "Then," your tone is deadly, "You will please me here. Whilst I count the stars I have yet to conquer." You glance off to the window.

Adam walks over quietly, your heart rate spikes. He grabs your hips securely, not hesitating for a second. You perk your ass out for him, and he meets you half-way, pressing his body flat against your. You moan, eyes already rolling to the back of your head. His crotch kisses your ass, the friction and warmth mind blowing as he wraps his arms around you, wrapping you up in his readcape, pulling you off the window and into him. Your hands meekly fall into this cloak.

"No," he hushes. His voice is deep and sweet in your ear.

"No," you scoffs.

"Not here," he leans and kisses your ear. His breath is hot, his lips are firm and soft. He's holding you plainly, cutely, you can't even get mad, you feel comfortable here. Your eyes lid, as you stare off into the galaxies.

"Why not," you whine.

He speaks, "I don't want to get caught."

You snicker, "Not a exhibitionist, I see?"

He sighs contently, looking up to stare off at the stars with you. "I still am a guardian. I must behave accordingly, especially in public. Many look up to me... And... I don't think I'm ready..." the last part hushes out, quick and fast, drowning in insecurity.

"Ugh," you roll your eyes playfully. But it didn't go unnoticed by you.

He snickers, "Some of us have rules and are not succumb to mindless chaos." Direct jab.

"I'll send you to hell," you hiss. He laughs heartily.

One last time, Adam sinks into you, taking in your scent, squeezing you tight, savoring your warmth, before he pulls away from you. You knew it was bound to happen, so you stare in contentment, counting stars. He whispers an intergalactic coordinate in your ear along with a date, you hum appeased.

"Until we meet again, nemesis."

"Au revoir."

A week from now, huh.

You can wait.

🏆🌟.

There you were, week later, in the den of your enemy, Guardian's ship. Warlock had you pinned. You found your back against the Starlord's old seat, your hands trapped on his broad chest, as his hands were locked on the chair on each side of you, his tongue half way down your throat.

Adam made up some lie about him taking the ship off to maintenance while he brought and paid for the rest of the team's vacation on a tropical tourist planet. He did take it for maintenance (and a deep cleaning), just needed to show it off to you.

Everything about this was so dangerous. He brought the ship into your large, monstrous space port, docking inside. You had the total upper hand here. You could draw in your shadow creatures in minutes, overpowering him and destroying the ship. He knew he was playing with fire. He knew it was wrong. But still, he lapped and sucked away.

The kiss was passionate from the jump, and eager awaited hands crawled up and searched eachothers bodies, stroking needy touches, groping, and groaning. Adam himself came into this event with his brain already shut off, falling to the will of his senses without question, something he rarely got to explore. Meanwhile, you were glad not to be in control, to not be cautious, at will to his every motion.

Your lips crashed in a rushed, passionate frenzy, your lips bruising already under him, as he dragged his hands from the chair to your sweet hips, pulling them flush into him, he loved the feeling, squeezing the flesh there was his life line. He popped out of your kiss with a dazed expression, you strayed out a swell moan.

You ran your hands up his neck and cupped the sides of his golden face. His cheeks were warm, and he curved into the touch and puckered a sweet kiss into your palm. His hair was down, floating above his shoulders as you twirled it in your freehand's fingers, giggling giddy at his affections. You wee becoming dangerously fond of him.

But as you stare at those yellow scleras, you stop caring.

When you were together, you vowed to just be (y/n) and Adam.

"Empress," he whines. But he likes the nickname.

You sigh, "Warlock?"

"Follow me to bed," he leans in, burying his face into the side of your head, "I want to hold you."

"Alright, alright," you hum. Adam pulls away, grabbing you by your hand and pulling you off with him. The ship has had some several upgrades since the last time you sliced it in half. It now had a lower and upper wing, the upper, having designated bedrooms for each of the crew. And after noise complaints, it was maintained today to be soundproof.

Adam pulls you into his. It's befittingly decorated with gold and red drapes, the occasion grey or black charcoal painting dotting the white and metal walls. His bed was a king's, with plush red duvet and fluffy ruby pillows. He sits down on it. You stand between his legs, throwing your hands around his neck. He grips your hips again.

You sigh in content. "You please me, Adam Warlock," you whisper.

"What a great honor," he sinks those hands around your back and flops backward with you, unearthing giggles ans chuckles on the way down.

You lay your head down next to his neck, spreading your arms about his head. Your right hand glides through his hair. His large, warm hands spread up your back, feeling your breasts against his chest.

There's this unyielding warmth here, fracturing through your joint bodies, radiance of affection burling through it all. His hand smooths down your back and to your ass, he cups them in both hands. You stiffen and look at him, raising a judgemental brow. He laughs, lidding his eyes and sputtering before going quiet. Since he's made of gold, you figure he can't really flush. You drag your hand down his cheek.

You prop yourself up with your left, using your right to pull down his lip. The inside of his mouth was pink and warm, his tongue pink, his teeth white. You didn't get to see it much, as mostly, you were feeling it out. "You're not gold all the way down," you say as you glaze at his pink mouth.

His brows quirks in confusion, "I am."

You shake your head, "Your month's pink, meaning your organs are too... See... If I were to follow down your throat, you'd be red and bloody... Like any other worthless human," you grin.

"Ooh... Ah... Right," he looks away.

You hook a finger on his bottom teeth, pulling his head back to you. "What? Spit it out," you command.

"Nothing, nothing, Your Highness," he's smoothing circled into your ass.

Your eyes lid, resting your face in your left palm. "I implore you, speak," you drag your middle finger up the bridge of his nose. "My tin-man."

His golden lashes flutter, his bright scleras glowing an honest yellow. He stammers, "I thought you were asking... You know... All the way down, if I were gold."

You blink, "Yes. I did. I am."

"Ah, I am then," he nods.

You quirk, "But you're not. You're pink."

"I can show you," he whispers quietly.

"Alright," you hum.

He gives you one final, tart squeeze before you slide off him, rolling onto your side as he sits criss cross on the bed. Immediately, he begins to unbuckle his metal belt, and you jolt upright in surprise. You get it now. "Oh- oh I," but it's too late for you to interupt. As within seconds, Adam had fished himself out of his grey-black suit pants, his penis slowly hardening under your stare.

Just as described, he was golden. His rod was still mostly soft, his size seemed unclear, but he was uncircumcised, his foreskin was a shining, glittering gold. It was pure, dancing with soft sparkles of different shades of gold. "Oh, my," you whisper, leaning forward for a better look, and laying your hand on his forearm.

He flinched a little, he hardened more. Was this his way of initiating sex? Your eyebrows pierced as you gazed up at him, his breath was caught, lips persed together, shy gaze being thrown back at you. You blinked. He could have easily carried the situation into something further at the cockpit, you were needy then. All he did was kiss you how he did before. Now he had you in his room, and now he's flashing himself.

He's hardening more.

You continue to stare with an unreadable expression into his eyes. Adam's face tenses more, teeth baring in braced anticipation.

Was he?

"Are you a virgin," you asked. It's more of a statement than anything.

He seems to clam up more, "I-I... I uh..."

"My, so there are things you can't do," you grin devilishly. You press your hands against his chest, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His cape spreads out on the sheets, his hair spread away from his face. "You're shy, aren't you? Ah, is that why you denied me at the party? Because you are a shy virgin? Or, are you truly not ready for sex?"

You rest a hand on his thigh.

His head was spinning, he tried to prop himself up onto his elbows to get a good look at you inbetween his legs, but you rose forward and pushed him back again. He bounced back on the bed with an anxious gasp. Your head tilted, "I need an answer," you pinned him down beneath you, slowly rising to gaze up at his face, trying to bring the tension away from his most sensitive part, and towards his face.

He laughs awkwardly. You blink.

"Ooh," he starts. "M-myeah... Yes, I am what one would call a virgin... Not particularly shy about it. Haha... Not at all." He's cracking again.

You smile. It was a soft and amused one, not the face splitting grin you usually bore. "Adam Warlock doesn't always have everything in control either... But he pretends to," you reach and stroke the side of his face with your hand. He squeaks, his eyes trying to hide behind his lashes, his hips swelling forward to the speed of your caressing.

He shuts his eyes tight again, drawing a breath and relaxing back into the sheets as you move your hand.

"Adam," you whisper.

He peeks up at you, "Yes?"

"Let's kiss," you grab his chin.

"Ah," Adam dives into your lips again. You have the upper hand as you turn your head to deepen it, but still, you're steady and secure, setting the pace for a slow kiss. You explore his pink mouth, licking his cheeks and teeth, meeting his tongue to carress and twirl around with it. You feel Adam's hand raise and rest on your back as you move to straddle him, hovering just over his waist, not resting on him yet.

You drive your hands down his bare, golden chest, he mutters into the kiss, but his tongue swallows it up as it chases after yours. He's good at kissing, so you start there. Not reaching past what you haven't done with him before. He's still mostly letting you take over, he's not lit with the zealous fire like before.

You were so confused. You pulled out of his lips, hearing him shudder and huff. You rest your forehead against his, peering into his eyes, he avoids them, looking away at the paintings on the wall. Your hand slides up to cup his neck. "Are you alright, Adam," your tone is so soft.

"I- uh... I," he doesn't do anything more. You take a slow breath in, annoyance plaguing you. He won't kiss you, but he won't tell you what was wrong. So what does he want? It's annoying. What was the point of you being here then, if he wasn't going to talk to you. Your brows furrow.

If you were doing something wrong. You'd remove yourself the second he says it. And if he wanted you to continue, then you would do so the second he says it. Yet, he says nothing.

He finally, after a bit of silence, (and him noticing how you huffed), looks at you, a guilty expression wrapped on his face. "On Earth, humans have a common saying that... One's first time is sacred and i-irreplaceable... They say that... That you will never forget them... The person and the time," he pauses.

You lean back from him, giving him space, and he watches how your eyes begin to melt. You know where he's going.

He continues with a sigh, "I am still a Guardian... To become this infatuated... And entwined with such a grand enemy wouldn't be... Beneficial or safe for my team... They would never accept it... They would hate to see us..."

Us, Infatuation, entwined.

He really likes you.

His expression is meek, his voice trembling with weakness. That you were, his weakness. And he was rapidly becoming yours at an alarming and uncontrollable pace.

His hand reaches, and he cups one of your breasts affectionately before his hand slides up to your shoulder, in the crook between your shoulder blade and your neck. His hand is large enough to cover all of it. He gives it a tender, secure squeeze. He speaks, "I'm not sure if... If I should do it... It might be better off," you brace yourself, he notices, he retreats, don't go, "Ah... Empress. I make all the wrong choices with you... You've enchanted me."

Your brows quirk. He didn't give you a straight answer. You didn't have time to help him figure it out. You'd leave yourself to vulnerable if he decided in the end, after all of it, all of what you'd give up for him, he decides to settle with his team. Would it be worth it?

You freeze up yourself.

You didn't know.

He continues, unaware of your own mental dilemma, "Here I am... Taking the ship, and parking it in the lion's den... The Starlord'll kill me if he finds out what I've done to his legacy," he laughs, but his eyes are brimming with affection. He reaches for your face, you look away, his hand retreats back to his chest.

Terror.

He blinks.

Without knowing it, he's begun to convince you otherwise. You speak, "One must decide... You must decide... If I am worth the risk. Am I worth the risk, Adam Warlock? By choosing to give me all of you, you will be thrust upon hardships and bliss. One but decide, if the bliss will outweigh the hard, or will the hardships swallow up the little bliss you had in the beginning. I... Tend to destroy everything, especially the good," your fingers trailed up his golden cheeks.

"I will leave you desolate and broken... Your team will forsake you," something flickers in his eyes, "I will corrupt the little goodness, the little sense you have left. Nothing of me is worth it," and is your solemn truth.

You look back into his eyes, your face hardened, only to find, that he's smiling. A soft giggle trails out from his lips. You're heavily annoyed. Your face scrunches up. You're opening up and he's. Hes simply laughing. That's when you sit up, almost moving to leave when he shoots upright and grabs you by the shoulders, giggling, and burying his face into your neck. "Pfft-- I'm sorry," he's still. Still laughing.

Your face burns with frustration. You feel your feelings begin to hurt. "You're humiliating me," your voice is squeaky and strained.

His laugh dies a little in him, "Sorry-- Sorry," the tension is thick and stressful. Is that all he was going to say-- "It's just, (y/n)... I think I've decided now," his breath is airy. You tense up immediately, already glancing up at the door. You're never worth it. You sag already.

He speaks, "Your words really opened my eyes."

Ah, you've gone and ruined it, too. You clench up, grabbing chunks of his cape. Why do you not want this to end? You've merely started.

"And I think you're right," he speaks. Why is he so cruel? Why couldn't he have chosen another set of words. Why does he rub it in your face and not quickly get it over it. Just say it. Say he doesn't like you so you can be gone. A tiny, quiet whimper shivers out of you. He speaks, "There are going to be a lot of hardships moving forward for us."

You blink.

You hissed out, "What?"

He pulls out of your shoulder, looking up at you with delighted eyes. "Ah-- Are you crying?" His hand slinks up to wipe away the tears you didn't know where falling.

It only makes this more humiliating for you. You're not weak. You shake your head, "No. Of course not."

His hand drops back to your shoulder. "Aah, okay, okay," he's amused again.

You only get angrier. "So. What does that mean?"

He doesn't scold you, he doesn't get annoyed, he's not angry. He only smiles, effortlessly sweet, following along with your train of thought, a hum in his throat as he chimes matter-of-factly, "Well. It means... I like... I uh-- I like you. And... Yeah. I like you, (y/n)."

You're drowning in disbelief. "But- You said I... You said my words... My words helped you see, I didn't say anything good about us. I dont... I didn't say anything good about me. Why are you deciding to stay?" You don't know it. But you're sort of pushing an idea that Adam Warlock must be flawed if he ever were to pick you.

That's when he takes offense. Not about himself, but about how you think of yourself.

He sighs out loudly, "(Y/n). That's what I like about you..."

"What? That I am-- That I am evil? That I will hurt you? That I promise," you huff.

He speaks, "Yes." You flinch. "That you are moody and indecisive... You think a lot, you're anxious... That you're an inter-galatic terror, and a domestic one," he strokes your cheek again, his tone is soft and affectionate, "I like you. I like that. I like all of you... I like it. You're fun... You're different."

Your shoulders slowly relax, unaware of how your slowly begin to sit in his lap. He's just staring at you now, all proud of himself. You blink. You blink again. "Ah, that's it?" You ask.

"Yes," he giggles.

"That- That wasn't very romantic," your brows furrow.

He giggles again. Adam cups the back of your head, pulling your face towards him, and meeting your face halfway to kiss you, a soft, gentle peck that was intended to be a long kiss, but was interrupted by his hearty laughter.

You huff, "Hey... Tin-man. You... Say something romantic." You're still pretty tense. With a pouty face and glossy eyes, you look like you're on the verge of crying a thousand times over. But. You gaze at Adam, sat in his lap, reminiscent of before, when you met at the party, and now a week later, still falling again and again for his hurtful charm.

He leans forward, taking your down with him, your head falling against his plush ruby pillows. You look so pretty in his bed like this. His heart's racing, those glossy eyes of yours are ever the sweetest. "Ah, I'm sorry, my Empress... I am lucky to be graced with your presence, and spared from your just wraith from my imprudent behavior. Forgive me, sweetness... Love of my," he freezes.

You freeze too. A thick surge of blood rocketing to your face, eyes buldged out.

"Ahem," he looks away in embarrassment. "M-My sweet Empress," he gulps.

"Mmh... I'll think about forgiving you," you chime.

He giggles again, finally, finally succumbing to your sweet lips.

🏆🌟.

You gasp ans shudder, as Adam takes you down into his red sheet. Your marvelous suit was peeled off you by his large hands, each time, he took a second to take it all in, reveling in the sight of new skin, not touching you once until it was all off, discarded to the side.

Your body was pure heaven, he oggled it down, watching how you posed and store up at him, softly aching your back and chest, trying to accentuate your assets, and like a fly in a fly trap, he fell for the honey hook line and sinker. His cock was spitting up on itself, twitching and shaking, as he took the terrifying task of hovering his hand over your glorious tit, his fingers seeming to shake.

He gulps quietly.

He's going for it.

He's really.

"Adam please take your clothes off," You sigh out, pinching your temples.

His bright scleras shine bright in embarrassment, his teeth clenched tightly. He takes a breath to calm himself before he quietly turns off the side of the bed, dropping his pants ans shedding his giant cape. He crawls back in, lips pursed, eyes still locked on your tits. He sits next to you, legs criss crossed, as he leans his head inquistively forward, tucking hair behind his ear on his left side.

And it is with that same left hand that he reaches... And! And!

Hovers his palm over your tit again. He got as far as he could before he could feel your warmth radiating up against him, his cock throbbing pitifully. He senses a change with you, he looks to your face. Surprisingly, you're not angry, you stare at him blankly and calmly, eye fucking his just as much as he to you.

He was golden all over, down to his cock, to his calves and toes, to the tips of his golden hair. His broad body as stocky as a barn, complimenting a tiny waist, built arms and powerful halves. He was so pleasing to look at, how his golden skin reflected and shined under the light so sweetly. He was hairless downstairs, smooth all down, even from his crotch to his legs. Your eyes flickered to his forearm, which was also hairless. Then they landed back to the shaggy hair at the top his head.

He got lucky.

You giggle.

He sucks up the sound. He finally lays a hand on your boob, gasping lowly, as he gives you the tiniest squeeze. He caresses you, lulling his fingers to cup your underside, feeling your hand hard nipples graze under his palm. He pulls his hand up to your collarbone, shuddering as your nipple draws a line on his palm again. He sinks back onto the bud, only this time with his golden fingertips, pulling them into a squeeze. You harden, parting your lips a little.

"Be a bit faster, Adam, I can't wait forever," you whisper.

"R-Right--"

"If you must stare, I perhaps I'll send you a few polaroids," you giggle.

His jaw slacks. As he stutters, "Yes... My Empress but-- I don't know how to do anything else."

You part your legs, flashing your pretty cunt to him. Adam sucks it in. You meticulously slide your hands down your body and to your clit, slowly rubbing circles for him to watch. He turns to you, leaning over to peer at your exposed labia. His dick twitches. He watches you moan before dipping your fingers down, parting your hole with two fingers for him to see.

He slips off the bed, you pay him no mind, as you continue to pleasure yourself. You're magnetic in this moment, eyes shut peacefully, fingering yourself at a quick pace, loving the way your hymen stretched around the entrance and bullying that intensely. He gets to enjoy the best part from here, you dipping in a see of plush red, moaning. He slips back on to the bed, his little moment over, as a new fire overcomes him.

He slots between your legs, holding your thighs, parting them wider, as you pull out of your yo shift and angle for his take down. He rolls out his pink tongue, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, looking dead at you as he did so. His heart was beating so fast, he was so nervous. But you couldn't tell, you flushed, patting his head with a whisper, "Good boy."

He he doesn't slow down, not even as his scleras glow brighter with sensitive lust. He's laying full on his stomach, grinding into the sheets as he sticks his whole tongue inside you, squirming it up against your hymen, just how you liked it. "Aah... Adam," you moan. He twists his head, grip intense on your thighs, as he fucks his tongue into you, pawing up around the layer of muscles that tighten around him, squirming the hard tip of his tongue into your walls before thrusting out, thickening his tongue and badgering your entrance with it. All just to slam it back in, erratically swirling his tongue from side to side, thrusting it in deep, flattening out his tongue for the thickness inside of you.

You bucked into him roughly, reaching out and grabbing chunks of his hair.

He could feel your loud moans reverberate through you, as you pushed yourself down on his tongue. His balls jerked, and he gave into the intenseness by grinding down more onto the sheets.

He pulls out to pant, too enamored by the flithy act that he forgets to breathe. He goes back in fast, lapping up your clit and labia, adoring how you felt when he parted you with a flat tongue. Your pussy made all sorts of vulgar sounds, complimenting the grunts that flew out your body.

He really couldn't take this.

He slips his tongue back in, dropping one of your thighs. He rockets his freehand up, snapping sharp into the air. The click comedy with a room shaking buzz, the lights flicker, and with a rough grasp, you feel energy invading your body. It directly attacks your heart, pulling at a strange sensation just behind it- your very essence. Your soul.

You gasp, feeling a phantom heartbeat ring next to yours. It's warm and inviting, full of kindness and light- golden, tasteful-- "A-Adam," you whine out.

Your breath quickens. Your soul is tied to Adam's in this moment, all of you belonging to him. It was odd and strange, the sensation like a relaxing lullaby but burning with passionate energy. You shudder. You can somehow feel Adam, not just his heart but-- feel yourself in his perspective. You can feel his embarrassment, how its hidden by lustful eyes, feel his passion for you, how his whole body seems to burn. As you look down at him, you find he's already staring at you, leaning his head against you thigh, his hair hugging his face.

"He's watching you ride out your high. Your first time ever begin soul-tied to him.

You whine again, hearing his thoughts interrupt you.

You both reach for eachother, sensing it in your souls, as he frees a hand to intertwin with yours. You met half way, yet again, loving his warmth and his company.

You groan and buck your cunt forward, he pulls off your thigh and buries into it on command. His hand runs from thr back of your thigh to the inside, resting right by his cheek to support him in his bullying of your clit. He flicks it and rolls it erratically around, doing all of this on repeat just to pull you into his warm mouth and suck you off.

He can feel your soul cry out, feel how the sensations make you feel, but they coarse through his own body, reverberating inside his being. He can feel what it's like to have your clit bullied, and it forces him to thrust against the bed and grunt, slipping off your clit in the process.

He sighs helplessly, tucking hair behind his ears before drawing an experimental strip up your clit. He can feel the sensation against his cockhead simultaneously. You grunt and buck your pussy forward, your crotch knocks against his nose, and you both hiss upon feeling Adam's pain.

You only need to think it, "Adam, what's going on,"

Before he responds back to you, despite ever speaking a word, "In this moment, I am yours and you are me. Our souls have bonded. I feel all of you," he strokes your thigh, "you feel all of me."

You moan out, "Haa- fuck!" Your eyes rolling back in ecstacy. You can feel his-- or yours-- throb, it's so painfully tense with heavy, shaking balls. His load is going to hard and huge, you can feel the sensation ring up his reproductive systems and to his brain.

The combination of dopamine and oxytocin firing through both of your bodies was an overwhelminf sensation, your mouth grew parched. You finally rested back down onto the pillow, Adam senses your acceptance, and he goes back into you. His work is sloppier, interrupted by his own grunts and moans, but he still fucks your clit up, badgering it, slurping and flickering against it.

You can feel him, feel what it's like to devour you, feel what it's like to sense your pleasure on his cockhead, how these bullying sensations feel like teasing on his cock. You can feel Adam begin to lose it, as he tries to suck up your whole vulva, just to feel the sensation on his cock too.

You grab chunks of his hair, roughly pulling up out of your body with a huff, "Adam- A-Adam hurry up and fuck me," you think.

He's so pitiful in your hold, not even hissing in pain, just thrusting up into the sheets. He nods simply and quietly, sloppily pinning you down. And even sloppier, his head pokes everywhere put your entrance. You can feel his thick head thrust into your folds and part them, twitching before bumping into them again, and again, each in a different area.

You hiss, tightening your death grip on his hair, he whimpers. You use your voice for the first time, "Put it inside, dammit!"

You release him and he drops his head into your neck, biting down hard as he forcefully, and finally, slams all the wall inside. He bottoms out inside you, all glorious seven inches, as he's skinner with a fat head. You both moan out in unison, yours are mostly filled with bright eyed gasps. You can feel your walls tremble around him, what its like to have a hot and heavy cock inside a warm womb, and simultaneously, the thrill of being filled up.

Adam's whimpering, panting, thrusting into you as if you were a pillow. His thrusts are shallow, he's barely leaving you, drowning in your warmth and fucking your cervix at this point. He likes the way it hurts, having your cervix bullied, he likes the sensation that you feel when your pussy's full. He can't leave, he never wants to.

But his man-ly senses override the glory of his new-found feminine desires.

He releases your shoulder, his forehead against yours, tightening his grip on your entwined hands as he fucks you, pulling out and then slamming in harshly, just to do it again. Focused on roughness than speed. "Aah- My! E-Empress," he mewls. He loves the way he feels on your-- more so our- hymen, finally understanding in full why you bullied it so much.

Such a normally restrictive muscle being forced to loosen, the pleasure and pain were comingling into one new, glorious thing. He loved how his head bludgeoned it to stretch, before his skinny cock made it shrink, just for it cry out when it had to deliver his fat head out.

You, on the otherhand, you used your freehand to claw his shoulders, already fucked out of your mind. Your bodies were combining into one sensations, you couldn't separate them the way Adam could. You felt your cock get a tight and hot hole, and your pussy get fed. Like some simple ape, you hollered and moaned in an endless stream, feeling your cock twitch in a pretty orgasm.

"Im- gonna cum," you moaned out, shooting your load into yourself. Only for your pussy to drown in a pretty wave, cumming instantly at the thick, appreciative sprays. You moaned ans arched off the bed, spitting out, "'M cumming a-again!"

Adam shakes, his virgin body forced him to cum again, right after you, his second time today. You moan out again, thwarting your head all the way back, not caring for the pain that rushed up your spine. "C-Came! Th-Thrice," you mewled, your toes flying up clenched.

Adam released your hands as his head fell heavy. His forehead and thr top of his head rested on the bed, his hands scooped up your hips, pressing you against him as if he were lost in a bowing prayer. He fucks into you, still maintaining that sloppy, but incredibly deep pace. He just wants to squeeze around his fat cockhead, and you do so, making him cum once again in your hot walls.

Your claws rip out skin, blood oozing out of your golden back, as you scream. To your magically inexperienced, you've been cumming non-stop, no separation between the two of you. Your mind was in ruins, tearing flooding out your body as you sobbed. Adam felt them swell up in his eyes, as he bits down on the sheets.

His brain rings, "A bit more. Please a bit more i need to remember this forever," Adam thinks. You nod pitifully.

He manages strength to raise his head up, and shoot up fully upright on his knees. He tightens his grip on your hips and fucks speedily, into you, slamming his burly head in your gummy walls, the sickness of a sea of cum aids him to go fast. There's this milky ring that builds on his shaft for every thrust, forcing the sea of cum to dribbling down and spray out when it can. The color was a light golden. Pure strays of gold mixed with your human slick, it's a glittering sight that none of you can behold, too lost in the balance of chemical fires.

Your orgasm is building, he can sends your ovaries forcing out a painful quake. His orgasm is building, you can your-- his-- balls surge.

"Cumming! Big-- Big c-cumming," you try to warn him, but trust me he already knows. You brace yourself, reaching out and grabbing chunks of the red sheets.

"Fuu- Fuck-- (Y/n)-(Y/n)-(Y/n)," he chants, speeding up as his high reached.

He slammed down into your cervix, your highs combined into one explosion, as you exploded out a hot load within yourself, and his ovaries squeezed out every last drop down your womb to meet you. The mess filled your womb up with cum, your breath dulling in your throat, your voice hoarse from the screams you didn't know were falling out.

Adam could barely stand upright, as he trembled from head to toe, jerking and pulsating. The pleasure came with an endless pain that followed, forcing him to snap his fingers, feeling his soul return to his body.

You both gasped at the ready-ness. It felt as if someone forced the lights on in a comfortable, dreary sleep. He pulls out of you and collapses next to you, panting and heaving as it his life depended on it.

His balls had completely tagged, as with his cock, it shrunk behind his foreskin almost instantly. You were still moaning in confusion, forced into another, painful orgasm just as your body returned from being one.

You grunted out, almost instantly flying into his body as he laid down, head resting in his chest, hand grasping at his body. And as you turn on your side, a flurry of cum rockets out of your wall, the sensation is nothing but endless relief. You moan again, unaware of how sweaty and sticky you were, seemingly everywhere.

Adam quickly jumps into action, snuggly pulling you into him as he helps the two of you into the ruined covers, barely resting his head on the pillows before it was lights out for him.

And you, you got to revel in after-glow glory before you too, were knocked out.

🏆🌟

Your eyes burned behind your eyelids, disoriented as you shot up. Your eyes opened shortly after you found yourself upright, instantly noticing how your uterus cramped up tightly before mellowing. You were in a warmlight red room, your hair wild, the strench of sweat and sex pure and thick in the air. You were deathly hungry, deathly parched, and desperately in need of a shower.

What the fuck?

The memories of before hit you like a brick.

You gasp, it's a picture of bewilderment, amazement, and anxious excitement as you turn to Adam in bed. He's grunting awake, laying a hand on his forehead as his eyes pop open.

You nudge him, "Adam." He grunts, his eyes closing blissfully. You nudge him again, "Adam. Adam... Wake up, honey." Your voice is drowning in tender affection.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, as he finally sits up, just like you. "Ah-- Shit... 'Ve got a migraine," he speaks as he keeps his hand against his forehead.

But he smiles oh so gratefully, and oh so tenderly when he sees you. He leans in and pecks a loving kiss on your lips, and you moan awesomely into it. There's this air of awe that suffocates you both as you pull away.

"Fuck," you hiss. "That was," you trail off blissfully.

"Exhilarating," he finishes. Adam slips off the bed, his knees buckling before he catches himself. He looks back at you, and finally gets to see the mess you two have made. His sheets are drowning in crusty sweat, and even worse, smeared with thick white crust in one concentrated area. He cringes bashfully, looking away in disgust and pride.

You walk up to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"We need a shower, my sweet," you smile. Your hair's a mess.

He giggles.

The shower, turned bath, was lovely. The two of you engaged in meaningless talk about everything and anything. Like what letter of the alphabet the galaxy would be, and if rocket where a cat would he be less angry? Things that floated from your mind to his, and he simply went along with as he helped you wash and comb out your dirty hair. As he scrubbed himself while you rinsed. And finally, as he snuggled your warm body onto his while you yapped in the hot water.

You've never been so vulnerable, as you laid your bare body against him, your hair up as it sat in his conditioner, his lips and face already familiarizing itself with your neck.

"But out of all the races, I never would've expected a Xyler. Maybe a Luma, but never a Xyler. They're naturally more... Well," you paused in thought, "Reproduction-minded."

"Mmh, I've never been to Wahloni. I wouldn't know," Adam hummed, as his hands worshipped up and down your body, mostly your sweet breasts were played with.

You sighed in content.

"Hey... You ought to pick up your team too... You still have seats to wash, my golden boy," you grin.

He huffs, "Don't remind me." He picks his head up, turning to the large mirror in the bathroom. "Computer," he shouts, it responds with a ding, "what time is it?"

The mirror warps, a holographic "2:30 pm", flashing on the screen.

Your eyebrows furrow. "Huh? You arrived at four?"

"Ah, the clock's messed up... It's probably only eight, I've got until eleven," he speaks. Adam begins to kiss suck your neck, you moan sweetly. "Let's... Play again," he whispers.

You laugh, "No Adam! I still haven't recovered from that."

He kisses your ear, "I won't use my Soul-Bonding."

"No. Not a chance! Trust me, my sweetness, there will be more where that came from. Simply, another time," you turn to him, kissing his lips sweetly.

He wraps arms around your hips.

"Let's clean, my dear," you command him.

The two of you slip out the bathtub after you finish your route. He helps dry you off as he fetches your suits from the hang wrack. They're fully dry, curtesy of their quality, but the two of you decide white robes would be better. Adam loads his sheets in next, while you fetch a while glasses and some wine. He follows you out to the common area, where a nice flat screen descends.

"What time is it, computer," Adam barks again.

"Hello, Adam Warlock. It is 2:57 pm, Eastern Standard."

His eyebrows quirk. "That can't be right?"

"You have 250, new messages. Shall I read them?"

"Fuck-- Yes," Adam tensely folds his arms. You grin at the chaos, pouring your glass.

"From Rocket Raccoon. Where are you dipshit. Do not leave us stranded. From Mantis. Are you okay? We don't mind if you're a little late. From Drax. Hurry the fuck up. From Rocket Raccoon. I will shred you into gold flake--"

Adam gasps, "Wait, computer give me the full date and time."

It spurs, "It is 2:57 pm, January 8th. Drax's birthday is approaching. Should I set a reminder?"

You shoot off the couch.

Adam grabs his locks viciously in his hands as he yells panickedly. "Wait, what? The eighth? That's tom... Holy shit," Adam frantically looks at you.

Your eyes bulged out. "That's! We slept in, Adam!"

In a hurry, the two of you speed in two different directions. You rush to throw on your suit, Adam runs down to the control board. He starts a call, and you can hear Mantis's strained voice as she yells. You don't care to make out the words, quickly collecting every reminder of you ever being here in your pals, as you rush back to Adam.

He turns back from the conversation to you, "Yes! Yes. I was attacked by," his eyes lock onto you, "The! The Empress!"

"Oh god, but it's not even February? Does she not care about the party," Mantis huffs in disbelief.

"She's an animal. Can't expect an animal to follow rules," Rocket gruffs.

You bite your lip. Adam shoots you a soft look.

"I think it was all bark no bite, as I defeated her pretty fast. She chased the ship through the galaxy-- But there's not a scratch on it," he speaks, not looking back at the computer.

"It's villian menopause. She's falling behind. That's what it is," Drax hums.

You clench your fists with angry. Huffing as their conversation drones on.

"I don't know, but Adam. I've got my own adventures to return to, okay," Mantis drones on.

You jester to the door, waving at him. He nods sharply, waving as you rush out. He cant help the warm, affectionate smile thats on his face. They make his next words oddly happy, "I've got it. Don't worry I'm returning."

He'll, see you again.

As you step out into your ship, you rush into the airlocks before opening your hatch, allowing Adam to fly out of your ship's park. And just as you return to your cockpit, your system dings.

"One New Message from Golden Boy, My Empress. Should I read it?"

Your heart flutters, "Yes."

Your system speaks,

"Same time next week? :)"

#adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #mcu #mcu fandom #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel rivals #marvel rivals adam warlock #adam warlock marvel rivals #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #marvel characters #marvel

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joemama-2 · 10 months ago

Text

somethin' sweet

synopsis: you own a five-star renowned restaurant that is extremely hard to get into. business is great, the customers love it. everything is as perfect as can be. that is until a harsh food critic leaves you a bad review. you're stuck with a dilemma, let this one review overcome you. or.....fuck him so he can change it. tags: smut, sort of public sex, vaginal penetration, oral, gojo is kind of mean and annoying, praise, degradation, doggy, missionary, cunnilingus, dividers by @cafekitsune word count: 6370

The one time you’re not here, the one time you actually listen to everyone’s complaints about taking time to yourself because you overwork way too much. The one time you use your PTO to vacation to Bali for a week,

A distinguished critic visits your restaurant.

You stare down at the screen in your hands, having not at all prepared for this news to be brought on you as soon as you enter. Its words stare back at you, taunting you almost. You’re half tempted to throw it across the kitchen, but that would be another expense added to your list of supplies you needed to buy for the upcoming month.

“What day did he come?” you ask as your pointer finger scrolls the screen, reading more of the nasty review that was left.

“A Saturday. None of us even knew he was coming.” Mayra, your head sous chef, replies. The rest of the staff stands around. Some in nervousness, anticipation, and even anger at the predicament. “We sat him on the top. Even made sure he had the whole floor to himself.”

The top floor, strictly reserved for distinguished guests who waited on your month long reservation list, or for those who would simply buy it out for the night. Your top floor is constantly raved about in the media, sometimes for its lavishness and other times in jealousy. Long story short, the top floor is for the best of the best.

And they gave him that.

But it seems he didn’t care for that at all.

“If you’re in the mood for a culinary adventure that feels more like a misadventure, look no further than Lovely Haven, the so-called “fusion” restaurant that blends American comfort food with Italian classics. Unfortunately, the only thing they seem to have fused successfully is disappointment and confusion. The result is a dismal failure that feels like a cruel joke on the palate, this is what happens when culinary confusion collides with utter mediocrity.

Let’s start with the decor—an odd mix of rustic Italian charm and the kind of neon signs you'd find in a questionable diner. It’s as if someone couldn’t decide whether to create a romantic trattoria or a roadside burger joint. The atmosphere is confusing, much like the menu.”

You scoff as you read this part to yourself. The decor? The decor was one of the things almost every customer raved about. Its bright lights mixed with sleek and stainless furniture was the epitome of success. Going as far as bugging your interior designer for days, even weeks on end, to get it down to the T.

Secondly, mediocre? How dare he? You’ve been in the culinary arts for over two decades now, and so has your staff. You were very nitpicky and quite a perfectionist when assembling your employees for your place of solace. Your 5-star Michelin restaurant, yes, 5-star. It only took two years to achieve that goal, which placed you as the quickest growing restaurant in your area. And he’s treating it like you’re nothing but a simple Applebee’s or Chili’s.

The balls on this man.

“Now, onto the menu—a dizzying array of choices that reads like a desperate attempt at creativity gone horribly awry. The lasagna burger is a prime example of this misguided ambition. It arrives as a soggy monstrosity, with layers of pasta and a sad, overcooked beef patty that would make even the most forgiving diner weep. It’s a culinary abomination, devoid of flavor and entirely forgettable.

Then there are the “famous” Alfredo fries, which manage to be both an insult to fries and Alfredo sauce. The dish is an affront to all things Italian and American, featuring limp, greasy fries drowning in a thick, tasteless goo that resembles some sort of industrial paste. It’s a disgrace, and I genuinely questioned whether anyone in the kitchen had ever tasted actual food before.”

By this point, your grip has tightened on the Ipad, jaw clenching and brows furrowing. This man, he really, really was an asshole. Disrespecting your hard-working kitchen staff was a low blow that you took personally. “How long did it take to get his food out to him?”

“Twenty minutes, Y/N.” Luke, one of the managers, replies. “I timed it and made sure it was prepared before the other guests who were dining.”

So not only was he being treated like a princess, but the other customers, who probably got there before him, received their food after he was served. All for the sake of him not reviewing your restaurant’s “unkempt timeliness”.

You continue to read the last few paragraphs while your stomach twists and turns.

“Service, predictably, matched the culinary catastrophe. Our server was inattentive and seemed more interested in their phone than in providing any semblance of hospitality. Drinks took an eternity to arrive—warm, naturally, because why would you expect cold beverages at a restaurant?

Dessert? Oh, you mean the “Tiramisu Sundae”? It’s a ghastly creation that defies logic, featuring layers of sad, mushy sponge cake drowned in what could only be described as a failed attempt at chocolate syrup. The entire dish is an insult to the beloved Italian classic, tasting more like a punishment than a treat.

In conclusion, Lovely Haven is not just a failure; it’s a disgrace to the culinary arts. If you value your taste buds and your sanity, steer clear of this pitiful excuse for a restaurant. Save your money and your appetite for a place that actually understands food. You deserve better.”

The silence that follows is harsh, awaiting a potential outburst from you. You lift your head and swivel around to glare at the group around you. “Who served him?”

Hesitance replies back, some of your staff looking down as though the ground seems more interesting than your death glare. It isn’t until you ask the question again, in a firmer tone, does Mayra respond. “Susan.”

Jesus christ.

As if things couldn’t be worse, who’s bright idea was it to decide that the slacking employee serves your distinguished guest. The one person who has been trying your presence since she was hired. “Where is—”

You’re disrupted by the kitchen door opening, the problem herself walking through with earbuds in and of course, scrolling on her phone. As she looks up and sees the numerous amount of eyes on her, her steps falter. Confusion sparks through her expression, but as soon as you step forward, it begins to click.

“You’re thirty minutes late, I put you on opening because you said you couldn’t close anymore.” You don’t even have it in you to lighten your tone, eyes narrowed and voice clipped in annoyance, frustration. “Your performance has been lacking for months now, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ever the brat she is, her arms cross. “I’m a busy college student, I have other priorities and things on my mind unlike the rest of you.”

“And I understand that,” you snap back.”But there is a difference between having other priorities and simply not caring. You don’t listen, you show up late, and you’re using your phone while you’re on the floor. Do you understand how extremely disrespectful that is?”

A moment of silence passes as she seems to formulate what to say in her mind. “I jus—”

“You’re fired.” you cut her off. “Your last check will be deposited within 24 hours, do not come back and if you do, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Luke and Mayra, along with your other manager, Ren, sit next to you in your office. Computer screen displayed in front of you four while your fingers type away. Mayra glances at your focused expression before back at the screen. “Do you really think he’ll reply back? Critics don’t usually come to review a place for a second time, especially one they strongly advised against.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes not straying from the email you’re drafting out. “Out of the seven years we’ve been operating, we haven’t had a single bad review. And now, this entitled ass thinks just because he gets paid to eat and critic, he can ruin our reputation.”

Ren sighs, hand lifted to his forehead. “Y/N, it’s okay. One bad review doesn’t and won’t define us.”

“Besides, he’s known for being harsh, he does this to everyone,” Luke adds on.

“Even more of a reason for me to do this. I will not allow him to openly disrespect our hard work and dedication like this.”

The three around you give one another a knowing look, right before you click send on the email.

“Hello, Mr. Gojo.

My name is Y/N L/N, I’m the owner of Lovely Haven, a place you recently reviewed. After reading your honest review, I am extremely upset and apologetic for the food and service you received that day. That is not at all what we strive for, and again, I sincerely apologize.

If you would accept, I would like to set up a second visit for you. We are closed on this coming Friday, due to the holiday, but I’d love to personally serve you myself and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Lovely Haven and its history.

Please respond back as soon as you have a moment. Thank you again.

Kindly,

Y/N L/N”

“Hello, Ms. LN,

I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’ll come around 8am on Friday. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Gojo Satoru”

You;ve spent the better half of the past two hours setting up and making sure everything is perfect. You’ll be damned if you have a rerun of last time, especially on your watch. Your staff insisted you don’t handle this alone, urging for at least two cooks to be present. But you refused.

Lovely Haven is your business and creation, your heart. So in a way, you feel as if it’s your job as the owner to make this all right. If anyone can serve this man, it’s you.

You’re dressed formally, hair up (in case he tries to complain about hair in his food). Wearing a simple black dress, modest enough as it reaches your knees. It’s tight, but not too tight. You’re wearing small black heels to match, gold jewelry complimenting the attire.

The clock inches towards 8 and you, for some reason, find yourself feeling oddly nervous. Maybe it’s the anticipation or anxiousness for a second try. Your stomach curls, almost like you’re a lovestruck high schooler seeing her crush in the hallways. Sweaty handles fiddle together in front of you while your eyes dart from the watch on your wrist and the glass front doors.

Either this man had a penchant for being late, or you somehow mixed your days up and he’s not coming today. Dramatically, you check your phone and let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s Friday. Okay, good. Then he’s really just late.

Well, not exactly late. But he said he’d get here at 8, it’s 7:57. Usually people don’t get to places at the time they said, because if he came at 8 exactly, that is late. You should always show up at least five minutes before your estimated arrival time, at least that’s how you thought.

No, that’s how most normal, responsible adults thought.

Maybe he’s not normal. Can’t be if he gave you a one star and brutal review. He’s probably just trying to be different from the rest. And you hate people like that. Shitting on something that is actually good, whether it be a show or movie, simply because everyone else says it's good. And the fact that he’s known for his low reviews is even more infuriating.

There’s no way every place he visits is below three stars. It has to be his taste buds, they’re probably—

“Good morning.”

You snap your head up, completely lost in thought that you didn’t even notice, let alone hear the dreadful man walk in. Already not off to a good start. A smile finds its way on your face, hand held out, to which he shakes. “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gojo. I’m Y/N.”

He nods, a small smile reciprocated back. “I figured.”

Is it just you or did he tone sound almost condescending? And that smile on his face seems like he’s the type to think he knows it all.

Nope, don’t do that.

Pulling your hand away after what seems like a longer than usual handshake, you step aside and motion towards the array of tables. “Well, why don’t I show you to your table?”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, raising a thin, white eyebrow as if to silently urge you to start walking. You hold back an eye twitch, turning around and walking to the area you set up specifically for him.

He’s following behind you as you walk, the heels of your shoes softy clanking against the ceramic tile. As you glance back, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes quickly raise up to meet yours. Like he was—

“I apologize for not being around last time, I was on vacation.” you say, cutting off your own train of thought that you won’t entertain.

“Ah, no worries. Where did you go?” His pace matches your own now, walking side by side as his arm barely brushes against your bare skin. “Somewhere nice?”

You chuckle lightly and nod. “Yes, I went to Bali. It was quite lovely. The people were very welcoming and the food was absolutely delicious.”

A hum. “Better than this place, I hope.”

That comment. God, that comment. And the fact that he’s hiding it behind his sickeningly sweet smile, a tilt to his voice like he’s joking but not actually joking. You’ll pray for the former. “I can assure you, Mr. Gojo, both residences of food are exquisite.”

You two get to the square table prepared for him. A crisp, white linen tablecloth across the surface, that creates a clean and elegant contrast that elevated the rustic charm. At the center, a simple yet striking centerpiece emerged—a small terracotta pot filled with fresh basil and rosemary, their vibrant green leaves offering a delightful aroma that whispered of Italian kitchens.

Polished silverware gleamed in the soft light, laid out neatly on either side, ready for the culinary delights to come. An elegant, crystal wine glass on the side. Cloth napkins, folded into intricate designs, rested atop his plate. The dual flickering candles in small glass holders cast a warm glow over the table, creating an intimate atmosphere that you hoped would help catch his eye.

Finally, a menu card that displayed the special dishes you had prepared just for him. You took the time out of your day to make this specifically for today, crafting your menu for a man who probably didn’t think twice about it was not on your 2024 bingo card.

He takes his seat as you stand in front of him, placing the menu closer to his reach. “Here we have a variety of our best sellers and limited editions. Just for you, Mr. Gojo.” Your smile gets a little harder to keep up as he lazily sits back in his seat, scanning the menu with his sharp, blue eyes.

“Interesting,” he observes, even flipping it over. He glances back up at you. “The stuffed arancini, is that good?”

“Delicious, sir.”

“Okay,” he looks back down at the menu. “Then I’ll get the Buffalo Cauliflower Bites for an appetizer, plus the Bruschetta Trio. Oh, and to drink, I want one of your craft mocktails.”

So he asks for your opinion, and doesn’t even order it. “Of course, Mr. Gojo.” You don’t write it down, having already committed his order to memory, due to years in the food industry. “I’ll get started on that right now.”

With one more smile, you turn around and head to the kitchen. As soon as the doors close, your face hardens with irritation. Walking around to grab the appropriate ingredients, grumbling to yourself curses. Sure you’ll make his food and smile at him, doesn't mean you won’t be a brat about it behind closed doors.

The minutes Gojo spends alone, he’s meticulously counting them down. Eyebrow raised as he eyes the kitchen doors and the arms of the small clock. Leg crossed over the other with his arm resting on top of the back of his chair that he;s currently tipping back and forth with the stability of his foot.

After about three minutes, you greet him with his mocktail, setting it down. “Here you go, sir.”

“Finally, I almost died of thirst, you know?” He huffs a small chuckle and he sips from the straw. You want to grimace as he swishes the liquid around his mouth, head tilting in dramatics. He’s acting like it’s mouthwash or something. As he swallows, you do your best not to focus on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

What do you think you’re doing? Checking him out right now, seriously?

“How is it?” Your voice raises a tad, either in nervousness or a way to calm your suddenly rapid beating heart.

“Not too bad, a little sour for me.” He comments, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip. “What’s in it?”

“Basil lemonade and berry spritz, Mr. Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects you, eyes rolling while his hand waves around dismissively. “Stop calling me ‘sir’ and all that, makes me feel old. Besides, this is supposed to feel comfortable isn’t it? Don’t force yourself with the formalities.”

Well, that’s a small breath of relief. You simply nod. “Of course, Satoru. Then you may call me Y/N.”

“Was already gonna do that.”

“Right.”

A small pause follows, hands awkwardly fiddling behind his back. You didn’t even realize it before, but the way he stares feels really invading. Especially with how bright his eyes are, you’re starting to feel naked under his gaze. Like he can sense it, he grins boyishly. “The appetizers?”

You nod again, quicker this time, clearing your throat. “Yes, coming right up.”

And once more, you leave him be while you finish up his food. The bruschetta trio, a classic tomato and basil, roasted red pepper and feta, with wild mushroom and truffle oil topping, served on toasted artisan bread. This dish is loved among your regulars.

And the buffalo cauliflower bites which are spicy, crispy cauliflower tossed in buffalo sauce, served with a side of creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for customers with a higher spice tolerance, craving that explosive taste in their mouths.

Holding the two white, glass plates with ease, the doors push open by your back as you walk back over to him. “Bruschetta and the cauliflower, Satoru.”

He doesn’t waste time in taking small, careful bites of each platter. Humming in thought as he does this. It takes a couple minutes before he speaks, using the cloth to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “The mushroom is quite bland, the bread is too hard. And the blue cheese doesn’t go well with the bites.”

Each word is like a punch to your gut. He’s really just finding every little thing to pick at, isn’t he? Lips pursing, your eyebrows raise in faux consideration. “I see, I can remove the dressing for you, and I’ll serve you a softer piece of bread.”

Your hands reach out to take them away, just as his moves into frame. Your fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “No need to take them away, just stating facts.” His smile never seems to leave and each growing second, you feel more and more tempted to wipe it off his face. He gently pushes your hands away, interlacing his fingers together. “Do you expect replacements to suddenly wipe my memory clean? Why should I have to rely on you giving me a replica of what I ordered, when the original piece should’ve met my expectations?”

A little caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you gulp and clear your throat. “Well, if something is not up to par for my guests, it is my duty to replace that with something that is.”

“Sure, but I’m asking why it wasn’t perfect the first time.” He leisurely sips from his mocktail.

A small, but forced laugh leaves your lips. “We do try our best every single time, Satoru. Being perfect has proved hard when everyone has different tastes.”

“So you just give out generic food and hope for the best?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Your brows begin to furrow at his nonchalance, lip barely quirking down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but our food is not generic. We serve with love and dedication.”

“Love,” he repeats in a mocking tone, picking at the bites with his fork. “This was made with love?”

He’s really getting on your nerves now. “Yes, it was. If you do not like it then I can remake—”

“I’ll take the balsamic glazed chicken,” he cuts you off. “With the alfredo fries. You’re talking about remakes, right? Then make those fries good this time. Thanks.”

You can’t help but stare down at him, the nerve he has is beyond rude. His demanding nature contrasts with your helping one. But, you stay resolute in your politeness, mumbling a small ‘of course’ before disappearing back into the kitchen.

It’s a disaster, truly.

A hard, long, infuriatingly annoying disaster.

Every platter crafted with delicacy and carefulness, he sets aside with calmness. Claiming how the littlest of little things was wrong or how it tasted bad. He even makes a couple snide comments about where you learned to cook from and they should be ashamed.

No matter what, however, he conceals his comments with those stupid laughs you’ve started to despise.

Like it’s funny to him how much you’re failing to please him.

Sweat threatens to trickle down your forehead, using a spare towel to dab at your face. Your hair has started to become a tad unkempt, having to constantly push stray pieces of hair out your face and even grabbing at your hair in frustration. This is probably your own fault for setting this all up, but never did you imagine it would turn out like this.

His table is filled with a variety of plates and dishes stacked unceremoniously on top of each other to make room for the next one.

Throughout it all, he watches your struggle in silent amusement. Everytime you turn around to stomp back into the kitchen, he gets a clear, nice view of the way the fabric of your dress tugs around your ass, legs sleek with whatever lotion you decided to put on.

Your perfume fills his nostrils as you come back to him, to which he feels more and more motivated to bring you down and just stuff his face into the crook of your neck. Or the middle of your plump thighs that have just been calling out to him like a siren.

Satoru would like to think he’s a man of self control, but you’re really pushing him, and you’re not even trying.

He’s being purposeful with his actions just to keep this entire visit long. Just so he can keep checking you out and biting his lip as he inhales your scent. Just so he can have the ample amount of time to force down the boner he has from under the table.

And well, because he’s really, really looking forward to dessert.

You breathe out a heavy breath, one of exhaustion as you present him with yet another platter. He laughs to himself as he takes a bite.

“Meh, too soggy.”

That’s it. “I’ve given you everything on the menu.”

“Oh, have you?” His head tilts innocently.

Your teeth grit. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. You really shouldn’t have had such a limited variation.”

“It’s not lim–”

“Dessert, right? That usually comes after the main course.”

“......yes. What would you like?” You’re forcing your words out by now, hands twitching as they threaten to grip his pretty throat.

Wait, pretty?

Jesus christ, can you stop thinking that right now?

“Hmmmm, let’s see here.” As his eyes scan over the desserts listed on the menu, a frown, or a pout, makes way onto his lips. You close your eyes for a second, counting from one to ten and back. “Is this it?”

“Yes.”

“I have to say,” he lowly whistles. “none of this looks very….appealing.” As he looks back up at you, there’s a small glint in his expression. One that almost causes you to shiver, for some reason.

Is he playing with you now?

“Nothing?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest. “All of that is what guests order the most.”

“Well, I’m not some regular schmegular guest, now am I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s standing, one hand stuffed into his pocket while the other meekly points to you. “So, what do you say? You gonna give me something I actually want?”

A small huff escapes from your lips, now longer having the strength to hold back your irritation. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh cmon, don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“That.” He juts his chin in the direction of your scowl. “Do you usually frown at your customers?”

“I frown at men who take my kindness for granted,” is your response, eyes narrowing. “Also, you have been nitpicking every single thing I’ve given you. You’ve been extremely rude about it.”

“Rude? Is honesty rude now? I thought you wanted my honesty.”

“There’s a stark difference between the two.”

“Really?” He leans closer, face teetering on the line of too close as his point finger just barely skims across your forearm. “Mind enlightening me?”

Your breath almost hitches, skin feeling all too warm. You peek down at his finger before back to his face, heart beating faster than normal. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He counters.

“Like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He barks out a laugh. “Trying? No honey, I am. Why, do you like it?”

“No, I don’t like being flirted with by rude and random men.” You reply, tilting your chin up. “Especially you, sir.”

His grin widens. “Cute. But you know what I don’t like?” As he steps closer, you’re forced to step back. “No dessert.”

His finger travels up your arm, your shoulder, then stops at your jawline, head tilting as his breath fans your cheek. “So, what else can I eat?”

This is stupid. So stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. Out of character. Anything that means bad.

Is this really all for a good review by some asshat who takes joy out of making people's lives harder? Or are you actually enjoying it?

You feel disgusted at the situation, angered and infuriated that you’ve fallen into his trap. You want to curse out to whatever gods that may be watching and demand why you couldn’t hold back.

Either way, you’re not the only one who couldn’t hold back.

Your breath hitches, a broken string of whines leaving you as the flat of his tongue runs through your slippery folds. His hands on your thighs keep you grounded in place atop the table, because your hips keep twitching up in need of more friction.

You can’t even see his face as it’s so far buried into your wet pussy, practically stuffing his face with it. But god do you feel him. The tips of his hair tickle your inner thighs. His low moan reverberates through you, making you shiver and tingle with excitement.

“A—ahh….!” Your hand finds a place on his hair, pulling as your head tilts back with another moan. “F—fuck…”

His lips smile against your skin, pulling away for a second to look up at your blissed out expression. His face is coated in your juices and you haven’t even came yet. “Pretty good, might be the best thing I’ve had today.”

As he goes back to ravishing you, his tongue slips into your aching hole. Which causes your back to arch up, a higher pitched whine leaving you. “Tad salty, very sweet.”

His comments feel degrading almost. But with the way your thighs threaten to close around his head, pushing his face closer to your cunt, he has a feeling you like it.

It’s electrifying and confusing at the same time. You’ve never been one with hookup culture, you’re not a virgin either but this is on a totally different level. Here you are, letting him tongue fuck you in the middle of the empty restaurant in which you were supposed to be serving him.

Technically you are still serving him.

He urges your hips closer to the edge of the table, spitting harshly against you as he delves back into giving you the best eat of your life.

His tongue alternates between your hole and clit, giving both equal attention while his fingers knead the plush skin of your smooth thighs. Your toes curl in your heels and you feel so close.

You can practically taste it on your tongue, not even mindful anymore of the noises that you’re making. Too engrossed in the utter bliss of the way his mouth sucks and licks at your folds.

You don’t even know you’ve finished until he’s come back up, licking away your release that’s plastered to his pale skin. Left panting and staring up at the dangling lights that feel blinding.

What brings you back down to Earth is the soft clanking of metal. Your head whips down just as he’s unbuckling his pants, eyes blown wide. “W-what are you doing?”

He simply looks at you, shrugging with nonchalance as his belt comes undone, button and zipper next. “Gonna fuck your pussy, what else?”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s faster. Holding your legs open, leaning his face closer. “What? Don’t wanna?”

“I—I shouldn’t. I mean, we shouldn’t.”

“Pfft, why not?”

“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“But it has,” he tugs his slacks down, giving you full view of the raging boner nestled under his black boxers. His hand reaches to give himself a few strokes. “Haven’t been this hard in a long time.”

You feel your release ooze down onto the tablecloth, hole feeling empty as it clenches around air. All you can do is watch him jerk himself, gulping as you lick your lips. “This is….really wrong.”

Yet it feels so right.

His lips touch the side of your neck, kissing and sucking a small mark into your skin. You tilt your head for him, arm coming up to hold around his neck. Chest heaving up and down. “I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”

Your eyes are instantly drawn down to his leaking cock as he pulls it out. Long and thin veins decorating the length with pre-cum leaking out the head. Trimmed with a small white bush of pubic hair at his base. It looks pretty.

He huffs out a breathy laugh, titling your face up to him, lips meeting. His lips are soft and plush, melting into it. He keeps his hand on your nape so he can deepen the kiss, tongue invading your mouth like a snake.

Spit dribbles down the corners of your mouths. All the while he’s teasing your entrance with his cock.

“Ngh!” You pull away, face scrunching and mouth agape.

“Mm, like that?” His tip runs up and down your slit, smearing his pre into your folds and around them. The sight is lewd. “So wet, just from my tongue too. How many guys make you finish from just eating you out?”

Out of all the times he tries for a conversation, does right now have to be one? “N-none…”

He hums. “So I’m the only one? I like that.”

He finds your hole, just barely pushing in. Your nails claw at his shoulders, whimpering into his ear. “S-shit, just wait a second…”

“For what?” His voice is husky, brows pinched together. The warmth from your cunt practically enveloping him whole.

You croak out something unintelligible. For a few seconds, you two stay frozen like this. But that’s cut short as he slowly begins to slide deeper. “Shit, stop squeezin’ me.” He grunts.

All you can offer is a weak “I’m not” before being cut off by a breathy moan, one he replicates with you. He moves in deeper and deeper, until he’s finally buried to the hilt in your warm pussy. It’s big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

His fingers dig into your hips while your nails into his shoulders.

Practically feeling his cock twitch within you, you have to hold back squeezing around him even more. But it just feels too good not to. It makes you feel full.

As he begins to move, he’s whispering dirty praises into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Who knew you had such good pussy.”

“Look at you, sucking me in like a good little whore, huh?”

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

Each word he emphasizes with a quicker thrust. The silverware clanks around you, some even falling to the ground. The table creaks and the cloth crumples up. “W-wait….slow…ngh!”

“No slow,’ he patronizingly laughs, his gaze darkened as he looks at you. “Going fast, you’re gonna take it too. ‘Cause you’re a desperate little thing, aren't you?”

You whine out, biting down hard on your lip you’re surprised you’re not drawing blood yet. He takes this as an invitation to devour your mouth once more. The kiss is harder this time, more sloppy. Seems sloppy is his thing.

Before you know it, he manhandles you to flip over, ass high in the air while his hand forces your back down into an arch. “Just like that. Stay still and I’ll let you cum again.”

With this new position, he’s able to hit spots you didn’t even know were there. All you have to hold on is the cloth of the table, balling them into your fists while he mercilessly pounds into your pussy from the back. His balls hit your clit in a repetitive motion that damn near causes you to see stars.

Noises and mumble words fall out your mouth like water, the side of your face being pushed down into the hard surface. His hand twirls and tangles in your hair before giving it a hard tug back.

“Mngh!”

With one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, it gives him all the reigns to perfectly fuck your squelching hole, pace unforgiving. And what’s he doing the whole time? Laughing. That asshole is laughing.

Either at your state or the fact that you fit so perfectly snug around his cock like a ring.

It’s like he’s moving on autopilot, just one thing on his mind. Fucking you like your his fleshlight he keeps in his room. “Maybe I should’ve come here sooner—fuck—could’ve had this pussy all to myself even sooner.”

He groans, head tilting back as a familiar sensation bubbles in his stomach. “Ah, god…fuck.”

“D-dont cum!” You half-heartedly shout, body trembling in preparation for your second release of the day.

“Hah?” he huffs out. “You tell a guy who’s fucking a pretty pussy he can’t come? You’re crazy.”

“Ah….hah…!” You mewl out, squeezing around him.

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering. A warm feeling erupts deep within your cunt, causing you to whine. It makes your whole body feel as if it’s on fire, thighs shaking. Your cum mixes with his own, dripping down the backs of your thighs in a disgusting manner. You’re left panting for air

He spends a good time watching it all happen, and as he pulls out, seeing your hole twitch and tremor around air almost starts to make him hard again. He leans over, hot air hitting the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. “Up for more?”

Monday, 9am.

Incoming message from

Mayra:

Check your email, forwarded you something.

You groan tiredly, fingers fiddling with the bright screen of your phone. Clicking on the wrong app a couple times before opening your Gmail. You press on the email from Mayra, an attached link.

The link leads you to a familiar site, embarrassment painting your features as you read.

“After a rather lackluster first experience at 'Lovely Haven,' I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping into a cozy embrace, with the ambiance perfectly set to spark a little magic. The soft music and intimate lighting created an atmosphere that made everything feel just a little more exciting.

Let’s talk about the food. I started with the savory starter, which was a perfect balance of flavors. Each bite was a tantalizing tease that had me eagerly anticipating what was to come. Then came the main course, which was cooked to perfection and bursting with flavor. It had just the right amount of kick, leaving me wanting more and more.

I decided to try their special dessert this time, and let me tell you, it was absolutely divine. Each bite was a burst of flavors, rich and decadent, just how I like it. The way it melted on my tongue was nothing short of a culinary revelation. I might have lingered a little too long over that dish—can you blame me? It was like savoring a sweet secret that just kept getting better.

But let’s not forget about the service. The owner was not only charming but also incredibly attentive. There was a delightful chemistry between us that made the evening even more enjoyable. She made sure I was well taken care of, adding that special touch that turned a simple meal into something unforgettable.

If you’re looking for a place that offers more than just food—something that tantalizes the senses and leaves you feeling revitalized—I highly recommend giving 'Lovely Haven' a try. Just be prepared for some delicious surprises that might have you coming back for seconds (or thirds!). I certainly will!"

a/n: first smut piece kind of. if there's typos, pls overlook them, i was very tired and in heat. sorry if it's not very slhow burn :( but i hope you all enjoyed. thank you smmm <3

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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skywalkoverme · 2 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝

a/n: according to my stats, you all LOVE younger Anakin x 20-30 y/o fem so here you are. Tell me if you all are tired of me writing about parties/digital fun!! it's all I can write with summer being here and all.

𐙚 Anakin Skywalker x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: Anakin goes to a rave for his eighteeth birthday.

Warnings/contains: bondage, smut, p in v, Anakin loses his virginity to you, sexually experienced y/n, Anakin is 18, Y/n is 20-30, male nipple play, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use (not Anakin), sexual teasing, NOT proof read yet-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 2.7k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

For his eighteenth birthday, Anakin snuck out. Instead of retiring to his room for the night, he hid in the bushes of the Jedi Temple courtyard; when enough time passed, Anakin drew his hood and took his Master’s landspeeder to the nearest skylane. From his pant pocket, he took out a torn page from a magazine. On the page was a messily written address. “…gi’kira…SL7…”

Anakin took a deep breath and kept the vehicle steady as excitement coursed through him. Every second was like an eternity until he reached the club. He placed his lightsaber under the front seat and covered the Jedi insignia on his ID with a blue sticker. Hopefully they’ll believe it. Anakin could feel the bass in his chest as he stood outside with other young creatures from across the galaxy; he couldn’t wait another moment; he stepped slowly to the club entrance as to not draw attention. Sure, there was a line, but it didn’t take long before he stood in front of the bouncer.

The man stared down at the boy who hid his face in the dark shadow of his hood. He grabbed Anakin’s chin and lifted it to the beam of his flashlight. Anakin’s dark pupil shrunk, and his blue eyes turned an icy white. The man glared at the photo on his card. “Alright kid.” He huffed, lowered the flashlight and gave him back his ID. “Come in. I’d ditch the cloak, it’s hot in there.”

“T- thank you.”

“Next, c’mon!”

The club pulses with electricity, a kaleidoscope of color and sound. Neon strobes slice through the thick haze—pinks, blues, and greens flicker like lightning across sweating skin and moving bodies.

People are everywhere, some packed in groups, others grind in couples, some alone—dancing, lost in the music, their faces lit by LED wristbands and the glow of blacklight paint. A mist cannon bursts over the crowd, cooling the heat rising from the mass of writhing dancers.

Anakin could smell the mix of perfumes, sweat and alcohol in the air as he took off his cloak, losing it to the crowd. At the center, the DJ looms behind a wall of decks and digital screens. A few nude creatures dance on the bar top as well as other platforms around the large club. Anakin smirked; his gaze lingered on the curves of the women. Above the center of the room, an enormous disco ball spins slowly, splintering light like shattered glass, while lasers trace wild geometric patterns in the smoke-thick air.

Although some were nude, other’s topless— Everyone else is dressed like a fever dream—fishnets, faux feathers, small shorts, glitter-smeared skin in the shape of handprints, and glowing pacifiers suckled between mouths of inebriated creatures. It’s a sensory overload for Anakin; Time starts to blur.

He was flirted with, offered sex of all kinds, most with multiple people; From people that looked his age, he was offered pill after pill, sorts of smoking devices and drinks. “N- no, thanks.” He said each time. Some lingered and others went to the next customer. He rejected another advance and picked his head up. Across the room, he spotted you. Your body was coated in a layer of shining glitter, impossible to miss. You glowed ethereally in a bright pink wig and slingshot bathing suit, held perfectly on your nipples by the will of the Force. A headpiece rest on top of it all, which he came to realize meant that you were working here. A bartender.

You stirred the drink inside the glass and slid it over on a napkin to your customer, “For you, my love.” Anakin found himself leaning against the bar, taking glances at you. “You look sober, wide-eyed, that’s why they approach you, baby boy.”

He glanced up at you and pointed to himself. “Me?”

You smiled while mixing a drink in the cocktail shaker, your curves jiggled with every rock. “Yes, you.” You squinted for a moment and spoke softly across the bar, “Are you at least eighteen? I don’t mean to knock your fun if you’re here to explore but I can’t lose my job.”

A beautiful woman, a mesmerizing creature is so plainly speaking to him! Your voice perfectly deep and your eyes are alluring. He couldn’t think. Instead, he said the first thing that came to his head, “I- It’s my birthday!” He couldn’t help but beam.

“Awww, what year are you turning tonight?”

She’ll never be interested in me if I say I’m a baby. “Twenty-one.” You excitedly cheered for him which made the people at the bar clap and whistle as well--- although most were too inebriated to realize what they were celebrating.

“You’ve got sucha’ baby face.” You touched his cheek, “Happy birthday!”

He blushed, holding his chest. “Thank you! You’re very kind.”

“Here, have a drink on me.” You made him something light. You could tell by the way he looked at the arrangements of alcohol on the wall that he didn’t know his drinks. “It’s mostly juice.” He nervously picked up the drink and took an elder-like sip. “How is it?”

“D- delicious. Did you put any alcohol in here?” He joked as he finished the drink in a few gulps.

“Want another?”

Time began to fly. Before long, he leaned across the counter, his forearms on the bar top as you rest your face on your hand. “What’s your name?”

Should I lie? No…I should stop lying. “Anakin.”

“Do you want to come home with me?” You asked as his lips gently embraced yours. His will faltered as the curves of your breasts pressed on his. Even tipsy, he felt bad for lying to you about his age! Beyond that, he couldn’t go home with you! It’s against Jedi code. Celibacy is… You held his soft blonde hair as your lips dominated his. Celibacy is the most important… Your tongue grazed the inside of his mouth to test the waters before you sucked on his bottom lip. Celibacy. It’s so important. Obi-wan said It’s important. Celibacy? Celery? Your opposite hand cuffed his neck, and he moaned into your mouth. Your kiss intensified, tongues tangled inside both of your mouths, the sound of saliva and sweet groans hidden under the sound of the pulsing beat and intelligible lyrics.

“…yes.” Master’s landspeeder. I can’t leave it. “W- we can take my-“ He dangled the keys, and you took the rattling bunch into your hand. He couldn’t lie; this past year has been hell trying to keep his cock in his pants. It seemed every second of the day, he was drowning in his own hormones; his lungs filled with breaths he couldn’t exhale. Would it really kill him? It’s just one night! His birthday!

He lie back on your soft covers as you dangled a bunch of ribbons in your hand. Your thighs straddled his hips, just nearly pressed your clothed pussy on his erection. “W- what’s that for?” Anakin was a different kind of virgin. He’d never known of sex in its entirety. Pornos? No. Masturbating? No. He couldn’t even tell you the name of what’s between your legs, let alone his.

But he had to keep up the act. “Tying you up.”

Tying me up? Why? Are men not allowed to touch women during sex? Is this a female mating ritual? “I don’t want you to get pregnant.” His heart raced as he stared in your eyes.

“What?” You tilted your head. “We aren’t fucking raw.”

“Oh ok.” What does that mean?

You laughed and began to undress him. He felt as though a magnifying glass was put to every cell on his body. His breathing sped as you ran your hands down his toned abs, leaving goosebumps in your wake. “What do you do for work again?”

“Service worker.” All his brainpower was gathered in his cock. Technically, it wasn’t a lie, but he could feel that you barely believed him. Anakin’s eyes ran down your curves, glitter scattered around the bed and on his skin in the dark room. His eyes suddenly locked with yours as you began to tie him to the headboard.

As you began to loop the tight ribbons around his ankles, a glare on your plump ass that rest on his leg. “W- so I can’t move?”

“Preferably.” He looked up at his bound wrists and quickly, his eyes were covered. You leaned deep over him, although he couldn’t see your nude body, he could feel the warm swells of your breasts on him, your hard nipples against his.

He strains against the ropes, testing the limits of his restraints, but they hold fast, keeping him pinned and helpless. The realization that he's completely at your mercy, that you can do whatever you want to his naked, exposed body, sends a shiver of excitement and arousal down his spine.

Your lips met his in a hungry embrace, your pillowy breasts like no other sensation. His cock throbbed beneath you, pre-cum leaked on his stomach and down his shaft. I don’t even know your name. Touch me; taste, lick, bite me…please me. Give me anything, I’m starved, malnourished. He groaned into the kiss, refusing to breathe as the pent-up passion flowed from every pore.

He’s never needed something, someone, more in his life. Your tongue explored his mouth as it did in the club; he tasted the sweetness off your tongue as his tongue lewdly circled yours. His hands clench into fists; something primal that lingered in him needed to feel you in his hands, this wasn’t enough. “Let me touch you…” His voice raspy and dry as he bucked his hips up needily. Never had Anakin felt so desperate, hungry; it was torture that he couldn’t see your beautiful features from this blindfold.

“No~”

His hips jumped at the feel of your sticky, and warm pussy as you grind on his shaft. “W- hmp!” He shuddered as the wet folds slide along his shaft, your juices coating his dick. Instinctively, his hips buck up to the rhythm, “W- what is that?” He bit back a moan, his voice cracked uncontrollably.

You chuckled, and figured the young man was teasing, “My pussy.” Pussy? Is that code for something?

“It feels so good…” He pants heavily as he hears the sound of a condom wrapper tearing. What was that sound? Is she eating? No…The anticipation is killing him, making his heart race and his skin prickle with excitement. His fists clench at the feel of the soft condom that slipped on his shaft. The cockhead caught on your entrance and slowly, your body sank down on his length. “A- ah!” Anakin whined at your pussy’s grip, your hands on his sides. His hands clenched as did his jaw.

“Are you ok?” You cuffed his cheek in your hand.

“Yes, I’m fine. You’re just…perfect.” Your tight walls stretched to accommodate his thick shaft. You felt him fill your insides, engulfed in the heat of your core. “Fuck.” Anakin cried out as you began to ride his cock, his head fell back into the pillow.

Scattered and breathy moans left your lips as you rode him harder, the squelch of your cunt was so disgustingly lewd, he couldn’t help but sink into the rhythm. You turn around in reverse cowgirl, your hips slammed down onto him. This new angle sent shockwaves of pressure to his core. For sure, he’d be limping tomorrow. “Don’t fucking finish.” His body went rigid and tense.

“A- ok!” His nails scratched the wooden headboard, leaving proof of your euphoric sex. Anakin pulled his right leg until the ribbons tore under his strength. He bucks his hips up to meet yours, driving his cock deeper into your perfect, fluttering cunt. “Don’t stop~” You were surprised to hear his plea seeing as how he was already pulsing, ready to cum inside the condom.

You leaned forward; your ass thrown back on him as you took his cock. He was ready to explode inside of you, but you warned him not to cum! The blindfold slipped from his eyes due to the constant movements. Your perfect ass jiggled with each of your controlled strokes. Inside of your wet folds. That’s a pussy! Upon hearing his virgin whimpers, you looked back at him and watched his helpless expression, “I- I can’t~”

Anakin can feel his own climax building, the pressure in his balls growing more and more intense with each passing second.In an instant, you pulled his cock out. “No.” Anakin could feel the pressure he was chasing leave his hot cock and sink back to his core.

“Please, don’t stop.” You pushed the blindfold off his face and straddled his hips. He watched as your head lowered to his chest; your tongue circled his pink nipple. “O- oh!” Such pleasure went straight to his balls as your warm mouth suckled on the sensitive nipple. Your fist began to stroke his cock as you flicked and kissed his other tit. Anakin whined as his climax began to rise once more.

The feel of your breasts on his abs, hand on his shaft and ministrations on his pecs were enough to make him moan like a bitch. “’Want me to finish riding you?”

Yes! “Yes.” You prowled over him, letting your pussy guide his cock inside of you again. Anakin's balls draw up tight to his body, his orgasm building to a crescendo deep in his core. He's never felt so much pleasure, so much intense, overwhelming sensations at once. It's like a tidal wave crashing over him. Anakin cries out in ecstasy as your passionate lips kissed and your tongue swirls around his nipple, the wet heat and sensation sending electric shocks straight to his throbbing cock. His back arches off the bed, pressing his chest tighter against your mouth as you suckle and lick at the sensitive nub.

You swirled your hips in circles and with a final, high-pitched moan, the young man filled the condom with his white load. His eyes fell back in his head while the tense ball of pleasure unwinds ever so slowly.

You chuckled. He faded in and out of the intense moment; he stole a glance at your glittered body, a pearly smile flashed as he gasped for breath.

Morning light began to stream into the room through the open blinds. He sat up in bed, loose ribbons around his wrists and a sheet pulled over his crotch. He felt the heat of your body as you lay over his side, your arm stretched over him. His spikey hair stuck up to the ceiling as he turned to the mirror. His tanned skin was covered in glitter in the shape of stars and octagons covered his body. He slipped out of bed discreetly and tried to get as much glitter off before dressing. He felt around for his… “Lightsaber,…shit! Where did I put it?!” You rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. His eyes traced your nude curves as he stuttered, “Y…you. Uhm, I had a great night!” From your bedside, you tossed his ID across the bed. “Oh…” When he passed out last night, you found the card on the floor.

“Eighteen.”

“Sorry.” He gulped. “Have you seen my cloak?”

“You didn’t come here with one.”

Anakin felt his throbbing migraine and started to recall the events from early in the night. “I- I’m sorry. For lying and leaving…but I have to go!”

“Where are you-“ Before you could say anything else, the young man left the room and dashed to find his Master’s landspeeder. “Hm. Anakin…”

At the temple, Anakin discreetly walked to his room; there, Obi-wan waited in his room. He froze in the corridor, “Where were you?” A ribbon from his ankle peeks out from under his pants, glitter covered every inch of his body and littered his hair.

“At a surprise party.”

a/n: I plan to start posting my newest series later this week. I doubt many people will read this little spill but it's about if Anakin was stopped during Order 66 and you are his psychiatrist. I loveee red dividers sm!! Any excuse to use them, I jump up and down.

This fic is somewhat Inspired by "Tyrant" by Beyonce.

Interact with my Anakin master list to be tagged: (it's on a rotation, today is the last day for this one!!)

@littlestpadfoot @thescxrpio @fullclodponycop @kirbie44danielle @duck6789 @mcxdiaz @maneater97 @swiftiesimonriley @yeonjinnie @laddle @daughterofstairs @edenizzyx @eymie @xxhvzelxx @bored-as-fuck @viviennebloom @jujustarwars1 @kaaaatta-blog @javierpenaspentis @cherrylvrsworld @kellyburkesblog @decaffeinatedcrowntragedy @kaggelagge @naomiisme2 @heretonerdout @reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @xlovingyoux @hakanaijeon @skywalkershootme @vixenhatesyou @meowmeowjang @slingggshot @cdfvgbhnjm @peachpit31 @carterc15 @smithcaityy @sisterofreverance @hellomwah @blondiebatter @aqqjjk @radiantvader @anthrais @xhino3 @valyna27 @wuxianwrld @discobronzer @melaninswift @justthingzsblog @stanyuqisworld @ppoppy-seed @fawninthesnow @sunwxoxo @santinstar

Dividers (as always) from @cursed-carmine

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sevikaswinkinghole · 1 month ago

Text

The Music in our Hearts Pt. 1 ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞.

Your favorite DJ was performing a set for an underground event in your city, but you want more than barricade views. You want her.

SFW

CW: RaveDJ!Sevika, Fangirl!Reader, hard techno music, yearning and mutual pining, Sevika and reader are 4 years apart in age, mentions of reader smoking weed

Word count: 2.7k

၊၊||၊⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆၊၊||၊

Music poured out of the old brick concert hall as sweaty bodies surrounded you in the thick crowd of people. The second to last DJ of the night was finishing their set as people cheered and screamed for the random artist you couldn’t even name. The rave event for the night featured a lot of great DJ sets, but you didn’t know any of the first artists. So you spent the beginning of the evening tapping your foot and swaying to the music, not impressed by the selection compared to the rest of the crowd. You were waiting for the main event of the night.

Your favorite DJ, The Enforcer, was performing as the closer for the event and it was mere moments before they came on stage. You saw them perform at your first college party as a freshman and you became obsessed with their music ever since. They gained a huge following on social media after graduating, so in true fangirl fashion you followed their sets and attended almost every single one. You were there from the smallest backyard, to their largest music festival performance with over thousands of attendees. You burned cds of their mixes when they weren’t available to stream, bought every exclusive merch item they dropped, and knew their signature producer tag by the first beat. You always had fangirl tendencies, but your love for The Enforcer ran deeper than any love you had experienced so far.

You loved their music so much, you willingly spent years following around a faceless artist nobody even knew the first name of.

No fan knew the true identity of The Enforcer, they kept their identity so private, their die hard subreddit fans couldn’t even guess their gender. Everyday you grew more and more desperate to know anything more about them, so now, you stood at the barricade of some concert hall you didn’t even know existed just to see the masked artist you adored.

As the DJ finished his set, the crowd pushed closer to the barricade and conversed excitedly for The Enforcer. Hundreds of adoring fans cheered when the multi-colored neon strobe lights soon shined bright purple, you grinned as smoke machines pumped thick puffs of smoke through the crowd. People screamed and cheered so loudly, you started getting nerves that sent tingles up your spine, you thought smoking before the show would help but your state of mind just made the purple haze more alluring.

Booming bass pumped through the speakers as a tall masked figure slowly walked out onto the stage. They stood tall and strong in the smoke as the purple light illuminated their dark shadowy figure, their face adorned in a high tech custom respirator with neon wires that glowed a bright purple and pumped a shimmery liquid through the mask. They wore a black cape with a large hood that covered their head and most of their body, leaving their arms exposed as well as their captivating grey eyes. Their mechanical arm matched the glowing purple tech of the mask, you watched intensely as they used the arm to reach up and to hold the mech hand in the air.

With a simple lift of their hand, they managed to command the entire room of excited rave goers into silence with one motion. The room was silent as the intro stopped, the glow of the strobes illuminating The Enforcer in heavenly purple light before their producer tag rang through the hall. The booming gravely voice blasted through the speakers before the beat dropped, causing everybody in the crowd to go wild for the mix. The hard techno style of music sent chills through your body as the people around you jumped and danced along to the beat.

You watched in pure adoration, your knuckles turning white from your death grip on the barricade. Everything about the masked DJ enthralled you. Their commanding presence, the control they had over the mixes and transitions in the music, even the view of their skilled hands working the deck captivated you in ways no other artist ever could. Their unique DJ style and devoted fan base created a community you felt truly at home in, and you were having the time of your life behind the barricade.

But you wanted more.

Your love for the masked artist ran so deep it was well past parasocial. You wanted to know their favorite color, how they liked their coffee in the morning after a night of partying and mistakes, you wanted..no, needed to experience every part of The Enforcer.

You needed to know what made them the person that gave you such a warm feeling in your heart. You needed to know how those strong hands felt on your skin. Feeling up your sides, gripping the plush of your thighs, you just knew their slender fingers would encase you in pure ecstasy.

Your mind raced at the thought of everything The Enforcer could be behind the mask, and you were determined to find out.

You could feel your heartbeat a mile per minute, the heavy rain outside the concert venue drenching you as you stood outside. The set wasn’t over, far from it. You raced out the show before the crowds of people would be leaving, determined to act out your shitty plan the weed in your system was telling you would be fool-proof. You had one chance to get the half-assed plan right, and if you fucked it up you’d regret it. But if you didn’t try at all, you’d regret it even more.

You slipped down the alley next to the venue and peaked behind the brick building where The Enforcer’s truck was. Two black minivans were parked behind and in front of a much larger blacked out sprinter camper. Their popularity had gone up so much, they were able to upgrade to a real tour bus and security. You felt a pang of pride for their accomplishments.

Two security guards stood outside the large van, their all black outfits and rain coats intimidating. You watched quietly in the rain as another guard came out of the back door and ushered them to come grab equipment. The Enforcer’s set was almost over and they would have to strike down quickly since they were the last performance of the night. The guards scanned the area before leaving, the door to the camper left exposed as they ushered into the building.

Your heart dropped to your ass, using the opportunity to haul it over to the door. You pull your hoodie up over your head and curse at the heavy rain as you grip the handle with hesitance.

“If it’s not open, it’s not meant to be..” You muttered before pulling at the handle with your shaky hand.

Click

As soon as it opened you gasped and booked it inside, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it breathlessly. You looked around the tour bus like you just stepped inside the MOMA.

The van wasn’t large but it was cozy. The entrance led straight to the driver side of the van before leading into the steps up to the rest area on the left. Black leather seats and tables lined either side of the caravan, accompanied by storage above them for bags and equipment. You stepped through the van nervously, taking in the view of the lived in tour bus with hesitance. Scattered fast food wrappers and crumpled garbage cluttered the small space, yet the whole bus smelled like a white musk and amber scent you hoped would stay in your nose forever.

You knew it was wrong to sneak onto your favorite artists tour bus, it was wrong to walk through like you were a groupie worthy of The Enforcer’s time, and it was especially wrong to open the back door of the camper into the small bedroom. Your brain was screaming and gnawing at you to turn around, save yourself the embarrassment from breaking into such a sacred place, but you ignored every instinct and opened the door anyway.

The room was cramped and littered with clothes, empty energy drink cans, and slews of tech equipment. An unmade bed was tucked away in the corner while a small table near it was covered in mechanical tools and half drank energy drink cans. The small messy space was nothing like the version of The Enforcer you created in your head. They seemed a lot more…lost than you suspected. Messiness and disarray exposing their state of mind more than the hidden secrets laced into their music. The dirty room grounded you in the moment, and in the deep shit you’d gotten yourself into, the anxious feeling in your stomach urging you to leave and never look back.

You turned to run out the room and beg whatever god was listening for forgiveness, when you noticed a tall cloaked woman was watching you with wide eyes. Her piercing grey eyes watching your movements with such precision you thought she would explode you with her mind.

“O-Oh shit i’m sorry!” You jumped and squeaked out, suddenly flushed with embarrassment as you tried to step back from the towering figure who stood 5 feet from you.

“I didn’t realize someone was coming, I-I was looking for the bathroom and-“ You lied through your teeth, not recognizing the person at first glance so you said whatever you could to make it seem like you weren’t a crazed fangirl intruder (even though that’s exactly what you were…..)

“It’s…you.” The woman spoke breathlessly, her face also flushing, yet darker than you expected. You looked confused, you didn’t immediately recognize the arm or black cloak, but those eyes. You’d know those eyes in a crowded room without your glasses on, it was them. Or better yet…her. The Enforcer, in all of her 6’1 glory.

“M-Me?” you asked softly, worry and anxiety beginning to creep up your body as you tried to memorize every detail of her face before she kicked you to the curb.

The bold short cut of her hair, casual after show attire underneath her signature black cloak, and high tech mechanical arm whirring softly was so much to take in up close. A million emotions could be seen on her face, her gorgeous sculpted face that you could not believe she’d ever cover with a mask. Everything about her from the dark blush on her cheeks that matched the supple brownish red of her lips, to the gap between her teeth you could barely see between her gaped lips, you were practically eye fucking her with no shame. Completely forgetting the fact you were breaking and entering…

She took a step closer to you, snapping you out of your dazed state making you realize the severity of the situation.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, anxiously pushing past her and running out of the van into the freezing rain.

You ran and ran until you couldn’t run anymore, how could you betray the trust of your favorite artist? You felt so ashamed, your legs ran you all the way home until you were breathless and sobbing. How could you ever face her again?

Sevika paced angrily around the camper, anxious hands running through her short hair and gripping the jet black strands with fervent. She couldn’t believe you were right in front of her, snooping through her things and acting as if you were in some sort of trouble for being there. She knew your face, you were her biggest fan and number one admirer from day 1, she noticed you at every show you attended. From the moment she saw you at her small college shows, her heart yearned for the moment she could talk to you. She wanted to learn your name like lyrics to a song, poke and prod your brain to find out why such a beautiful soul liked her stupid bedroom metal techno fusion music enough to come to every single one of her shows. No matter how much she gained popularity on social media and in crowd size, she always looked for your sweet face among the crowd. It gave her the confidence to perform and be the best she could be, to impress you.

You had no clue of Sevika’s true feelings and since you left so fast, she couldn’t wrap her head around what to say until it was too late.

She paced the van until her manager, Mel walked into the camper. Her coily hair was slicked back into a low bun and she wore a crisp white blazer and perfectly pressed jeans flared over white heels. She was so pristine and heavenly, it was a wonder she took the time to manage Sevika who was so bold and brash. They met in college as music majors, and since then Mel managed so many artists across so many genres, yet Sevika remained her only DJ and closest confidant.

“Who was that I saw leaving?” Mel asked, not even looking up from her phone as she sat on the nearest seat to continue sending emails. She worked so hard, tirelessly everyday to manage her clients and keep them happy, but she could sense Sevika was currently far from it.

“I…I think it was that fan I told you about” Sevika let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She looked around the van at all the disarray you had seen, and it filled her with shame no industry hater could replicate.

“What?” Mel finally looked up from her phone and looked around in a slight panic “She was…in here!?” She exclaimed. Mel was used to crazed fans, but none had the audacity to run onto her clients tour buses. You were truly a special case.

Sevika sighed and started picking up her mess around the van, not listening to Mel’s rant about security and ‘keeping her and the tour bus safe’. She didn’t care about any of that, your perception of her was hanging in the balance and something had to be done about it. She continued cleaning and throwing trash away while Mel followed in the small space with a click of her heels.

“Where were the guards?? I have to beef up security for you and-”

“Mel, none of that matters to me.” Sevika cut her off, stopping in her tracks and spinning so Mel crashed right into her chest. The curly haired girl didn't even stumble as she gawked at the larger artist, looking up at her while crossing her arms.

“None of it matters? Sevika this is your safety we’re talking about! You don’t even know that girl-”

“You know I can take care of myself, safety isn’t the issue. Plus, she’s been to all of my sets. I know her well enough” Sevika grumbled, shrugging as she put the collected trash in the bag to be taken out. Mel sighed and shook her head, she knew her star DJ was in over her head about a fan she never even had the confidence to bring on stage after all these years. But in all of Sevika’s stubbornness, Mel couldn’t help but feel for the lovesick fool.

Sevika plopped on the van seat and buried her head in her hands. Even though the show went great, and the crowd loved the new mixes she debuted, she couldn’t get her mind off you. How you looked even prettier up close instead of behind a stupid barricade..how she could have had you with a few simple words..how much she regretted years of not interacting with the people that enjoyed her craft the most, all because of her fears.

“I need to find her..” Sevika mumbled from shaky hands before placing them down to look up at Mel who had sat across from her at the table.

“Sevika…as your manager it’s my job to keep you satisfied. But as your friend, I want to make you happy,” She spoke softly, placing her gold ring clad manicured hand over Sevika’s “So if you really want to find this girl, I’ll help you” She smiled through pearly white teeth, unsure about the situation but trying to put on a brave face for her friend.

"Really?" Sevika grinned and squeezed her hand gently “Thanks Mel..”

“Anytime Enforcer” She teased and laughed, pulling her phone back out to do some digging on the mystery fan.

Sevika sighed and laid back against the seat, watching as her small crew of security and the tour bus driver all piled onto the van to get ready to leave the venue. She peered out the window to see a couple fans exit from the building to see the van, their yelling and pining for Sevika’s attention making her stomach turn. She wanted that affection and adoration from one person, and this time she wasn't letting you go.

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RAAAAHHHH NEW FIC ALERT NEW FIC ALERT!!!

Sooo I was gonna start the 2nd part of 'A Weekend in Paradise' but got distracted thinking about DJ!sevika.....sorry 😅

I think her style would be hardcore and a little weird, so the best comparison would be DJ Jovynn if you want an example of hard techno!

As always, thank you for reading! I love seeing all the notes and reblogs, and your comments always make me smile 🥹

Please let me know how you like it! I promise smut will come soon, and so will ya'll after i'm done writing the next part >w<

Love,

Squuoosh ❤︎₊ ⊹

Taglist: @lonerslug , @mewl3tte , @sapphicstrawcore

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika my love #sevika x reader #DJ!Sevika #arcane #*´¯`*fics #squuooshworks

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yungistiny · 5 months ago

Text

camgirl ═ chapter seven

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter seven: the L word

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating, possessive mingi/reader, public sex

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 2.9k

chapter six

chapter eight

masterlist

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“That’s like your fourth one.”

San watched Mingi, slowly and clumsily roll another blunt. Gladiolus , the big black cat, was curled up in Mingi’s lap, his girlfriend’s cat being left in his care while y/n was gone out of the country, visiting her real mother in the US for the last two weeks.

And San’s best friend was moping.

Mingi had been fine those first few days, kept himself occupied, stayed high. By the fifth day, he was getting agitated. It’s been over a month since he met y/n and he had grown a little clingy, a little possessive. He needed her. He missed her.

They tried phone sex but it just wasn’t the same. It was nothing like the real thing. Y/N fingers just weren’t long enough, not thick enough like Mingi’s own.

Mingi’s hand just wasn’t warm enough, not wet enough, like being buried inside his girlfriend’s tight cunt. He even rewatched their old streams and it wasn’t enough, no matter how hot it was for Mingi to watch himself fuck her.

“She’s supposed to be back in a couple of days, stop being dramatic.” San teased him, going to finish getting ready, dragging Mingi with him who was protesting. “Come with me and Wooyoung to this Halloween party, you need a distraction.”

Mingi was too stoned to care, allowing San to push him into his room, digging through his closet and pulling out an all black outfit, the baggy jeans were dark washed, rips all over them, a black tank top and and a long sleeved black fishnet top. “Put this on, I have to finish getting ready.”

San paused in the hallway, noticing Gladiolus preening while Byeol rubbed her head against him. “I think our cats are dating.”

Mingi peaked his head out his bedroom door, snorting. “You glad you got Byeol fixed now?” He teased, San had been terrified the time he let his precious cat get surgery, he had kept Mingi up all night panicking when the vet had insisted they keep Byeol overnight.

“Oh!” San seemed to remember something, bolting into his room and returning with a black choker, a metal ring hooked on it. He held it up to Mingi. “This was made for that look. And put some eyeliner on, I know you still have some.”

“Why do you have this?” Mingi eyed the choker, slipping a finger through the metal loop on it. It wasn’t exactly his best friend’s style. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” San told him before disappearing back into his room to finish getting ready.

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The “party” was a massive rave in a club in Itaewon. Flashes of colorful strobe lights danced across the club, bodies in various costumes were crowded together and the music based, so low, so deep, Mingi could feel it like a pulse.

“Wooyoung texted, he’s almost here.” San shoved his phone back into his pocket of the Slytherin costume he had on. Wooyoung was running late, said he had to pick something up.

Mingi groaned when a girl in a blue costume, he really didn’t care what she was supposed to be, tried to dance on him. “I need a drink.” He pushed his way through the crowd towards the neon green lit bar, San right behind him, his apologies towards others going unheard against the loud music.

Mingi was already on his fourth shot of soju, San only having one, when Wooyoung finally showed up. He was dressed like Harry Potter, Gryffindor outfit, glasses and all. “Oh, look at you…” he slipped a finger through the metal loop dangling on the choker, tugging it.

Wooyoung had this teasing, knowing smirk. If only Mingi knew what that choker was used for. He took in his best friend’s boyfriend. The thick black eyeliner, the black painted nails, everything about his look at the moment was gonna send y/n spiraling.

Mingi swatted at Wooyoung’s wondering hand, grabbing another shot of soju as Wooyoung whispered something to San, his lips grazing his ear.

“Have fun.” San patted Mingi on the back, following Wooyoung into the crowd of costumed people. Of course they’d leave him to his own while they go do whatever the hell it is those two do. Mingi rolled his eyes, a buzz finally hitting him, it took a lot to get him drunk. He was a big guy.

“I know you…”

Mingi side eyed the guy that leaned against the bar beside him. “Jeno, no you don’t.” The guy’s friend shoved him as Jeno protested, clearly drunk. “Yes I do! Jaemin, I know him….”

Mingi stared right at him, him and his friend, Jaemin, were dressed like two Squid Games guards, mask pushed atop their heads, eyebrow raised, waiting to hear how this Jeno guy knew him. “SPIKE! MINGI!” Jeno clapped his hands together as if a lightbulb went off in his head.

Oh! Jeno was a viewer of their stream. It seemed Jaemin had no idea what the hell his friend was talking about. “Sorry, he’s wasted.” He pulled Jeno away, Jeno drunkenly protesting the entire time.

Mingi tossed his head back, downing another shot. He had no idea where the hell San and Wooyoung were and he wasn’t exactly getting the distraction he needed.

He just needed y/n.

“Mingi?”

Seriously! How many people were gonna recognize him? He rolled his eyes, ready to tell the person to fuck off….

“Shit.” He was moving from the bar, creating a distance. “Oh, so you’re just going to avoid me? That’s childish, Song Mingi!” Nari was following him.

“Just leave me alone, Nari.” Mingi turned around, towering over her and glaring his eyes at her, the dark charcoal black eyeliner accentuating them, making him much more intimidating.

“What is your deal? Just because my mom has it in her head that I’m gonna fucking marry you or something, it’s not going to happen.” He was harsh, his voice was laced with disdain. Mingi turned around again, ready to just leave.

“I wonder what your parents would say if they knew what you and her do?”

Mingi froze, jaw clenched as he turned back around. Nari had a snide look, shaking her head at him in mock disappointment. “What would your mother say if she knew her son was practically sleeping with a pornstar?”

It took a lot to make Mingi really mad. To push him. It seemed Nari knew just exactly how to do it. “What are you gonna tell them?” He hid the shock he had that Nari knew about the stream behind a mask of unconcern. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of being nervous at his parents finding out the truth.

“That I fuck my girlfriend on livestream? Or,” Mingi smirked darkly at her, his next words leaving him before he could think, before he could truly process what he had just admitted. “that I’m in love with someone that isn’t you?”

Love. That fucking L word! It had been fighting with him for weeks, since he met y/n. Nari gaped at him, scoffing. “As if you even know how to be in love!” She mocked him, clearly hurt at his rejection and words. “You’re only with her because she’s easy and I’m sure it puts cash in your pocket.”

Mingi wished he had more girl friends, he’d let them punch that smug look right off of Nari’s face. “Tell them.” What was the worst that could happen? His dad would scold him but not really give a shit. His mom would probably give him the cold shoulder for a while and certainly never approve of y/n.

He didn’t care. Mingi didn’t need anyone’s approval of who he decided to love. He left Nari standing there in the middle of the crowd, his tall frame leaning against the wall towards the back of the club, eyes closed as he tried to take a minute to calm his nerves.

A hand was touching him, his eyes snapping open, his own hand darting out to wrap around the wrist of the stranger’s wondering one. “Well,” the familiar teasing voice of y/n was like a hit of the best drug. Mingi’s nerves vanished, demeanor instantly relaxing. “that was rude.”

Mingi could only assume she was what Wooyoung had to get before getting there. The grip on y/n wrist loosened but he didn’t let go as he pulled her to him, spinning her around to cage her against the wall. “Are you really here or am I drunk?”

Y/N giggled at him, the hand that wasn’t in the grasp of his own, reaching up to grip two of her fingers in the metal loop on his choker. “I missed you…” she tugged him down with the choker, their lips brushing. She had, really, really missed him.

Mingi wasted no more time kissing her, melting into her, fingers interlocking together as y/n pulled at the choker with her other hand. Mingi’s arm reached for her waist in the very short dark red dress she had on, his touch scorching through the fabric.

“Nice costume.” Mingi grinned, tugging at one of the black cat ears atop her head. Y/N tugged at his choker again much like he had once done to her. “You gonna make me purr?”

Y/N had come home early because….. maybe she was having some….. attachment issues, her mother’s words not hers. Her mother had teased her about Mingi, wanting to know everything about her daughter’s new boyfriend. Telling her mother about him only made y/n miss him more.

“The ears stay on.” Mingi smirked, a crooked smirk that fell into that crooked smile of his. “So does the choker.” Y/N tugged it again.

Fuck.

Mingi missed her.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“Shut the door!” Y/N mumbled against Mingi’s lips as he carried her into his room. They didn’t need either of the cats trailing inside with them. Mingi closed it with his shoulder, lips trailing down to y/n neck.

“That phone sex shit has nothing on actually feeling you….” Mingi practically growled against the cleavage of her breast, tongue darting out to lick his way back up to her throat, giving him one of those beautiful moans he loved hearing from her.

“No teasing…” y/n was impatient tonight, she needed him. Two weeks was way too long going without him. Mingi smiled against her neck, kissing it before placing a kiss back on her lips.

Y/N looped a finger into his choker, holding him close, her other hand grabbing at his short hair, tugging his head back so she could look down at him from her spot still in his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, prominent bulge hard and pressing against her ass.

“You look so fucking hot.” And he did. Y/N couldn’t wait to see his eyeliner smudge from sweat and exertion. Couldn’t wait to see what beautiful fucking mess he’ll look like when he’s done with her.

Mingi loved the praise, a moan leaving him. He sat her down on his bed, both of them making quick work of their clothes, Mingi pulling one of the fake fluffy black cat ears still atop y/n head.

Y/N reached a hand out, wrapping it around Mingi’s length, his dick twitching in her grasp. “No teasing…” he repeated her words from before, crawling atop her, y/n back hitting his mattress with a little gasp, hand still stroking him.

Mingi felt like a fucking virgin again, her touch against him so sensitive, a whimper left him. Her hand definitely felt better than his own. He kissed her to muffle his moans, thrusting into her touch. “Fuck…. I need to taste you…”

“I thought we said no teasing?” Y/N nipped at his adams apple. “I lied.” Mingi flipped them, y/n squealing losing her hold on him. She made a moment of contact with his dick before Mingi was grabbing her, moving her up his body until he was holding her right above him, his gaze locked on her soaked cunt.

“You better hold on.”

“Fuck..” y/n leaned forward, hands gripping at Mingi’s headboard as his tongue plunged inside her, his nose angled just right, rubbing her clit with every movement. His grip on her was tight, probably bruising, but she didn’t care.

Mingi moaned at the taste of her, licking his lips as he pulled back just enough so he could speak, voice deeper and much raspier. “Don’t just sit there, I haven’t fucked you dumb yet, baby, ride my race.” He was almost begging her to.

Y/N could barely hold herself up without suffocating him due to how touch deprived and sensitive she was after not having him for what felt like forever to her. How was she gonna ride him?

Mingi pulled her down completely flushed against his face, sucking her clit. She was moving now, moans that sounded much more like cries as she began to grind against him, Mingi growling into her causing a whimper to catch in y/n throat as she came.

Mingi gripped her waist, working her against his tongue as she shook from the crash of her orgasm, making a mess all over his face. “Mingi…. enough…” she was spasming from the little aftershocks his mouth would give her while still trying to catch her breath after coming.

Mingi eased her off him, letting y/n collapse to her knees on the bed. Y/N almost wished they were streaming, that way she could rewatch this moment. He looked like the most beautiful mess she’d ever seen, his eyeliner smudged, face completely covered in her juices and still looked like he could stay drowning in her.

Y/N had come to a conclusion while visiting her mother. A realization hitting her so hard she was afraid to admit it out loud. She was finding it difficult however, keeping her emotions in check. Biting her tongue to keep from saying anything.

Mingi reached for her, pulling the little fake cat ears off her head, easy to not pull her hair with them. Everything about him was suddenly gentle even when at the moment, the choker, the messy eyeliner, made him look anything but.

Mingi could blame it on the alcohol or all the weed he smoked for letting his emotions take control of him. It wasn’t the truth though, he just….. loves her. He’s never been in love before so all these new feelings were new to him and kind of scared the shit out of him.

“I really fucking missed you…” He had her pinned beneath him, both his hands interlaced with her own, arms stretched, held above y/n head. He had to let one of her hands go to be able to reach down and guide himself into her.

They were both moaning in unison as Mingi pushed his entire length into her, the stretch almost as tight as the first time he had her after not being together for the last two weeks. It felt like the most comforting fucking hug Mingi had ever had, like he belonged there, was meant to be here with her.

He’d have to genuinely thank Wooyoung eventually for sending him to her.

Y/N reached up with her free hand, gripping the choker still around Mingi’s neck as he started moving, thrusting deep, slow, taking his time as if he were trying to feel every inch of her as he could.

Mingi was squeezing her hand gently, his other moving to fit his arm under her head so he could wrap himself around her as much as he could, y/n legs holding him snugly wrapped around his waist. He had never made love before but he’s sure it felt something like this.

He brought her up with him, kneeling on his knees on the bed, dick still buried inside her as y/n wrapped her arms around him, both hands gripping at his hair, straddling him.

Mingi’s arms wrapped around her, moving her to ride against him, lips catching the loud whimpering moan leaving her as he kissed her, mumbling against her lips. “You were fucking made for me.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to press her forehead against his own, sweat dampening their skin, her eyes were closed as she felt her orgasm approaching as Mingi’s dick repeatedly hit her wonderful spot deep in her cunt that she was sure her boyfriend made a mission to find every time.

Mingi was watching her through half lidded eyes, wanting to see all of it, all of her. “Look at me.” His voice was soft yet commanding at the same time. Y/N lifted her head back, her legs tightening around him, thighs starting to tremble as she opened her eyes.

“Cum for me.”

And she did, a sobbing mess, shaking against her orgasm so intense, washing over her like a hurricane. Mingi splayed her back down onto the bed as her walls convulsed and clenched around him, his thrusts faster now, harder, as he chased his own approaching high.

“Mingi….” Y/N had just finished gaining her breath back from her second orgasm but she could feel another one already edging, ready to erupt as Mingi buried his face into the crook of her neck, his own breath panting against her damp skin as he pounded, thrusts sloppy as he came, filling y/n cunt full as she too was hit by another orgasm.

His own orgasm coursing through him, heart beating so fast he had no idea how he was still breathing, the words escaping him so fast, so lost in the moment, in her, that Mingi couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @winxmia @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @wooyoungsbrat @seonghwasslytherin @vsereniasstuff @chicksmoothie @maddycline

#mingi #song mingi #mingi x y/n #mingi x reader #mingi smut #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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anjee0 · 2 months ago

Text

—𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing - female!reader x eminem

description - you and marshall are just friends with benefits, nothing more. when you get a boyfriend, and break the deal with marshall, you start to wonder who you really have feelings for.

warnings - smut, implied smut, oral sex (f receiving), light angst, Y/n is not the best gf, fluff

word count - 3.7k

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned with pleasure as you felt a sensation of euphoria rake over you.

Marshall collapsed on top of your body and exhaled heavily. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. “Mmm,” he hummed. “So good for me.”

You ran your fingers through his hair and held him close. Despite the tension between you two, it would never be anything romantic. You two were just best friends with benefits, and nothing more. You don’t know why you both did it, it broke so many rules. Like your rule of strictly not getting with your friends like Marshall. Or his rule of not getting with younger women like you. You both agreed that when the other started dating, the deal would be off, and you’d go back to being regular friends.

“Me and my friends are hitting a club tonight." You said, still running your delicate fingers through his hair. “Get some drinks, have fun,” You paused. “Maybe find a cute guy.”

Marshall hummed into your neck, his beard scratching against your neck softly. “Sounds fun. When are you leaving?”

“Just a few hours. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Well I hope you have a good time.”

“Thanks.” You quietly said.

“Can we stay like this for a bit?”

“Sure.”

It was quite rare for Marshall wanting to embrace you afterwards, but you still took the offer anyway, feeling a deep sense of comfort within him.

You eventually headed back home, as you had to get ready for the club. You put on a tight black mini dress that revealed your legs and showed a hint of your cleavage. You did your hair and makeup and looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling absolutely stunning and confident.

You took a quick mirror selfie and sent it to your friends that you were attending the club with. You stared at the picture for a few seconds before deciding to send it to Marshall. Your thumb hovered over the send button before clicking it, allowing the picture to be sent to him.

It only took a minute or two for Marshall to respond. He sent you a picture of himself. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a tank top. He was flexing one of his arms, a cunning smirk plastered on his face. He sent an additional message to you too, You look hot. Call me if you need anything.

You felt a soft pulse in your core which you tried your best to ignore. You couldn’t help but stare and admire the picture he sent you. The tank top exposed his large biceps that were inked with tattoos. His sweatpants hung loosely on his waist, slightly teasing his boxers. You bit your lip before replying to the picture: u look perfect. Already making me horny. I’ll call u xx

At that moment, one of your friends texted you, telling you she was outside. You turned off your phone and placed it in your mini purse before leaving the house.

You reached the club with your friends, Rosa and Julie, determined and excited to have a great time. The club was lit up with neon lights with rave music being blasted through speakers. People were on the dance floor, dancing, grinding, kissing and whatnot. A bar was placed in the club, displaying a wide variety of drinks that you would be determined to drink.

“Okay, so besides having the night of our life,” Rosa said. “We need to finally find Y/n a man.”

Julie giggled and lightly nudged Y/n. “I swear if you don’t walk out of here with a guy, we will be devastated.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you linked arms with them. “I do not need a cute guy. All I need is a good night out with my girls.”

The night was absolutely intense. It started with the three of you downing shots of any drinks that satisfied you, then eventually led to the three of you getting on the dance floor and laughing as you embraced each other through the music. The neon lights flashed all around you, the music becoming muffled and quieter in your head. You felt dizzy and knew you had to take a break for a while. You excused yourself before sitting at the bar and opening your phone.

You were quickly interrupted by a man’s voice: “You all alone?” You looked up and were met with a man, perhaps around your age, he was tall, handsome and had a charming smirk on his face. He sat down on the barstool next to you, still maintaining eye contact.

“I’m with my friends,” you replied. “I got a bit tired so I’m just sitting down.”

“I’m Ezra,” he took his hand for you to shake, which you did, “And you?”

“Y/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You looked down, trying to hide the dumb smile that had appeared on your face as you felt your face heating up with blush. You looked up at him again. “Thanks.”

“So, you got a boyfriend?”

“Nope, I’m single.”

He licked his lips and kissed his teeth. “Good to know.” His eyes trailed down your body, admiring every inch of you. “I know you’re tired, but would you care to dance?” he asked as he offered you his hand.

“Well I guess I’m not that tired,” you replied with a smirk as you placed your hand in his.

He took you to the dance floor where he held you close to him, leaving no space between the two of you. He placed his hands on your waist as he guided you carefully through the beat of the song. Ezra spun you around so your back was pressed flush against his body. You could feel his crotch right on your ass as you started to grind against him. He leaned forward, wanting to hear the soft whimpers that escaped your lips. His hands trailed to the sides of your ass, helping you grind against him harder.

“Well shit,” he groaned. “Definitely was not expecting this.”

“Should I stop?” You asked.

“Oh no, keep going. I’m enjoying it.”

As the night continued, you and Ezra stayed close to each other, dancing, drinking, grinding, sharing sloppy but seductive kisses. Rosa and Julie watched from afar, as they giggled and teased, but felt happy that you were at least talking to someone. By the time the night had ended, Ezra had given you his number and you agreed to meet up next week at a cafe.

When you reached home, you were quick to change out of your clothes and wash all your makeup off. As you snuggled yourself in the sheets, you took your phone out and texted a simple ‘heyy’ to Ezra. You noticed you had a few missed calls from Marshall as well followed by a few texts of him asking you if you were okay. You rolled your eyes and smirked as you decided to call him.

He immediately picked up, his voice instantly cutting through. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, slightly worried.

“Calm down, Marshall. I’m fine.”

He let out an exhale of relief. “Good. Did you enjoy your time?”

“Yeah, actually. I met a guy.”

A brief pause happened on the other line before he spoke up again. “That’s nice. What’s his name?”

“His name’s Ezra. He’s really cute.”

“You had a good time with him? He was nice?”

You chuckled at Marshall’s protective nature. “Yes in fact, we just spent the whole night grinding on each other and kissing.”

“Didn’t ask for details.”

“My bad. Anyway, we’re going on a date next week to a cafe.”

“Sounds nice…” He sighed softly through his nose before speaking once again. “Does this mean that our deal is off?”

You paused at the sudden question, that wasn’t really something that had crossed your mind. “I guess it is. I mean if it doesn’t work out, we can go back… right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Neither of you said anything as you both shared an indescribable silence. The air felt weird. After months of this deal, it was off. You didn’t know how to feel about it, a range of mixed feelings stirring in your mind. “Well, it’s pretty late. I’m gonna head to bed now.”

“Alright. Goodnight.”

Next week, it was your date with Ezra. You decided to wear a cute spring dress, a white one dotted with yellow flowers. You wore your hair in a half up-half down and tied a yellow ribbon in it. You paired it with some white shoes and wore light makeup.

A chime was heard from your phone as you did some finishing touches to your makeup. It was a text from Marshall.

Hey. How you doing?

You smiled softly at the screen before typing away.

Hey. How are you doing? - M

I’m good, you? - You

Just chillin, nearly ready for your date? - M

Yup! - You

I’m all ready, actually - You

Nice. Can I see please? - M

You chuckled at the odd politeness he had when texting you. You sent him a picture of the outfit. He replied with a quick voice note, stating how cute you looked in your dress. You two continued to text each other back and forth, ever so slightly flirting with each other in a playful manner.

Eventually, you had to go, as Ezra had pulled up outside your house. You got in the car and were greeted with that same charming smile.

“Hey, Y/n. You look gorgeous.” Ezra said.

“Thanks Ezra. You look great.” You said as you put your seatbelt on.

When you got to the cafe, you both settled down at a booth and took your order quickly. While waiting for the food to arrive, the two of you made some small talk. You were unsure how, but at some point of the conversation, you started talking about Marshall.

“He’s really sweet, we’ve known each other for a while now.” You rambled. “I mean, gosh, I don’t know what I would do without him.”

“He sounds like a nice guy.” Ezra replied hesitantly.

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly at his response, only to remember you were on a date with a guy and you were talking about another man. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. Talking about another guy on the first date isn't really a good idea huh?”

“Mhm,” he replied, nodding slightly. “But, it’s fine. I completely understand.”

The food eventually arrived which you certainly enjoyed. Your hot chocolate was sweet and creamy and the croissant you ordered was soft and delicate. After the cafe, you two took a stroll in the park, having a quiet conversation amongst yourselves.

When the date ended, Ezra dropped you off at your house, with another date arranged. As soon as you entered your house, you could only start giggling to yourself as you thought about the date you just had. Butterflies arose in your stomach, making you feel absolutely ecstatic.

You immediately called Marshall, telling him every detail of the date, except the part when you were talking non-stop about him. He sounded happy for you, proud to know that you’d finally found someone that could be a possible future partner.

As the weeks progressed, you continued to go on dates with Ezra. You two grew more fond of each other and felt more comfortable around each other. Throughout your dates, you would constantly flirt with each other every chance you got. And eventually, he asked you to be his girlfriend, in which you happily accepted.

But as the time went by of you and Ezra spending your moments together, wrapped up in affection, you started talking to Marshall less. You would drop the occasional text message, a quick call informing him about everything in your life, but other than that— nothing. You found yourself replacing the frequent trips to his house with practically living at Ezra’s. And although, yes, he was your boyfriend now, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for losing your frequent contact with Marshall.

Months had progressed in your relationship, and you and Ezra were going off strong. Always going on dates, constant affection, and somewhere along the way, you two had grown enough trust with each other to start engaging in more sexual activities.

You arched your back and let out a small moan as you felt Ezra’s tongue on your core. You ran your fingers through his hair, as you squirmed at his touch. You felt so close to your climax, as you urged him to carry on. When you finally came undone, you made the worst mistake of your life.

“Marshall,” you moaned quietly under your breath, but apparently not quiet enough for Ezra to not hear.

The air stilled, the tension in the room grew thick. You felt Ezra move away from you as he stood up, a disappointed expression etched on his face. You sat up, and quickly put your pants on, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“What the fuck, Y/n? You fucking other guys behind my back?” Ezra asked, anger booming in his voice.

“Wait, Ezra, please let me explain.” You said, as you approached him.

He refused to look you in the eyes, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were full of anger. “You better make it quick.”

“You cupped his face and gently turned his head to make him look at you. “Ezra,” You swallowed. “Sit down.”

As you both sat down, creating a small dip in the bed, you took notice of the hurt in his eyes, as he looked down on the floor. A pang of guilt hit you. You slowly threaded your fingers in and squeezed his hand. “Ezra… Me and Marshall used to be… friends with benefits.”

He suddenly snapped his head to turn you. “You what?”

“It was only a few months. And we both agreed that if we ever found someone, we would close the deal.”

“So how long did it take you to realise you wanted to call the deal off?”

“I told him the night we met.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, a glint of confusion shining in his eyes. “Really? You’re not lying?”

You shook your head. “I really liked you the moment we met. I knew I had to call the deal off.”

Ezra relaxed as his shoulders sagged. He nodded. His lips were still in a stiff line, not picking up at the corners to smile.

“And I promise,” you said, “That I’ll try not let it get in the way of us ever again. I care about you so much.”

“Alright, well, I appreciate you telling me the truth. But I think I might just need some time to myself.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Take the time you need.”

Within two weeks, the awkward situation was forgotten about between you and Ezra. However, guilt was still seeping within you. You both were curled up on the couch, watching a movie when your phone lit up and let out a notification sound. You checked it and saw Marshall’s name in a text message notification on your phone screen.

“Who is it?” Ezra asked.

“Marshall…”

A thick silence stretched between the two of you. Although the altercation from 2 weeks ago was forgotten about, it certainly was awkward if Marshall was ever mentioned.

“Well, uh. I think you should reply then.” Ezra replied.

You opened the message app, and was greeted with Marshall’s text messages:

Hey.

I’m having a party at mine next week.

Wanna come?

Ezra can come too.

“He’s having a party next week, and he wants us to come.” You said.

“Both of us?”

You nodded silently.

“Alright, then. Sounds good to me.”

Next week, it was the party. You showed up wearing a silky, fitted red dress with a slit. Whilst Ezra went out to find a decent parking spot, you decided to enter the house. Marshall immediately greeted you, with that smile you felt like was only reserved for you.

“Hey…” He paused, as his eyes travelled down your body, lingering for longer than you thought they should’ve. “You look…Gosh you look beautiful. Where’s Ezra?”

You felt your cheeks uncontrollably heating up at the compliment. You felt guilt simmering in your stomach, but you couldn’t stop smiling so much. “Thanks Marsh. Ezra’s just parking the car.”

And at perfect timing, Ezra appeared, his hand gripping your waist. It wasn’t restraining, but firm, as if he was trying to ground himself on you. “Marshall,” he acknowledged, shaking his hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

At that moment, a gorgeous blonde woman approached Marshall, as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “Hey Marsh.” she said.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. Was Marshall dating? He never mentioned it.

All of a sudden, she kissed his cheek.

You felt your stomach drop, and your heart beating quicker. Who was this woman? You weren’t jealous, just surprised that he didn’t tell you.

“Y/n, Ezra, this is Chloe.” He looked at her, an indescribable expression on his face. “She’s a friend of mine.” He looked away and made a subtle second of eye contact with you.

“Nice to meet you Chloe. I’m Y/n, this is my boyfriend Ezra.”

“It’s great to meet you guys.” You felt a pang of guilt hitting you. She seemed so sweet and innocent, you had a boyfriend for fucks sake. Why were you feeling like this?

As the night continued, you stayed close to Ezra, the grip on his waist never letting go. His grip started to feel empty, with no emotion or stability behind it. Just a mere hand placed on your waist feigning a meaning, when really there was none. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart to Marshall and Chloe across the room. They were either always talking with each other and laughing, or stomach-twistingly close to each other. Ezra must’ve noticed as he constantly tried to pull you closer to him, a silent nudge telling you stop.

The car ride back home felt difficult. The tension was obvious, and it was thick in the air— almost restraining. Ezra’s jaw was tight, his hands gripped the steering wheel as his knuckles became white.

You decide to talk, to lift up the tension in the room. “It was a nice party, huh-”

“We should stop.” Ezra’s voice cut through your sentence like a sharp blade, making it end abruptly.

You snapped your head to him, your stomach dropping. Your eyes widened as your chest felt tight. “What do you mean?”

“Y/n, it is so obvious that you have feelings for Marshall.”

You laughed in disbelief. “And what makes you think that?”

“Well first, the whole friends with benefits thing. I mean you can’t have sex with someone for a few months like that and not expect to capture feelings. And even months after you ended that deal with him, you still said his name two weeks ago. Even tonight. I saw how your face dropped when Chloe kissed him. I could see you staring at them both non-stop.”

You sighed, searching your mind for a good response, only to realise he was telling the truth. When you turned your head to look back at the road, you felt tears welling at the back of your eyes. You quickly blinked them away. You had no right to be crying right now. You were breaking Ezra’s heart.

“I’m sorry, Ezra.”

He stayed basked in silence, his eyes fixated on the road ahead. “You should talk to him.”

You nodded, looking out the window, staring at your own reflection, as you listened closely to the sounds of your anxious heart pumping in your chest.

When you reached home, you stood at the steps of your door and looked behind one last time, catching a glimpse of Ezra’s face in the window before he left. You wondered if that was the last time you’d see him again.

As soon as you entered your house and closed the door behind you, you took your phone out and called Marshall. One ring. Two rings. 3 rings.

“Hey Y/n.”

His voice was soothing and comforting in such times of distress and discomfort. “Marshall…”

He could immediately sense something was wrong from the dejected tone of your voice. “Everything okay?”

You paused. “Ezra broke up with me.”

“What? Like right now?” His voice was laced with confusion and you could hear some hints of fury as well.

“But it’s my fault Marshall.”

His voice became softer. “How so?”

“I should’ve known better than to be in a relationship when I was already in love with someone else.”

“You’re in love with-” he stopped his sentence halfway and paused. “Who?”

“You…” you said quietly, hoping he couldn’t hear.

“Me?” Yeah, he heard that.

“Yes.”

All of a sudden the other line was cut. You looked at your phone to see he had hung up.

Shit.

You messed it up. You messed up one of your closest friendships you’d ever had. You’d messed up years of trust and respect that was built between the two of you, only for it to come tumbling down in a one minute phone call.

What felt like an eternity, but only a few minutes had passed. A knock was heard on the front door. Who would be here at this time? You opened the door and saw Marshall standing in front of you. His eyes were soft, his lips curled up into a small smile.

“Marshall?”

He didn’t even respond, just came in, closed the door and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or hungry, but soft and delicate. He was pouring out all his emotions into that one kiss, as he cupped your face and pulled you in more.

He pulled away and his eyes met yours. He didn’t have to say anything. Because you knew right away, and he knew that too. You didn’t know what to say either. And that was fine. So you just hugged him tight and buried your cheek into his chest. He ran his fingers through your hair as you tried to match your breathing with his.

No words had to be said, you both knew the love you both felt for each other was undeniable.

taglist: @izzfizz24 @buzial @margeoww @tomdayaloveforever @nicole1132 @thatsabi @justwithcoco @innercollectivedaze @valiantchip @caitlynmae2005 @harley-kalani @confiaenanaa @sweetmusicvoid💗 @182772829393 @amandairene88

#eminem #eminem x reader #slim shady #marshall mathers #8 mile #b rabbit #marshall mathers x reader #jimmy smith jr #jimmy smith jr x reader #slim shady x reader #emimem smut #eminem fluff #eminem angst #x reader

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luvmahae · 7 months ago

Text

masterlist — previous — next!

SM DOME how the fuck we feelin?

it’s motherfuckin rave day and guess where we are? sm dome baby!

what’s better than being surrounded by dudes rocking jerseys, half-buttoned shirts, or just straight up going shirtless? and the girls? they’ve got the looks on lock—tiny tops, bottoms barely covering their asses, and of course, the fishnets.

everywhere you look, there’s kandi stacked high on wrists, led gloves lighting up the crowd, and the unmistakable haze of cigarettes, weed, and a rainbow of vape flavors hanging in the air. mango, watermelon, blue razz… you name it!

outside the main doors leading to the floor, some people are already completely fucked up. the night’s still young... right? spoiler: it’s only the openers playing right now. the main section of the venue is pure organized chaos—lines snaking to the bar, the merch booth, the bathroom. and the longest line of all? you guessed it. the water stations.

and this? this is just the beginning of what promises to be one hell of a night.

chenle leads the way to the water stations, his camelbak slung over his shoulders. you and the others follow, weaving through the swarms of people, the energy of the venue running through your veins.

“me, chenle, and jisung are in charge of water tonight.” renjun says, filling the pouch inside of his camelbak at the dispenser.

once the boys finish loading up their camelbaks, the group rallies together, heading toward the floor entrance. mark’s hands rest on Ningning’s shoulders while she clings to chenle’s hand, letting him take the lead. you fall into place behind jeno, fingers gripping his shoulders like a train of carefree, slightly chaotic college kids.*

the crowd is packed, a sea of people all swaying, talking, dancing, you name it. john summit’s final stop in seoul has brought out a massive crowd—more than you had expected, but it’s the kind of energy that gets your adrenaline pumping.

the group moves through the crowd, inching forward towards the middle, where you’ve learned from past events that the view from here is the best. as you get closer to the center, the sights become even more overwhelming—the neon lights, the lasers cutting through the air, the thumping bass reverberating through your body. the visuals are going to be insane.

“right here.”

the group forms a loose circle, finally getting a chance to breathe for a moment before the madness begins.

“y/n you have the baggie right?”

“oh right i do!”

you glance down at your top, tugging on the fabric to pull out the small ziplock bag tucked in your bra. as you pass it to jeno, you notice everyone staring at you with a mix of surprise and amusement—especially the guys.

“you hid it… in there?!”

“i mean… it works out all the time. mark, do you really think security is gonna pat my boobs down?”

“honestly that’s smart as fuck.”

“i mean thank god y/n has tits!” jaemin adds, earning a playful shove from you as the laughter continues.

jeno scans the area, his eyes flicking around for any sign of security before unzipping the mini ziplock bag.

“john summit’s set starts at 9:30, so let’s pop these now.”

one by one, everyone pops their pills, and there’s something about it that feels weirdly intimate. you take a quick sip from chenle’s camelbak after, the cold water hitting just right against the growing warmth spreading through your body.

the opener’s set is still going as the pill starts to settle inside you, your body already humming in anticipation. the crowd roars with excitement, the opener throwing down banger after banger, turning up the energy in the venue.

thirty minutes later, the opening notes of “shiver” echo through the venue, crisp and electrifying, vibrating straight through your chest. the whole group erupts into cheers, their excitement blending seamlessly with the roar of the crowd. the lights flash brighter, neon beams slicing through the darkness as the music builds, and the energy of the night kicks up a notch.

and then, it hits.

at first, it’s a gentle wave of warmth that rolls through you, and then it intensifies—almost like the music is coursing through your veins, the euphoria spreading from your chest to your fingertips. the energy is contagious, with everyone belting out the words, hands in the air, bodies swaying to the beat.

renjun pulls out a pack of gum and starts handing it around. you take a piece, popping it into your mouth just as the familiar jaw-clenching begins to set in. the sharp, sweet flavor helps ground you, even as your body starts buzzing, every sensation heightened to an almost unreal intensity.

jeno waves a handheld fan at the group, his effort to combat the heat appreciated as the air thickens with the crowd’s energy. the sweat, the flashing lights, and the pulsing music all blur together, each sensation melding into the next. your skin sticky from the heat, the lights flashing too fast to follow, the music vibrating through your bones, every beat hitting harder than the last.

the group is fully in it now, rolling hard as ever. eyes half-lidded, jaws working on the gum, bodies swaying and bouncing to the music without a care. mark and ningning are practically bouncing off each other, moving together in perfect sync, feeding off each other’s excitement.

“look at you guys gooooo!” chenle shouts, laughing as he jumps into the circle with exaggerated moves, making ningning double over with laughter.

you can’t help but join in, the sheer joy of the moment pulling you closer. the music, the lights, the people—it’s all blending together into one perfect, unforgettable night.

karina is the first to stumble, her eyes blinking rapidly as the effects of the pill settle over her. she stumbles back, her shoulders colliding with jeno’s chest.

“whoa, whoa- easy.” he says quickly, steadying her with a firm hand.

she looks up at him, her eyes wide and glazed over, chewing her gum aggressively. “i don’t feel so good right now.” she admits, her voice soft but shaky.

jeno, rolling just as hard as she is, grins at her, his face softening with concern despite his own euphoric state. “you’re good. i’ve got you,” he reassures her, his hands gently massaging her temples.

“renjun, water.”

renjun nods and immediately pulls the mouthpiece of the camelbak and hands it over. he flashes karina a quick thumbs-up, his attempt at lightening the moment.

“it’s all in your head rina. you got this! just have fun!”

she takes a long sip, the cool water washing down the rising heat in her chest, grounding her just enough to breathe easier. jeno fans her with one hand, his other still steady on her shoulder

“thank you.”

the overwhelming sensations start to mellow, and for a moment, she just leans into him, finding comfort in his presence.

his grin widens as he looks down at her, holding her close until she’s ready to move again.

“anytime.”

the energy in the group builds as the music pulses through the venue, but ningning suddenly stops dancing, her eyes wide with excitement.

“can someone please give me a shoulder ride?! this is my favorite song! i need to record it NOW!”

jaemin’s grin is instant, mischievous and wide. he crouches without a second thought, patting his shoulders.

“get on!”

she doesn’t hesitate, her laughter bright as she hooks her legs over his shoulders. with a swift push, he lifts her into the air, her squeal of delight blending with the music. she wobbles for a second before steadying herself, one hand gripping his hair lightly for balance while the other raises her phone high to start recording.

“holy shit, john summit is REAL! i love you!”

“you better send me those videos later!”

“jaem don’t let me go okay!”

“i got you! just go crazy!”

“you’re seriously the best!”

he sways to the beat, effortlessly keeping her balanced as she waves her phone around, capturing the moment. his grin never falters, his energy syncing with hers as the track explodes into its euphoric drop.

jisung is completely captivated by the lasers, his eyes locked on the vibrant display, wide with awe. a grin stretches across his face as he chews on his gum, lost in the rhythm of the lights. a girl approaches him, her energy just as high as his, and they start dancing side by side.

she leans in, her voice playful. “you like the lights, huh?”

“they’re fucking insane.”

she laughs and pulls him by the hands, her body swaying to the rhythm of the music, effortlessly guiding him into the groove.

“dance with me, yeah?”

you, on the other hand, are feeling the effects a little differently. while the others are bouncing around and grinning like crazy, you feel lighter—almost like your body is floating. you sway to the music, eyes closed, your body moving with the beats like a feather in the wind.

it’s when you stumble backwards that you feel haechan’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you gently against him.

“you good?”

you smile, leaning back into him, your body relaxed in his arms. “yeah… this pill is strong as fuck, holy shit.” you admit, your voice slurring slightly, but it doesn’t even matter.

he chuckles softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver through you. his breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “told you.”

the music swirls around you, and in that moment, you lose your footing again. he catches you effortlessly, pulling you back into his embrace, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

“i got you.”

you lean into him, closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you in the otherwise dizzying world of lights and sound.

“just feel the music y/n.” he murmurs, his voice soft, steady, and comforting in contrast to the chaos around you.

when the opening beats of “what a life” burst through the speakers, the group instinctively comes together, forming a loose circle. arms draped over each other's shoulders, pulling everyone close as the music sways in time with the electric euphoria filling the air.

“i love you guys soooooo muchhhh!”

“best fucking night everrrrrr!”

“guys i’m seriously rolling tits right now!”

“tell molly i love her too!”

“god i am literally so happy. let me kiss all of you… NOW!”

you giggle as you stumble from person to person, planting a quick, sloppy kiss on each cheek, feeling the warmth of the crowd and the love flooding around you.

“that’s our girl. classic y/n.” chenle teases from the side, the group erupting in laughter.

then it’s haechan’s turn. when you reach him, the kiss lingers—just a second longer than the others. you feel his skin grow warm under your lips, and when you pull back, his eyes are already locked on yours, their intensity cutting through the haze of the night.

♪ what a life, what a time to be free

as the night winds down, the group finally makes its way back to the cars. the buzz of the pills has faded, but the sense of connection remains. you walk side by side with haechan, your hands brushing occasionally as the faint hum of conversations floats between your group.

you glance at him, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “i’ve got something for you, by the way,” you say, pulling a small green beaded bracelet from your pocket.

“you made kandi just for me? cute.”

“i actually made some for the group... but i couldn't forget about you too.”

“you know what’s funny? i actually made one for just you.”

your breath catches slightly as he pulls a pink beaded bracelet from his jacket pocket. the way the beads shimmer under the streetlights makes your heart flutter, but it’s the glimmer in his eyes that really gets you.

“you know what to do,” he says, holding the bracelet out, his tone both teasing and sincere.

peace. you both raise your hands, forming matching peace signs and holding them for a beat before moving on.

love. your hands curve into hearts, the symmetry between you so natural it feels like second nature.

unity. your palms meet, warm and steady against one another. there’s an intimacy in the quiet contact that makes your chest tighten in the best way.

respect. your fingers interlace with his, soft and deliberate, but instead of letting go, he holds on. his grip is firm yet gentle, grounding you in the moment as he slips the bracelet onto your wrist with his free hand.

you slide the blue and white kandi onto his wrist in return, the action simple but so much more meaningful than it has any right to be.

he doesn’t let go. instead, his fingers stay threaded with yours as he guides you toward the rest of the group, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand.

you know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “this might be my favorite part of the night.”

you glance up at him, a soft feeling blooming in your chest as the night air wraps around you. “mine too.” you admit, the words barely more than a whisper.

and as you walk toward the others, your hand still in his, it feels like a quiet promise—something neither of you needs to say out loud.

♪ what a life, what a time to be you, and me

wc: 2.2k

notes: update on christmas day lets get it 😎 long awaited rave chapter and i am honestly.... living for it 100%. writing this made me relive the past events ive been to irl and ugh 10/10 feeling (not the comeup but everything past that YESSS!) plus im actually dying at the john summit twitter account LMFAO merry christmas and happy holidays to all of u lovely cuties!!! sending u all kisses muah. chapter is based off john summit's "what a life"! such a good song :D

taglist: @4amirwin @wonbin-truther @hearts4hee @jungaji @sundamariis @urlovelily @n0hyuck @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @luvvhaechan @douqhnxtss @tynlvr @haesluvr @hcluvie @pinknjm @nanaxwi @catpjimin @slayhaechan @awktwurtle @myfavoritedelusion @stqrgr7 @t-102 @jianreadsaus @haechanhues @gomdoleemyson @hyuckmoon @haechology @mystverse @hyuckies18 @sunflowerbebe07 @jae-n0 @onlyforyoukook @yizhrt @gwookie @zzzmrk @kukkurookkoo @nightcat101 @tinyelfperson @haefelt @haechsworld @tenjyucat @worldwidecutiemaya @sunghoonsgfreal @snoopyjimin @ypoom151999 @meowtella @honeynanamin @haechanmybaechan @nctrawberries @nosungluv

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maladaptivewritings · 6 months ago

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Headlock Pt.2

Summary: Simon just returned from deployment, to realize he has a new neighbor. His paranoia soon leads to obsession as he dives into a cycle of charismatic stalking.

Tw: stalking, smoking, general Simon behaviors.

Y/N: She/They pronouns, has tattoos, library associate, mid-late 20's, y/n height is implied (between 5'3 to 5'6)

Word count: 1k

The old building ached and groaned as the weeks passed. Simon had learned as much as he could through his searches. Documents littering his personal desk and counters, pictures of you from social media now taking up space within his mind.

"Just for security reasons" a siren song danced in his mind. He the hours you worked, that was easy seeing the wall were thin enough and your alarm was just loud enough. As He would lay amongst the pitch sheets, listening half-heartedly as you fumbled about rushing to get ready. The door slams shut as you sprint out into the hall. The sick routine begins as Simon would roll out of bed, watching you from his window.

The sun just peeks behind the buildings as you would run to your car, hair tossed back into whatever style would listen that morning. Insisting to himself that this was a passing thing, and soon this would be just a thing of the past.

Until you knocked on his door after you got back that night.

His eyes scour your body for a clue on why you had shown up this time. Had you seen him this morning? Did you somehow find out about the encyclopedia of knowledge he had on you.

"Are you hungry?" You ventured, eyes darting aware from Simon's as you continued. "I want to try this place down the road, everyone I know is busy."

Simon was stunned, understanding the concept. Were you asking him out? No, definitely not this was just politeness at it's finest. He nodded unsure if he could speak.

"Of' course, I could eat." He finally answered.

"Um, drive together or walk or separately..." You elaborated further, definitely just ready to leave.

"I'll walk," Simon assured, disappearing back into his home. He grabbed coat, but in his hidden state shoved the folders and files into his desk. If everything went well, he didn't need you seeing that.

You waited in the doorway, already having dropped off most of your work items in the foyer of your own apartment. Simon finally returned to the hall, trying to correct his social faux pas as he nodded and greeted you.

"So' where we heading." He was nearly a foot taller than you as he trailed behind. The sickly yellow lights of the hall helping paint the scene in front of you as you reached the stairwell. You explained some convoluted story about your coworker raving about a restaurant which you knew was down the road. You were of course tired of this woman's incessant ramblings about this damned place. He followed, his figure shadowing yours as you finally halted in front of a small café.

Soft music escaped the windows and doors, the patio lit up in the evening sun. Y/n waltzed inside and Simon, like a stray mutt, followed the dim gold light danced of the delicate cups. The booths worn in as the two sat down.

"I am so sorry about this," You recalled the rushed manner you asked. Before even getting to that point you attempted to come to this small restaurant over five times, chickening out per each attempt. Hands hiding your face as the two of you waited for a server to come by.

"Had nothin' better to do." His voice assured that he was content, his hat hiding him from the light as he leaned in to meet you at the table. He was pushing himself to feel normal, a task never fulfilled in his daily life. For this for you he'd try.

The server came and the two ordered, small treats littering the table as Simon tousled the tablecloth. This was not a place he'd visit, vintage neon signs displayed across the walls. He noted every moment you ranted and raved. He now knew who you hated in the office, or how you'd lay in bed for as long as you could before running off every morning.

The sun fell, and the two of you returned to apartment building. You invited him in for a moment before separating, just desiring more company for the night.

Your apartment was quaint, old textbooks littering any surface. Many just old and outdated, he follows as you slowly breakdown some physical barriers, your coat and scarf than taking down your hair while slipping into slippers. He haunts the halls of the apartments, picking up trinkets ever so often and few falling in to his pockets.

His grunts and groans, an intended way of keeping your eyes off him. He yearned to explore this strange land, where do you hide away at night? When did you lock yourself away and entertain yourself.

He had been drawn to glance into one of those dark doorways that lined the hall. As he drew nearer, he heard you yell for him. Pulling him from his daze.

"Uh, Coffee or Tea?" The question that halted him. He fell back into the kitchen where you stood. An electric kettle boiling as y/n sat a top the counter awaiting a response.

"Tea," He paused seeing you being to pull out a bowl of various tea's a collection he would be jealous of if it weren’t for the fact he only enjoyed maybe three out of the fifty within your grasp.

"Just grab one." You pushed the bowl towards him, as you grasped one at random. Making your own cup in peace, Simon glanced at the clock. 10:28 P.M. While he would love to poke around further, he knew it would be to risky to rummage throughout your home with you here.

"I'll pass, gotta get up early tomorrow mornin'" He apologized, his lie hidden by those puppy-dog-eyes. As he slipped out and back into his home. He had now some trophies from tonight, a few knickknacks that wouldn’t be missed, and maybe some other items that disappeared from your laundry when he claimed he needed to use the restroom.

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bonnie-the-butcher · 4 months ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter XVI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 9.261 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

HAD MY FIRST DAY AT UNI YESRTEDAY YALL!I'm so sorry that I'm now just posting once a week instead of every 3 days, but Uni Prep had me in a frenzy, lmao. I'm gonna try my best to keep up with the posting schedule for you guys' sakes because seeing you like this is literally my therapy. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

The wind screams past your ears.

Your fingers are clenched so tightly around the throttle that they ache, the roar of the bike's engine rattling through your bones. Cold air whips against your skin, sharp and punishing, your hair flying wild behind you, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

Your heart is still pounding, slamming, against your ribcage at a speed more punishing than the one you’re driving at.

You shouldn’t be driving this fast.

You know you shouldn’t be driving this fast.

Your stomach lurches at the thought—JJ’s hands on the bike, the reckless speed, the way he took those turns just to scare you. The memory hits you, sharp and brutal—the screech of metal, the asphalt rushing up to meet you, the burn of terror that rose up your throat as the bike scraped against the pavement.

You should have learned your lesson —You should be driving slowly. But you can still feel Rafe’s hands on you. You still hear his voice, soft, certain, suffocating.

"I know you love me.""You’ll learn.""We’re meant to be."

Your stomach turns violently.

The moment plays over and over in your mind, tangled up in itself, looping like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. His breath against your skin, the way he grabbed you, kissed you, forced you still. The way he spoke about that night, about your skirt, about something from three fucking years ago—something you don’t even remember.

That’s what horrifies you the most.

That he does remember.

Because he’s been thinking about it, obsessing over it, building his own fantasy out of this memory.

This memory that you don't even have.

He’s been letting you play at getting to know him for a week. Letting you cling to the slivers of information he gives you, trying to piece him together, while he’s known you, analyzed you, thought about you, been around you for YEARS.

You press harder on the gas.

Shoreline rushes up too quick, too bright, too loud. The street lights blur into the flickering neon signs, into the colors of the setting sun that smear together like paint across the sky. Your eyes dart, searching, frantic, you barely see. The speed is too much, the light is too much, the sounds are too much, everything inside you rages, raves, roars, as if you’re being consumed by a vortex that’s settled inside your brain and is destroying everything around it.

Until—

Barry.

You recognize him immediately, the posture, the carelessness, even without seeing his face. His head is in his hands, a cigarette burning between his fingers, the glow of it flickering with every slow inhale. His elbows rest on his knees, his whole body slumped forward, exhaling in a long, steady breath.

You cut the engine.

The moment he hears it, he’s up.

Barry moves fast, his head snapping up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. He’s already moving toward you before you even get both feet on the ground, already talking, already scolding—

How the fuck did you get here so fast— Whe— where's your helmet—?

But you don’t let him finish.

Your body moves before your mind does—you’re running, running into him, your arms wrapping around his torso as if he were a lifeline.

Your fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt, face burying into his chest, the warmth of him seeping through your skin, his scent wrapping around you like something steady, something solid.

You feel him freeze for a second. Like he doesn’t understand. Like this is something new. – What— Sweetheart, what happened?

You shake your head, still buried in his embrace, still clinging to him like he's the only thing keeping you on the ground. – I hate this bike. – You mumble, the first excuse that comes to mind. – I hate the moron that invented a bike, I hate you for having a bike and I don't wanna ride a bike ever again.

He laughs, relaxes.

His arms tighten around you.

His hand slides up, pressing against the back of your head, steady, grounding. His other hand curls around your waist, fingers pressing firm, protective. His breath is slow and steady, even as his heart pounds beneath your cheek.

Neither of you say anything for a moment.

Barry holds you. Solid. Grounded. Real. But inside, you’re still moving.

The speed is still dragging at your sides. The road is still rushing past you, blurring at the edges, folding in on itself like a wave crashing over your head.

And Rafe—

Rafe is still there.

You feel shaken loose, untethered. You’ve stepped off the bike but haven’t stopped moving. You’re still hurtling forward at full speed, no breaks, but there’s no road beneath you anymore.

His voice.

His hands.

His grip.

Barry shifts. You feel it—the slight flex of his fingers against your back, the slow, careful breath he exhales against your hair.

– Sweetheart, – His voice is softer now, quieter. Like he can feel it. Like he can tell you’re still buzzing, barely keeping it together. His hand drags slow, deliberate, up and down your back. He's trying to soothe you, but it’s not working. – It’s just the speed. You went too fast. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe.

You try.

But the air feels too thick, too heavy. And it catches in the way down your lungs like Rafe’s hands are still tight around your windpipe, like he’s still blocking the way.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face deeper into his chest.

He's warm —You try to focus on that, on the warmth of him. On the way he holds you like a straightjacket.

He's here.

You're here.

Away from Rafe.

Out of his grip.

Out of danger.

Barry sighs, long and slow, his chin dipping slightly, his arms wrapping a little tighter—like he’s letting you hold on as much as you need.

You wish it were enough.

You wish it could just pull the feeling out of you.

But Rafe’s voice still lingers.

You move your head, and when your ears rustle through the fabric of Barry’s shirt, and you swear you can hear Rafe’s laughter in it.

A shudder rolls through you.

Barry feels it.

His grip tightens instantly.

– Hey. – His voice is firmer now, edged with something sharper, something protective. – Are you sure it’s just the bike?

You just nod your head again.

You can’t talk about this.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Barry exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to steady himself as much as you. His fingers press against your waist, curling slightly, keeping you in place, steady, solid.

You burrow closer. The warmth of him, you try to remind yourself. Focus on that. On the smoke and the menthol and the burn of something headier that wraps around you like a shield, like something solid, something that won’t crumble under your touch.

Barry shifts. Just slightly. – Sweetheart. – His voice is quiet. Not teasing. Not scolding. Soft. Careful. – You're shaking.

Your throat feels tight.

Your fingers curl into his shirt.

You don’t know how to answer.

Because what are you supposed to say? You can’t tell him the truth. You can't tell him that you can still feel Rafe's hands on you. That his voice is still echoing in your head, that his grip still lingers around you as if it were carved into your skin, that you feel like you’re suffocating in your own body?

You shake your head again, a sharp, desperate movement, and Barry feels it.

His grip tightens.

Barry shifts again, just barely, just enough that you feel it—the flex of his fingers, the way his chest rises against yours, the way he exhales, slow and heavy.

But he doesn’t let go.

And for a moment, you think he relaxes into it, that he holds you as if he’s just trying to ground himself on you as well.

He clears his throat. Stiffens the slightest bit.

– You’re still shaking. – He tries again. Softer this time, but it doesn’t last. – Are you crying? What—Sweetheart, what's going on?

You shake your head, swallowing hard, clutching him even tighter. The fear is still there, still pressing against your ribs, still sitting heavy in your throat.

– The bike, – You mumble against his chest. – I thought I was gonna die. It's— Your voice drifts, cold, gone. The words come out before you can stop them. – It’s like he's right here. Like we're—

Barry stiffens immediately, his expression shifting from worry to rage. His arms tighten around you, breath going sharper, faster, like he’s trying to hold back a reaction.

You feel his jaw twitch where it rests against your head. – He ain’t gonna get to you again, okay? – Your heart stumbles. Your pulse spikes. You swish the words around in your mind, trying to believe it. You let the gravel of his voice comfort you, echo around you, and it's warm, his arms are tight, and the ache in your bones is almost forgotten. – JJ ain’t gonna try any of that shit with you, not when I’m here. I promise.

JJ.

It almost confuses you, because there’s so much shit going on, it takes you a moment to remember what it was exactly that JJ did to piss Barry off. You nearly forgot that he almost killed you— You barely remember the way he acted, the way he threw you on the bike, the way he spat at you like he wanted you to bleed.

All you remember is how small he looked when it was over —How he sat there, next to you, hunched over, voice hoarse, begging. How he crumbled, pathetic and groveling, when he realized that you were not gonna relent.

But none of it matters.

Not anymore.

It's not JJ’s hands you feel anymore.

It's Rafe's.

The way he grabbed you, like you were nothing, like you were a thing.

The things he said to you.

Barry’s grip tightens, his arms wrapping around you even closer – Hey— His voice drops lower, quieter. His comforting voice. His calm-her-down voice. – It’s okay. I got you. He ain't gonna try that again. You're gonna have to get back on that thing, though, sweetheart. – He dips his head lower, his breath warm against your temple, his voice even softer now, steady, grounding. – I’ll take you back home. We’ll go slow, yeah?

You freeze.

The fear comes crashing back, sharp and suffocating, pressing against your ribs, clawing up your throat. – No! – You say it too fast. Too firm.

Barry pulls back slightly. Not letting go. Not pushing. Just enough to see your face, to search your expression, to figure out what the fuck is going on.

His brows draw together.

His hand tightens.

His eyes narrow.

– Sweetheart—

You don’t let him. Barry has a way of jumping to conclusions, and this conclusion is so obvious that you fear a second of rationalization will get him to the truth. – There’s a grocery store around the corner. I just passed it. We need to go shopping anyway, Bee. Let’s just get it over with, please.

You just need some time.

A distraction.

You’ll buy the things to make a decent meal—something to sink your focus into, something to keep your hands busy and your mind preoccupied until you have to look Rafe in the eye again. By then, there’ll be dishes to wash, leftovers to put away, a mess to clean.

You’ll have an excuse to keep moving, to keep yourself from having to talk to Rafe face-to-face.

When that’s done you’ll all go to sleep and you'll only actually have to face him in the morning.

Crisis averted.

You can deal with this, but only if you don’t actually have to face it. – C'mon. Let’s go there, I'll figure out something to make for us.

You pull on him, turning, but he locks you in place.

Barry hesitates, lips pressing together like he’s weighing whether to say something. He exhales, almost sheepish, as if he were embarrassed. – I ain’t got money on me right now.

You blink, momentarily thrown off.

– That’s fine, – You say, brushing it off with a wave of your hand. – I’m the one paying.

Barry scoffs immediately, almost flinching like the suggestion physically pained him. – No. No— no you’re not.

– Bee— You start, but he’s already shaking his head, gaze flicking away like the conversation is beneath him.

– You’re not paying for my food.

– I'm making food for both of us. – You try, softer this time. – The last check from the Wreck just cleared. And now that I’m not splitting the bills with someone, I can afford to spend more on groceries.

Barry’s expression shifts, the casual defiance slipping just slightly. His jaw tightens, brows pulling together in a deep furrow.

There’s another scoff, but this one feels off—less dismissive, more unsettled. His grip on you loosens as if he'd let go, but his shoulders don’t relax and his arms are still around you, tense, but grounding. He’s staring at you now, like he’s trying to decipher something he didn’t realize he needed to.

– What the hell do you mean you’re paying bills? – His voice is sharper this time, laced with something like offense. – Why would you pay any bills at my place?

Your stomach drops.

Oh.

Of course. A place to crash, not a home.

The thought comes quick, instinctive, like a splinter working its way under your skin. You nod fast, pulling back to save face before he has the chance to walk it back, before guilt can make him soften the edges of what he just said.

– Yeah, – You clear your throat, looking away. – I just meant—I’m looking around already. You know I’ll figure something out soon.

Barry’s frown deepens. His fingers flex against your arms. – What? No—That ain’t— His grip tightens again, like the idea of you leaving has only just registered. Like he’s trying to hold onto it before you slip away. – You ain’t figuring anything out, – He says, almost angry. – You’re staying! Sweetheart, it’s our place. My house is your house. That's how it's always been, and that's how it's gonna stay.

Your breath catches.

He says it so simply. So easily. Like it’s never even been a question.

Your fingers curl slightly into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself. The knot in your chest loosens, the weight of that sinking feeling lifting just enough for you to breathe again.

– Then what—? – You exhale sharply, still trying to catch up. – I can’t stay at your house and not pay bills. You’re not even gonna let me pay for groceries?

That offended expression flashes over Barry's face again, and now he steps away, laughing. – What, you think I’m a bitch, like your brother? That I’m gonna let you waste your money on this shit like you ain’t paying for me to do nothing? – He scoffs, cold, reprehensive. – That's not me, sweetheart. I'm not letting you provide shit like I'm your kid.

– Jesus, Barry. It's not like I’m not offering to be your sugar mommy. I just wanna buy groceries. I can’t eat the food at your house.

He raises a brow, a ghost of a grin on his lips. – What? It ain’t gourmet enough for you?

– Exactly. – You feel yourself smile, the weight in your chest easing the slightest bit. – I am a lady, Bee. And cup noodles are just depressing, I can’t let you eat like that. If I’m staying at your house—

– You are.

– Well, then you’re gonna be eating what I’m eating. And I’m not eating fucking cup noodles. I’m making us actual food.

Barry scoffs, tilting his head at you. – What, so I gotta eat your fancy Kook shit now? Do I gotta move to figure eight too? Start wearing polos and talking like I got a concussion?

You roll your eyes, the laughter falling from your lips before you can stop it. – Just cause I work for kooks, it doesn’t mean I cook like one.

– Sounds like the same thing to me. – He scoffs. – Do rich people even cook at all? I thought that was the reason you had a job to begin with. That they can’t do anything for themselves.

– Thank God for that. The Camerons are paying me almost three times what I got at the Wreck. I'm not getting that payout at any restaurant in the state.

He chuckles, scratching his head. – Maybe I should break the pipes at their place, they'd probably get me more than what I'm getting paid to hustle.

“Hustle” You don't comment on that.

– You’re already getting paid twice the minimum wage a week just to provide merchandise to their junkie son, aren’t you? Think you can do better than that?

Barry makes a face. – I’m not the one babysitting him, am I?

It hits you like a slap in the face.

You swallow thickly, looking away, and change the subject. – What was the last vegetable you ate, Bee?

Barry makes a face, immediately suspicious. – Why you askin’ me trick questions?

– The only thing I know about your eating habits is that your favorite thing is grits and that you eat like a raccoon. I need to know what I'm working with here.

– You gonna private chef me now? – He chuckles, smiling stupidly as he drags a hand through his hair. – Gonna wear a maid outfit too?

– Name one vegetable you ate before I smack your head in the pavement.

Barry laughs, humming, dragging it out way too long, like he’s deep in thought.

Finally, he snaps his fingers.

– Potatoes. Had some french fries just last week.

You blink, unamused. – That doesn't count.

– The fuck you mean they don’t count? They grow outta the ground, don’t they?

– Mushrooms grow out of the ground too, I don’t see you scarfing those down.

Barry grins, tilting his head at you. – You cookin' mushrooms?

You cross your arms. – Maybe.

– Then I’ll eat 'em.

You narrow your eyes. – Just like that?

He shrugs. – Yeah. If you make 'em, I’ll eat 'em.

Barry’s looking at you now, really looking at you, like he’s only just realized how close you still are, how your fingers are still curled into the fabric of his shirt, how you’re still clinging to this conversation like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

His gaze flickers—down, then back up.

– Sweetheart—

You don’t let him finish.

– We should get ice cream, – You say, forcing the lightness back into your voice, into the space between you. – I think I deserve ice cream after almost dying on that stupid bike.

Barry lets the moment pass. Lets you have it.

He snorts. – Now who's eatin’ like a raccoon?

You grin, tugging him toward the store. – I’m a refined raccoon. It’s different.

He laughs, shaking his head as he lets you pull him along. – Yeah, alright, sweetheart. Whatever you say. – He groans, stretches, throwing an arm around your back. – It better be some dinner if Rafe fucking Cameron is gonna be there when we’re back. – He groans, stretches, pulling you along as he steps towards the grocery store.

Your chest tightens at the mention— You do your best not to show it. You try to keep it down. Push it down. Because if it surfaces, it’ll consume you. You won’t be able to pull yourself out of it.

You can’t.

Not now.

Not here.

Because Barry knows you too well. Because he’s already suspicious. Because if you freeze, if you flinch, if you so much as breathe wrong—he’ll catch it. – Let’s not talk about that. – You pull him along. – You know what? I should make some steak, – You say, too quickly, too light. It’s not fair how easy it is to pretend that everything is fine. – You like steak, don’t you?

Barry hums. Relaxed. Unaware.

– I’d never turn down a steak.

– Hard to imagine you turning anything down.

Barry feigns a gasp, chuckling. – You think I’m easy like that, do you?

– I know you are. Slut. – You shoulder him softly, and he gasps again, pushing you back. – Skirt steak and roast potatoes, then, since you like them so much. – You say. – I’ll throw some broccoli and carrots in the mix, so you remember what other vegetables look like. Some charro beans. How's that sound?

Barry glances at you, something unreadable in his eyes. – Like more than I deserve.

– Well Bee, you get nothing but the five star treatment when you’re with me. – Barry goes quiet for half a second, his smile absent-minded. You push forward before he can think too hard about it. – Besides, if I cook something good, maybe you’ll be too full to beat Rafe up. – The name is bitter, the memory even more so, but you smile nonetheless, your leg brushing against his as you walk. – Please don’t, by the way. He is my boss.

Barry's expression sours immediately. – Yeah, he is also a rich jerk-off who does nothing but piss me off. Who owes me a fuck-ton of money. Who took the bike he left me as fucking collateral and dipped. The least I could fucking do is beat him up.

– I'm begging you. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it— He does. – Barry laughs, you try to bite back your feelings. – But please. Please. Don't beat him up. Not here. Not now.

He eyes you for a moment. Quiet, frustrated. He bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. – I won’t. But don't forget that he deserves it. Sweetheart, you could make a fuckin’ ribeye and cover it in gold, and it still ain’t gonna fix whatever the hell is wrong with that guy.

– You never know. – You mull on his unintended insult for a second, wishing you had kept your mouth shut. – Food is powerful.

Barry snorts. Tension gone. Subject changed

He side-eyes you, smirking, the gold tooth catching the last dying rays of sun before you’re both consumed by the artificial lights bleeding from the store. – Yeah? If it’s powerful then why hasn’t it fixed my life yet?

– Because you keep eating gas station burritos instead of my cooking.

Barry laughs, loud, unrestrained, shaking his head as he nudges you forward, leading you into the store. – Your brother ate your food his whole life and he’s still a bum, though.

– Ouch. – You laugh. – You’re the jerk-off. I should let you starve.

– You won’t, you love me too much. – He squeezes your side, looking across the store. – I’ll go get the beef. Skirt, right?

– Yeah. Or flank, whatever’s cheaper.

He nods, squeezing your waist one last time before wandering off. It’s colder now, and you feel the air conditioning biting into you as you drift down the isles, throwing this or that thing in the shopping basket.

The air inside the store is too cold, too bright, too artificial. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing everything in a pale, almost sterile glow. The faint hum of pop music drifts from the speakers, clashing against the quiet murmur of late-evening shoppers, the slow beeping of cash registers, the rustle of plastic bags.

Your fingers tighten around the shopping basket, the plastic biting into your palm.

Steak. Potatoes. Broccoli. Carrots.

You move automatically, grabbing, searching, tossing things inside.

But now that Barry's gone, your brain takes the silence as a license to keep tormenting you.

The memories loop.

Rafe's hands.

His shallow breath.

His eyes, not blown out, but frantic.

The way his hands curled around your wrist, tight, unyielding. The certainty in his voice, the delusion of his words.

You blink hard, shake your head.

Milk.

You need to find the milk, the beans, the onions.

It’s easier to think about things you can control. Easier to think about the cooking.

Soak the beans. Sauté the onions. Brown the beef.

You reach for soke shallots, cheaper and in season, scanning them thoroughly. You should sautee them in butter. You should think about something other than the person waiting for you at Barry’s place.

You hear your name.

The voice is soft. Uneven. Familiar.

– I’m here, Bee. – You call, the words leave absentmindedly. You keep looking through the onions, the garlic, the fresh peppers. He puts his hand on your back, warm, casual. – That was quick. What’s wrong? They out of flank?

Your body reacts before your brain does.

You turn. You smile instinctively.

But it’s not Barry that is standing there next to you.

It’s JJ.

Blue eyes boring into yours, shoulders tense, head ducked slightly like he’s bracing for impact, like he's waiting for you to turn around and leave. Looking at you like he already knows he doesn’t deserve to be there.

The air shifts.

The cold seeps in deeper.

Your stomach twists as you look at him.

The bruises on his face have gotten darker. Where before there was mostly yellow blotches and hues of purple, now he’s full-on black and blue, a blue as dark as the shirt he’s wearing. – I look bad, huh? – He chuckles awkwardly, and his fingers twitch against your back, briefly fisting the fabric of your top in his hand. – You know I’m not Barry’s biggest fan, but I gotta give it to him, he’s got one hell of a right hook.

That awkward laugh falls from his lips again, his shoulders tensing, his free hand squeezing tightly around the handle of a six pack.

You don’t know what to say.

If you even should say anything.

He doesn’t give you the time.

If there’s one thing JJ can’t handle it’s silence, especially when he’s fucked up. – What are you doing here? I mean, not that you can’t be here— you are, and you can—I’m glad you’re here. I— You don’t come to Shoreline often, that’s what I mean. – He rambles, staring, gripping, shifting restlessly on his feet. – You’re— shopping? What are you cooking? Flank, right? What is it? Carne asada?

You just stare.

For a second, it’s like your brain lags, stutters, refuses to process what’s happening.

The last time you saw JJ, he was pleading, bargaining, breaking down in that police station.

Now he’s here, standing in front of you, babbling, shifting around, looking at you as if it were nothing, as if this were a casual conversation between two people who have no stakes in each other's lives.

You blink.

Your fingers tighten around the shopping basket.

– I— You stop. Shake your head. – It’s nothing.

You regret speaking as soon as you do, because JJ relaxes immediately, he breathes in deeper, he almost smiles. Latching onto the slightest response as if it will redeem him.

– Come on, – He says, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. – You don’t cook ‘nothing.’ You’re too much of a perfectionist for that. What is it? Something fancy? Something— He swallows. Tries to sound casual. – Something for Barry?

Your stomach twists.

You should lie.

You should say no.

But your silence answers for you.

JJ’s jaw tics. His fingers flex against the six-pack.

– I figured you were staying with him. – His voice is lighter than it should be. Like he’s forcing himself to pretend this isn’t a big deal. Like he’s trying not to sound hurt. Like he doesn’t realize he’s the reason you don’t have anywhere else to go. – You could’ve— He tsks, looking over his shoulder, then back at you. – You could’ve done better than that. You could’ve stayed with me.

The urge to laugh bubbles up unexpectedly.

He says it as if he wasn’t the one that forced you out of your house. As if he hadn’t told you never to come back.

He’s trying his best to act like he hasn’t done anything. Because JJ has never been able to sit with what he’s done.

He doesn’t think about what comes after.

He doesn’t think about how his actions affect people.

He just moves. Reacts. Regrets.

Now, he’s standing in front of you, waiting for you to fix this for him, as if he wasn’t the one who broke it in the first place.

He wants you to forget.

But you just exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

To tell him it’s fine.

To tell him you forgive him.

To make it easy.

– I’m leaving now.

His face falls. – Baby, wait— He pleads. But you’re already turning, already walking, already done with this conversation before it can even begin.

JJ grabs your arm.

Not rough. Not like Rafe. But desperate.

His fingers curl around your wrist, warm, pleading, shaking just slightly. – Just—just talk to me. Please. Please, just talk to me. – The façade is gone. Not a trace of the hal-hazard casual mask he had on before, just this pitiful, pathetic look in his eyes as he looks at you.

You already know where this is going.

– JJ—

– I fucked up, okay? – He talks over you, voice rushed, frantic, scrambling for something to hold onto. It’d almost surprise you that he would admit it, if you didn’t know that he was gonna take it back and make it your fault at some point. – I know I fucked up. I know I ruined it. I know I was being a dick, I know I was— I was out of line, but, you gotta believe me, I— I didn’t mean to—I was just angry, fuck I was so angry—Because I can’t—I can’t think when it comes to you, okay?! You drive me insane. I— I don’t know what’s going on with me.

You inhale slowly.

You don’t let yourself look at him.

You scan the aisles instead. Because you know Barry’s gotta be looking around for you.

And if he sees JJ’s hand around your arm— If he sees JJ gripping your wrist, yanking you back, getting in your face— That’ll be the end of it.

He won’t let that go.

And you know damn well neither of them can afford another visit to the police station.

– Let go of me. – You say, your voice soft, softer than he deserves.

– Just listen to me— just for a minute— His grip tightens slightly as you try to pull away, and he tugs you forward, hard. – I hate this. I hate it when you do this to me. You won’t even look at me. Just talk to me—

– Talk to you about what?! – The words leave you before you can stop them. You know you shouldn’t say anything. You know you should just let him suffocate in the silence, think about what he’s done until it actually drives him insane. But you can’t. Because the only thing JJ is actually good at is eroding at your patience. – What the fuck do you want me to talk about, JJ?! You nearly killed me, you kicked me out of my house, you tried to get me fired, what’s next? Is there anything in my life you’re not willing to ruin? Maybe that’s why you’re talking to me. Maybe you saw me with Barry and decided that I should just not have friends as well as a place to live, as well as a brother. That I just shouldn’t have anything at all.

His breath catches.

He flinches like you just hit him.

Like he suddenly, finally, understands how bad he fucked up.

But you’re not stupid enough to believe he actually did. Because you and him have been through this before, and yet you’re still here. – That’s not—Baby, I just—

– What?! What, JJ?! You just what?!

– I just want you with me. – He pleads. His voice low, his eyes burning into your with a desperation you haven’t seen in months.

But it rings hollow, because he’s been this way before and that didn’t stop him from going out of his way to fuck with you again.

– You want me with you? – You scoff. – So you tried to kill me and kicked me out of my place? That’s a method I haven’t heard before.

He swallows, his jaw ticks, and he sways on his feet, pulling away the slightest bit before he leans back in, dragging you closer. – You don’t get it. I don’t— He breathes, heaves, his eyes dark. – I don’t want you with anybody. I just want you with me. Just with me. Not with Barry. Not with Rafe. Not even with John B. I don’t— I don’t want you around them.

You laugh before you can stop yourself. – Oh, that’s the reason. You want to ruin my life because you don’t want me near my best friend, my boss’ son or my actual brother?! That’s what you’re going with?

– DON’T— His voice raises, he stops himself, holding you tighter, looking at you with something almost feral in his eyes. – Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like that’s just what they are to you, because you know it’s not. You know.

– Excuse me?!

– Stop it. Stop doing this. Stop playing with me.

– You’re the one who’s fucking playing JJ. I get it that you’d think that Barry or Rafe are something more to me, because you’ve been never been friends with a girl— sorry, let me rephrase that— you’ve never been near a girl without thinking about fucking her. But my brother?! You’re that fucking twisted that you think my brother wants something more with me?

For a moment, JJ doesn’t say anything.

His grip is still firm, but he doesn’t yank you again. Doesn’t try to pull you closer.

He just stares.

There’s something unhinged in his eyes—wide, unblinking, mouth parted slightly like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Like his mind is moving too fast for his lips to catch up.

Then his head shakes, slow and disbelieving. He exhales sharply, through his nose, like he’s biting back something ugly.

– You don’t get it. – His voice is quieter now, but no less dangerous. – You never fucking get this, do you?

A flicker of something ugly coils in your stomach.

– No, JJ. You don’t get it. – You shake your head, frustration bubbling over. – I’m done. I’m done playing these fucking games with you. Whatever you think you have to say, whatever excuse you’re about to pull out of your ass—I don’t care.

JJ stiffens, like the words physically hit him.

You rip your wrist free. But he doesn’t let you go far.

JJ breathes hard.

His fingers dig into your wrist, not painfully, but firm enough that you know—he’s not letting go.

His chest rises and falls too quickly, his lips part like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

Because he knows he fucked up.

Because he knows he’s losing you.

Because he doesn’t know how to stop it.

– Baby—

– No, – You snap. Lower. Sharper. – You don’t get to stand here and act like I’m the one playing games when you’re the one who’s been fucking with my life like it’s a fucking joke. Let go of me!

JJ flinches, but he still doesn’t let go.

– You don’t get it, – He mutters. His head shakes, his grip tightening. – I can’t— I can’t see you with them, okay? I can’t fucking do it. It makes me— He stops. Breathes. Jaw clenched so tight you think his teeth might break. – You don’t understand what it does to me.

– What it does to you? – You let out a bitter laugh, jerking your arm, but he won’t let go. – What about what you did to me, JJ? Or does that not fucking matter to you?

– It does! – He almost shouts, stepping closer. Too close. – You think I don’t think about it? You think I don’t hate myself for it? I don’t wanna hurt you— You scoff, and he grabs your other hand, – I don't! And I’m sorry I did that, okay?! I just—

He exhales sharply, like he’s about to unravel.

His voice drops. Lower. Darker.

– I can’t lose you, okay?! But you keep trying to run from me, and every time you do, you run straight into them. – He says it like it's a crime. Like you’re somehow betraying him or going behind his back by trying to find comfort in someone who isn't a psychopath who'll try to crash a bike with you on it when you don't do what he wants. – You do. And you don't even ask yourself what it does to me. You don't even care.

Your stomach flips.

It's actually terrifying just how quickly he managed to make him trying to ruin you into something that is somehow your fault.

It's cold.

And it's painful.

And you know that feeling better than you usually do. Because that's exactly what curled around your windpipe when Rafe started unraveling. Exactly what buzzed around your mind before he said those things to you.

Your heart lurches, you feel it knock against your ribcage and fall back, painful, agonizing, and you try to pull away. But JJ holds on.

– Let me go, JJ, – You say, voice low, final. – Let me go.

JJ tightens his grip.

Not painful, not quite—but enough.

Enough that you can’t pull away. Enough that you can feel the tension coiling inside him, shaking, barely contained.

– You’re not listening to me! Just stop running!

Your stomach turns.

You’ve heard this before.

Not in JJ’s voice, not in his frantic, desperate rasp—but in Rafe’s. The same words. The same twisting of reality. That same sharp-edged entitlement. That same certainty that you’re the one in the wrong, that you’re the one who’s not getting it.

The same cold grip.

The same curling dread before the storm.

Your breath hitches.

You try to pull away again, harder this time, sharper— But JJ won’t let go.

– Baby, please—

– Let. Me. Go.

His grip trembles, stutters. He keeps pulling you in, keeps digging his fingers into you. You try to turn away, try to wrangle your wrist from his grip.

But you barely have the time.

– What the fuck is this? – The words slice through the aisle like a blade. Low. Cold. Dangerous.

You don’t have to turn.

You don’t have to see him to know.

Because Barry found you first. – What? One black eye isn’t enough, you want another one?

JJ stumbles.

Barry yanks him back hard, fast, so suddenly that JJ barely has time to catch his balance.

Your wrist is still caught in JJ’s grip, and for a split second, you’re pulled forward with him—

Until Barry sees it.

Until Barry sees that JJ is still holding onto you.

Barry’s breath goes slow. Even. Controlled.

But his eyes are lethal. – Let go of her before I break your fucking hand.

JJ doesn’t move.

Doesn’t drop your wrist.

Doesn’t listen. – We’re talking here, man.

Barry’s nostrils flare. His jaw tenses. His shoulders square. – No. You were talking. Now you're going!

You barely have time to react—Barry’s hand shoots out, clamping down on JJ’s wrist, so tight he actually lets go.

The moment JJ’s grip slackens, you rip your arm free, stumbling back.

JJ barely registers it.

Now he’s face-to-face with Barry.

And Barry is pushing him back, forcing space between you, pressing into his chest, making sure JJ has no choice but to look at him.

– What the fuck do you think you’re doing? – Barry’s voice is low, even, seething. JJ swallows hard. His jaw ticks. – You were fucking grabbing her.

Barry steps forward.

JJ steps back, he looks at you. – You’re gonna let him talk to me like that? We were—

Barry laughs, but it's bitter, a rattle, like the sound of a gun loading. – Were what? You were talking, she was trying to get away from you, there’s a name for that isn't there? Assault.

– Oh, you wanna talk to me about crime?! – JJ shoves at his chest, but Barry barely budges. – If I called the cops right now I bet—

– You're calling the cops?! I bet they'd love to hear about you breaking into my house and stealing my money.

– Your drug money? – JJ laughs.

Barry rushes.

You pull him back at the last second, his hand fisted at his side. – Leave this alone.

He looks at you, irritation clear as day on his face. – This psycho is—

– Leaving. – You interrupt. – We’re leaving. Please. Let's go home.

– Home? Where’s that, huh, Y/n? – JJ growls. His eyes as dark as the bruises on his face. – Barry’s place? How long do you think that’s gonna last?!

– I’m neither leeching off of her money or trying to kill her on a bike, so probably longer than whatever it would with you.

JJ rushes, grabbing at his shirt as Barry laughs. You shove him back at the last second, wedging yourself between them before this turns into something worse.

JJ barely moves.

But it’s enough.

His hands fist into Barry’s shirt, knuckles going white, breath ragged, body coiled like a spring.

Barry just grins.

That same infuriating, smug, taunting grin.

– What’s wrong, Maybank? – He drawls, voice low, lazy, full of venom. – You don't like the truth, is that it?!

JJ jerks forward again.

You push harder. – Stop it! Just fucking stop this already.

His chest heaves.

His fingers twitch.

For a second, you think he might actually swing.

Then, slowly, painfully, his hands unclench.

His breathing is erratic. Unsteady.

His eyes are wild. Dark. Hurt. Like he wants to break something. Like he wants to break himself.

He rasps out your name. His jaw ticks, clenches, loosens again. – You don’t have to do this. You know you don’t. I don't even know why you’re doing this.

You inhale sharply.

– Shut up. Just leave this alone, go away! – Your voice comes out tighter, sharper.

– You don’t belong with him. And you know you don’t. You're just trying to piss me off.

Your stomach twists.

Because there it is.

That final, desperate grasp.

The same twisted logic, the same certainty, the same delusion you saw in Rafe.

You don’t let him take it further.

You turn.

You leave.

You pull Barry with you before he can turn to swing at JJ, your grip firm, unyielding

Your head spins.

You barely register paying for the groceries.

Barely feel the cold press of plastic bags in your hands.

And then, suddenly—

You’re standing before the bike again.

The store is a distant building, bright white lights bleeding from the wide glass panels, covering the surrounding asphalt in an artificial snowstorm of light. You look away from it, fearing JJ will walk out, try to come back, and Barry’s eyes meet yours.

Dark, warm, worried.

He’s holding your wrist as he pulls the helmet from the top box and puts the bags in. – Sweetheart. – He pulls at you softly, holding out the helmet. – Say something. I’m getting worried.

– Huh?

– You haven’t said a word. Look— I'm telling you that piece of shit isn't gonna get to you again, okay? I'm promising you.

You breathe out, rub your eyes, sit down.

He leans the helmet on your lap, looking at you closely, the apprehension evident on his face. – This isn't something you can promise me, Bee. – The words are heavy, as heavy as your chest feels. – I'm the one who's playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. This isn't your responsibility. You already do too much for me.

Barry frowns.

His grip on your wrist tightens, just slightly, just enough. Like he’s trying to pull you back to him.

– Don’t say shit like that.

You let out a breath, staring at the pavement.

– It's the truth.0 I’m the one who keeps letting them back in. I'm a fucking idiot. You told me a thousand times that they were fucked up and I didn't listen to you. Now I'm paying the toll.

Barry goes dead silent.

For a moment, you think he’s gonna laugh. You can't imagine something he'd like better than being able to say “I told you so”.

But he crouches down in front of you.

Right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, forearms braced against his knees, his head tilted up so you can’t avoid looking at him.

– You did that out of loyalty, I can’t exactly give you a hard time about that. – He hums, twisting the fabric of the blue top between your fingers, as if to comfort himself. – I'll be honest, I don't know why you even bothered to be loyal to that piece of shit, why you kept worrying about him. I don't know. But I'm not gonna sit here and talk your ear off about JJ, or your brother and their bullshit when I know that we're only here right now because you keep forgiving me as well.

– That’s different. You deserved it. They didn't.

– I didn’t deserve it. – He hums, grinning dumbly. – You just love me too much not to.

– Ha-ha.

You don’t know what to say.

Because you don’t know what to do with that.

You don’t know how to take it, how to hold it, how to believe it. Barry sighs, shakes his head, and leans forward.

Slow.

Easy.

His arms brace against your thighs. His hands anchor against your knees.

– You listen to me, okay sweetheart? – He murmurs, voice warm, grounding. You nod. Barely. – Now that you're gonna be cooking me fancy meals and cleaning up my place ain’t nobody takin’ you from me. – He laughs. – Not JJ, not Rafe, not your dumbass brother, not the cops, the FBI, the fuckin’ interpol, whatever. Nobody. – His head tilts, gold tooth catching the light as he smirks, just barely. – It’s just too easy a life to give up. And if I gotta break a few noses to make that clear, well— He shrugs. – Then that’s just what’s gotta be done.

Your chest shakes with something halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

Barry grins.

– There she is.

You roll your eyes, nudging at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge. – You’re a drama queen.

– Yeah, and? You love me anyway.

He winks, obnoxious, teasing, and you push the helmet back into his hands.

Barry pats your leg, a light tap just above your knee, before pushing himself up to stand.

– Alright, c’mon, – He mutters, slipping the helmet over his head. – Get on upright.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head, but you listen. You slide onto the bike, shifting slightly until you’re settled, until your body remembers how to sit, how to balance, how to breathe.

Barry climbs on in front of you, his hands moving with practiced ease, turning the key, revving the engine, fixing the side view mirrors—

It dawns on you then.

You're not going home. Home to Barry’s place, where you can cook in peace and go to sleep as if the world isn't crumbling around you.

You're going home to Rafe.

Your heart sinks.

The noise hits you first —The low, steady purr of the bike beneath you, vibrating through your body, the way it lunges, the way the speed slams on you, as if the world around you didn't want you to go.

Your fingers grip at his shirt.

Not playful. Not teasing.

Tight. Frozen.

Barry notices immediately.

He tilts his head slightly, just enough for his voice to reach you—low, quiet, warm over his shoulder.

– He ain’t gonna do nothing, sweetheart. Don't worry.

Your breath catches.

For a second—just a second—you wonder if he’s reading your mind. If he can feel the exact moment you realize where you’re going. As if he can see it in your body, in the way your fingers tremble slightly against his ribs, in the way your breath stutters in your chest.

Because you’re not just thinking about the bike.

You’re thinking about Rafe.

About going back.

About walking into that house and seeing him again.

Your pulse pounds.

Your hands curl tighter around the fabric of Barry's clothes, desperate for something to ground you.

Something moves slightly from the corner of your eye. You barely register it at first. The world blurs slightly as the bike rolls forward, the hum of the engine taking over your senses.

JJ.

Standing by the doors of the store, watching you.

Watching you leave.

His eyes gleam strangely. With something dark. Something heavy.

That’s who Barry was talking about.

He doesn’t give JJ the time to fuck around.

The bike moves, quickly, unlike Barry promised.

But the speed of it is nothing compared to the speed at which your mind races —You close your eyes, trying to focus on the feel of Barry’s shirt beneath your fingers, on the wind the hushes around your ears as the bike moves, on the buzz of moving cars, moving people, on the distant echoes of the ocean crashing on the shore.

But it’s to no avail.

The feeling of Barry’s shirt wraps around your hand until it turns into the same grip Rafe had on you, the same grip that JJ had. The wind turns into a whisper, the whisper of Rafe’s delusions in your ear, of JJ’s practiced bullshit. The moving cars, the people, the ocean mix into the cacophony of noises that surge and sink back into your mind.

Your balance wavers.

Your eyes peek open.

The rushing ground beneath calls to you.

You hold on tighter.

Tighter.

Barry’s hands meet your arms every time he hits a red light.

He whispers something or another every so often, and you either hum or laugh according to his tone. But you don’t hear it, his words. They whizz, fracturing with the wind, lost within the barrier, visor of his helmet, the road that keeps rushing forward to meet you.

You don’t register it when the bike stops at last.

But you open your eyes to see the trailer there, and you almost think you’re having a nightmare.

You don’t move.

Not at first.

The engine cuts off, the deep, steady rumble disappearing beneath the weight in your chest.

Barry shifts slightly in front of you.

His hands leave the handlebars, reach for your arms, still wrapped around him, brush over your wrists, light and grounding. – Sweetheart? – His voice is softer now. Barely above a murmur. Checking in. Feeling you out.

Your fingers are still curled into his shirt.

Too tight. Too frozen.

You force yourself to breathe.

The air is thicker now.

Heavy. Close. Suffocating.

The sound of the ocean isn’t distant anymore.

It’s right there, crashing against the shore, against your ribs, pulling you under.

– I know you like holding me, but we have to go. C’mon. I'm starving.

Barry pats your knee, light, careful, like he knows not to spook you.

You nod.

Loosen your grip.

Uncurl your fingers. Force yourself to let go.

And then, slowly, stiffly, you slide off the bike.

Your knees feel weak.

Your stomach turns.

And for a second—just a second—you wonder if you might collapse right there in the sand.

Barry is already off the bike, already stepping in front of you, already pressing a hand to your waist, steadying you before you can fall.

– Sweetheart—

– I’m fine.

You aren’t.

Barry narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t stop you, he just watches you. His fingers stay put. Firm. Warm. Like he’s not quite convinced you won’t slip away.

You’re not either.

You drag your feet as he pulls you towards the door, and it seems to loom closer, larger, taller with every step. You hand him the keys, and he takes them slowly, eyeing you carefully before he takes the shopping bags from your hands.

The door creaks open, a screech that needles through the silence, sharp as any blade.

You step inside before him.

And Barry follows.

The air inside the trailer is warm, stale, suffocating. You smell the acrid scent of sweat, the tang of restlessness suffocated within the closed windows. But Barry doesn’t seem to notice. He shakes his head, scoffing, tossing the keys onto the corner table with a clatter.

Your eyes catch on Rafe, sock-covered feet thrown over the arm of the couch, shifting, moving. But he doesn’t stand up.

– Long day, huh, Country Club? – His voice is sharp-edged, mocking. – Bet you had a real rough time sittin’ on your ass. – Rafe doesn’t answer. Barry rolls his eyes. – Fuckin’ useless, – He mutters under his breath, already moving toward the kitchen, already unbagging groceries like Rafe isn’t even there.

You don’t move.

Something isn’t right.

Your gaze flickers toward the couch.

Rafe is still laying there. Still. Too still.

His eyes are open, half-lidded, staring at the unmoving ceiling fan as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t turn his head. Doesn’t react.

Your stomach tightens.

Barry keeps grumbling, rummaging through the bags. – Broccoli, sweetheart? – A scoff. – Jesus. Even you can’t make this taste decent.

You barely hear him.

At first you couldn’t bear the idea of being in the same house as Rafe, now you can barely tear your eyes off him. Off the restless, random movements he makes, almost like spasms. His good hand clenching and unclenching, hanging off the couch.

– Rafe?

Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.

But he still doesn’t respond, not with words, anyway.

You hear a groan, the shift of fabric, the creak of the couch.

But whatever it is that Rafe mumbles is lost in the noises Barry makes from the kitchen, on the howling on the wind outside, banging against the windows.

Your pulse quickens.

You take a step closer, but your feet shift backwards almost on instinct. The fear pulling you back. So instead you call out to him. – Rafe? Are you awake?

Nothing.

You step closer, the dread seeping through your bones as you trudge forward.

The floor creaks beneath your weight, but Rafe doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react.

He’s draped in the same blanket you gave him, the fabric bunched around his shoulders, half-hazardly thrown over him, clinging to the damp sheen of sweat slicking his skin.

His chest rises and falls. Shallow. Too shallow. His lips part, then close. Mumbling.

But no sound comes out.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Barry’s still behind you, still unloading groceries, huffing and murmuring under his breath— But you don’t hear him anymore. Your pulse is too loud, too sharp, too deafening in your ears.

Your eyes fall to Rafe’s hand, his broken hand. Under the cast that braces his broken bones, his fingers are arduously clenched around a bottle. An orange bottle.

Your heart stops.

You rush forward.

Dropping to your knees beside the couch, grab his wrist, shake him— Rafe! – You shake him again, frantic now. Nothing. – Rafe!

You pry the bottle from his fingers. Feel the few remaining pills rattle against plastic. Almost empty.

Rafe is barely there.

He murmurs.

A low, slurred noise, barely audible, almost swallowed by the thick, suffocating silence.

He giggles.

A breathy, distant thing.

Like he’s not even here.

Like he doesn’t even know where he is.

– Fuck. – Your hands grip his shoulders, shaking him harder. – Rafe, wake up!

His body sways.

His head lolls back slightly, like it’s too heavy for his neck.

– Sweetheart, what’s going on?

You curse under your breath, shifting, moving fast, sliding an arm under his back to pull him up—

Rafe gives you the slightest movement. His hand drifts up your side.

Slow.

Fingertips dragging over fabric, over skin, barely there but still lingering.

You freeze.

His breath catches.

His eyes—unfocused, glassy, blown out—stare right through you. – Baby… – He hums, low, gravely, as if his throat is thick. – You’re back… – He giggles, dazed. – I knew you’d come back to me. I knew you weren’t gonna leave me here alone.

– What were you thinking, Rafe?! How many of these fucking pills did you take?! – Your voice barely makes it past your throat.

He laughs.

Just laughs.

Soft. Detached.

Your heart stutters.

– A—All of them.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire @matildalittlefreak @sunsetkiss333

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allthewaytom63 · 3 months ago

Text

❥ in which nerd!armin meets you at a rave..

cw: smut. 18+. drug use, strong language, degradation, rough sex, mirror sex, public/semi-public sex, praise & humiliation kink, and one deceptively shy nerd who turns out to be freakier than anyone was prepared for. mdni .

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

the air was thick with sweat, strobe lights, and questionable decisions.

someewhere in the neon haze of the warehouse-turned-dancefloor, bodies moved in waves—clothes clinging, glitter smearing, the beat thudding deep into every ribcage like a second pulse. you couldn't tell if you were drunk or just overwhelmed. maybe both. most definitely both.

hitch had already vanished into the crowd, which wasn't surprising. one shot in and she was off like a chaotic little rocket, riding the high of bass drops and male attention. annie stood to your left, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like she was here on a security detail rather than as your friend. you loved her for that. always had your back, even when she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"i think that guy just tried to bite me," annie muttered under her breath.

you laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you sipped from your half melted cocktail. "and yet you're still here. love that for me.”

annie didn't respond, just raised an unimpressed brow before glancing back toward the bar. you let your gaze sweep over the crowd, letting the beat pull at your limbs like puppet strings. this was exactly what you needed, a night of chaos to shake off the monotony of the week. no classes. no family. no responsibilities. no worries. just drugs, music, and freedom.

and that's when you saw him..

he didn't belong here. not even a little.

blonde hair, long and pushed back behind his ears. long sleeved shirt that was tucked in, layered with another green shirt on top of it. God help him—and the kind of stiff posture that screamed, 'i don't go out much.' he stood just outside the edge of the dancefloor, gripping a redbull like it was a flotation device in a stormy sea of bodies.

something about the way he looked like he was calculating his exit strategy made you grin.

you watched him for a moment, sipping slowly, wondering what brought someone like that to a place like this. maybe he lost a bet. maybe he had friends here and got dragged along. or just maybe he was about to become your entertainment for the night.

you nudged annie. "see the guy by the pillar? green shirt. looks like he's being held hostage?"

she followed your line of sight. "oh no."

"oh yes."

"i can already feel the secondhand embarrassment."

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

armin wasn’t entirely sure how this happened.

one second he was reading in bed, content with his blanket and the dulcet tones of a podcast about ancient civilizations, and the next he was being herded into a rideshare by eren and connie, forced into a rave like some sort of social experiment.

"i feel like i’ve entered a different dimension," he muttered as the group spilled through the warehouse doors and into chaos.

"welcome to hell, nerd," eren smirked, already pulling mikasa toward the bar.

"just try not to look like you want to die," connie offered helpfully before disappearing into the crowd with Jean.

armin stayed near the wall. he wasn't built for this. the lights were too bright, the music too loud, and the people—God, there were so many people. everyone moved like they were on fast forward, half naked and soaked in glitter, shouting and laughing and touching like they'd never heard of personal space.

he should've said no. should’ve stayed home and read that new book on linguistic anthropology he'd been looking forward to. but eren had given him that stupid look. the 'you never do anything fun' look, and armin, despite his better judgment had caved.

and now here he was. holding a redbull he didn't want. sweating in places he usually doesn’t. praying no one tried to talk to him.

so naturally, with his luck, that's when you walked up.

"hey," you said, loud enough to cut through the music but smooth enough to sound casual. "i’m [name]," you continued, although he never asked yet.

armin turned, startled. his first thought was she's hot. his second was she's talking to me?

"uh. hi. i’m armin."

you gave him a slow once-over, playful and shameless. "fitting . you always look this uncomfortable though, or is tonight special occasion?"

his ears turned red instantly. "i... yeah. no. i mean- yes? it’s kind of a new environment."

you tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "did your friends drag you here?"

"yeah, my best friend," he admitted. "he said i needed to 'get out more.'"

your laugh was quick and warm, like you weren't judging him. "rough. you don't strike me as the rave type."

"cause i’m not," he said, then added, "i study linguistics. my idea of a wild night is usually just arguing with people about syntax online."

your grin widened. "a nerd and self aware. i respect that."

he relaxed—barely, but enough for his shoulders to drop a fraction. "you?"

you took a step closer. "i come to places like this when i need to blow off steam. no expectations, no responsibilities. just music and chaos."

armin's eyes flicked to the dancefloor, then back to you. you were close now. closer than he expected anyone to get tonight. you smelled like sugar and danger. your smile was sharp. and when the lights flashed pink across your face, he felt something inside him shift.

"that sounds... kind of nice."

"it is," you said, and then, boldly, "come dance with me."

armin blinked. "right now?"

"no, tomorrow," you teased, taking his hand. "c’mon, professor. i won't bite. unless you ask nicely."

he could've said no. he should've said no. but something about you, your energy, your smile and your fingers curling around his wrist—made the word disappear from his vocabulary.

so he let you pull him onto the floor.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

you didn't expect him to be good.

and he wasn't, really. not in a technical sense. but he moved with this quiet focus, like he was trying his best to follow your lead without stepping on anyone. it was... weirdly endearing. his hand found your waist at some point, tentative but not hesitant. and when your hips brushed his, he flushed from his chest to the tips of his ears.

cute.

you leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "still hate it here?"

he shook his head, voice lower than you expected. "not at the moment."

you let the tension stretch like taffy. kept your body just close enough to tease, just far enough to keep him guessing. his hand tightened slightly at your waist, and you saw his jaw flex like he didn't trust himself to speak.

the music slowed to something deeper, heavier. a remix of something sultry. bodies pressed in all around, but you didn't notice anyone else. just him.

armin arlert, hesitant and wide eyed, dancing like his world had tilted sideways and he didn't mind.

you glanced up at him. "do you always look this lost, or is it just me?"

his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was nothing bashful about him at all.

"just you."

the next song bled into another without pause, the kind of smooth, heavy bass loop that made time stretch and snap like elastic.

armin was still dancing, if you could even call it that, his movements still stiff but loosening with every second he spent with your body near his. he was catching on now. leaning into the rhythm, matching your sway, holding your gaze a little longer each time.

he didn't feel like an inexperienced loser anymore.

he felt like a live wire.

your arms were looped lazily around his neck, and his hands had migrated from your waist to your hips, a subtle shift that didn't go unnoticed. he still looked unsure, like he was waiting for someone to yell at him for having fun. it made you want to test him. push him. see what he'd do if you got just a little closer.

so you did.

you rolled your hips against his, slow and fluid, and leaned in, your lips ghosting the shell of his ear again.

"you’re starting to get it," you murmured, voice syrupy and edged in heat.

armin's fingers tightened, just barely. his breath stuttered. "i'm trying."

"trying," you repeated, pulling back with a lazy smirk. "that’s cute."

he looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes a little darker than before, breath a little faster. there was something coiled under his skin now, something hungry. he wasn't just reacting anymore. he was watching. choosing.

"i could try harder," he said, and the tone was new. not cocky. not shy. just... honest.

your grin widened. "good."

the lights flashed violet, and your fingers slid into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, nails dragging just enough to make him shiver. he leaned into it like instinct, like maybe no one had ever touched him like this before—like he hadn't known how much he needed it until now.

and God, did you want to ruin him.

the crowd pushed closer as the tempo dropped again, sticky with heat and sweat and bass. your bodies stayed flush, every sway of your hips dragging against him in a delicious tease. you felt him—halfway hard now and very aware of it—tense and then melt with every shift in movement.

still, he didn't pull away.

you tilted your head, teasing. "do i make you nervous, armin?"

he blinked. "terrified."

that earned a genuine laugh from you. "good. you'll live."

"i'm not so sure."

his hands slid slightly lower on your hips, fingertips brushing just shy of where your short and tight, hot pink dress started to ride up from the friction of the dance. the contact jolted heat straight up your spine.

oh. he really was learning.

and you? you were a little impressed.

you slowed your pace, hips rolling in lazy figure eights, dragging him with you. his grip adjusted instinctively, and when your thigh brushed against his, he didn't flinch this time. he leaned in, breath grazing your temple.

"still judging me?" he asked, quiet and warm.

you looked up at him, amused. "what if I said yes?"

his lips quirked, and then—God help you—he leaned down, voice pitched for only you to hear.

"then i guess i should give you more material."

where the hell had that come from?

your breath caught, and for a second, you just stared at him. armin, golden boy, bookworm, sweet little syntax nerd, top of his class, was smirking at you like he had a secret.

you wanted to eat him alive.

your fingers trailed down his chest, slow and deliberate, until they reached the hem of his shirt. you hooked one finger there, tugging him just a fraction closer. close enough that your lips brushed his jaw when you spoke.

"you’re kind of blowing my expectations out of the water, you know that?"

he chuckled, breath hitching. "that’s what happens when you corner a nerd. they mutate."

you snorted, pressing your forehead briefly to his. "i knew there was a reason i liked you."

he was about to say something else. something witty or self deprecating or, if he was feeling bold, flirty, when your hand slid from his chest to your bra strap, slipping something small and candy colored into your palm.

his brow furrowed. "what’s that?"

you held it up between two fingers. it was a tiny pastel pill. the music dipped, and a burst of cold air from the fans above sent goosebumps down your arms. your grin didn't fade.

"molly," you said simply. "want to level up?"

armin stared at the pill like it had teeth.

"i…i've never-"

"i figured." you rolled it between your fingers, then offered it to him again, less playful this time. "no pressure. seriously. but i promise, if you're ever gonna try it, tonight's the night."

he looked at you. really looked.

and maybe it was the way your pupils were already a little blown, or the way your lips glistened under the purple strobe, or the soft sweat gleaming on your collarbone, but something in him snapped loose. something bold, something curious.

he took the pill from your fingers.

you raised a brow, just a little impressed. "you sure?"

"i want to feel what you're feeling," he said, voice low. "i want to see what this place looks like through your eyes."

fuck.

okay.

you swallowed your own tab dry, already feeling the first hints of warmth blooming low in your spine, like a furnace kicking on. you leaned in, brushed your lips against his jaw again.

"you're in for it now, baby."

he smiled, nervous and excited all at once.

and as the crowd swallowed you both again, bodies slick and glittering, music vibrating your bones, hands never leaving each other, you felt the night start to twist. slow and warm and dizzy.

everything was about to change.

and you couldn't wait.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

you didn't realize how long you'd been dancing, how many songs had bled into each other, how many times your hands had traced the same lazy paths across armin's shoulders, his chest, the warm curve of his waist until your heartbeat started to echo in colors.

the first sign hit in a wave.

the walls breathed. your skin buzzed. you closed your eyes, and the bass wasn't sound anymore. it was sensation, deep and primal and humming through your veins like you were part of the speaker system itself.

when you looked up at armin, the world split open.

his pupils were blown wide, eating up the blue of his eyes. his lips were parted, just slightly, and the lights overhead caught in his hair like a halo. he looked untouchable. or maybe just unreal. or maybe you were tripping already.

"[name]..." his voice cracked into a laugh. "i feel fucking amazing."

you laughed too, loud and open, because same. your hands slid up his chest, thumbs brushing under his jaw. "good, baby. you’re glowing."

"i feel like i'm inside my own brain," he said, voice awed, eyes darting around like he couldn't take it all in fast enough. "like - like everything is loud, but in a good way. like you're loud."

you grinned. "you like me loud?"

he nodded. "you're, like... light. you're the whole song."

you kissed him.

it wasn't the first time you'd thought about it—not even close, but it was the first time it felt impossible not to. your lips met his in a slow, dizzy rush, soft and lingering, your hands cupping his cheeks as if to anchor him. his breath caught, and for a moment, he froze.

and then melted.

armin kissed like he felt everything. like his whole body had become nerves and skin and hunger. he leaned into you with a kind of desperate softness, lips moving with clumsy eagerness, teeth catching on your bottom lip like he didn't even realize he'd done it.

you gasped into his mouth.

he chased the sound.

the world narrowed to heat and taste and touch, the way his fingers curled around your hips, the way his breath hitched every time your lips parted just enough for tongue. his hands were bolder now, one slipping up the back of your dress, fingers brushing bare skin. he made a sound—a tiny, broken thing and it made you nearly lose it.

"fuck," you whispered against his mouth, "you're kind of good at this."

"i'm high and stupid," he breathed. "you're doing all the work."

you bit his lip, just to prove a point.

he groaned.

and yeah, maybe you wanted to ruin him, but there was something kind of magical about watching armin become someone else under your hands. someone reckless and starry eyed, someone who wasn't afraid of wanting.

"you wanna get out of here?" you asked, nose brushing his.

he nodded so fast you laughed again. "where?"

"doesn't matter. anywhere."

you didn't even remember leaving the crowd. the next thing you knew, your fingers were laced with his, pulling him through the haze of bodies and smoke and synthetic starlight. you barely caught glimpses of your friends. hitch grinding on someone with a mullet and patchwork tattoos tattered all over his body, annie nursing a drink in the corner with that permanent unimpressed stare, but they blurred into background static.

the hallway was cooler, quieter.

you stopped near a wall of mirrors, breathing hard. armin's chest heaved. his cheeks were flushed, mouth swollen pink from your kisses, and his hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty strands. he looked... wrecked. beautiful.

you pushed him gently back against the wall.

"you okay?" you asked, hands resting on his chest.

his laugh came soft. "yeah. just overwhelmed. in a good way. you?"

you tilted your head, smiling. "floating."

"God. you’re so..."

you raised a brow. "so what?"

"you." his fingers brushed your jaw like he couldn't explain it any other way. "you're making me feel things i didn't even know were possible."

your pulse fluttered.

"yeah?" you whispered.

he nodded, then leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

"i've never wanted someone like this."

your knees went weak.

you surged forward again, kissing him harder now, and he caught you around the waist like it was instinct. your bodies crashed like waves, messy and slow and uncoordinated, all breath and friction. his hands roamed, tentative but hungry, mapping every inch of you like a secret.

"touch me more," you breathed, dragging his hands higher under your dress.

he obeyed.

his fingers explored, shaky but curious, brushing over the swell of your thighs, the arch of your spine, the soft curve of your ass. he looked at you like you were some rare, glowing thing. like you were made of sugar and heat and static electricity.

"[name]..."

you silenced him with a kiss.

"we've got all night, baby."

armin's hands continued to roam your body at that, exploring every bit of it that he felt comfortable enough to. it was warm, almost too warm, but you weren't sure if that was from the drug or him. your skin buzzed, high on molly and adrenaline and something electric.

"is this... okay?" he asked, voice low, careful.

you turned to face him slowly, letting your fingers trail up the front of his shirt. "what do you think?"

he looked like he was trying to play it cool, trying to suppress the slight parting of his lips when you pressed your body into his, the barely there gasp when your chest brushed his. but molly was a truth serum and a catalyst. it made him more honest and way more bolder.

"i think i've never seen anything like you," he admitted.

your heart tripped over itself.

the mirror beside you caught the way his eyes traveled, slow and reverent—from your lips to your throat to your hips. there was a careful kind of awe in him. like he didn't want to rush, but couldn't help craving more.

you took his glasses off. folded them neatly. slipped them into the neckline of your dress.

"hey-"

"they'll be safer there," you teased. "you'll thank me."

his mouth curved into a crooked smile. "you're trouble."

you shrugged. "you're just now figuring that out?"

you reached behind to tug the zipper of your dress down an inch. not enough to fall, but enough for the fabric to gape slightly at your chest. you watched his gaze dip.

"keep looking," you whispered. "i like how you look at me."

he obeyed. hesitated. then, his hands found your hips—tentative at first, then firmer, fingers digging into the soft curves as he pulled you closer. the sudden confidence sent a jolt through you.

"i don't usually do this," he said softly.

"yeah?" You nuzzled close to his ear, grinning. "you're doing fine."

you rocked your hips into his slowly, rolling them just enough to brush against the hard line of him beneath his jeans. his jaw clenched. his breath stuttered.

"jesus," he muttered.

"not quite," you said sweetly, dragging your lips along his throat.

the tension between you was molten now. not frantic, not clumsy. just thick and heavy and good. like it had been simmering for hours. the kind of tension that begged to be touched, to be drawn out, to burn slow.

he pressed you back into the mirror, one hand bracing beside your head.

"touch me," you demanded all over again.

he didn't ask where. he didn't stammer this time. his hand slid up, fingers splayed against your ribs, then over the swell of your chest, cupping you through the fabric. he squeezed lightly, experimenting, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked beneath the fabric. your breath caught.

"too fast?" he asked, voice husky.

"too slow," you said, smirking.

he huffed a laugh. "you're a menace."

you licked into his mouth before he could finish smiling. the kiss was messy and hot and sweet—drug-sweet, tongue-slick, laced with want. you pulled him closer by the belt loops, desperate for more friction. his hands settled firmly on your ass and lifted you just enough for you to hook a leg around his hip.

every part of your body was alive. every nerve ending tuned to him. the way he smelled—clean laundry, cologne, the sharp scent of sweat. the way he tasted—mint and something heady. the way he sounded when he moaned into your mouth, low and needy.

you broke the kiss, panting.

"look at us," you murmured.

you both turned to the mirror.

you—flushed, tousled, lips swollen. him—glasses gone, eyes dark, chest heaving. he looked feral. so damn good like this. like some alternate universe version of himself had crawled out of a book and decided to become your undoing.

"you ever imagined yourself like this?" you asked.

he shook his head slowly. "never."

"you like it?"

"i love it."

you guided his hand between your legs. "then keep going."

his fingers slipped under the hem of your dress, dragging up the inside of your thigh. the molly made it feel like lightning. you gasped when he finally reached your panties, brushing the wet fabric with the back of his knuckles.

"fuck," he whispered. "you're soaked."

you bit your lip. "do something about it."

he did.

and this time, he wasn't careful.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

his fingers hooked your panties to the side and dipped between your folds without hesitation. he was warm—so damn warm—and wet with you instantly. his breath hitched when he felt how ready you were, and then he leaned in close.

"all this for me?" he asked, voice dark, like silk cut with static.

you nodded, eyes fluttering as he slid two fingers inside you. the stretch made your knees buckle, but he caught you easily with his free hand braced behind your back. his lips ghosted over your ear.

"fuck, you're tight," he murmured, thrusting them deeper, rougher, curling just right with experience he never even really had before. it just came naturally.

you whimpered, burying your face in his neck, but he didn't let you hide for long.

"look at yourself," he ordered. "eyes on the mirror. watch what i do to you."

his tone was commanding and low. and God, did it shock you. gone was the nerdy, soft spoken, slightly nervous armin from earlier. this wasn't that version of him. this armin was unrelenting, slick with control, completely in this newly discovered element now that your body was unraveling around his fingers. oh, how the tables had turned.

you obeyed, turning your head to the glass. the sight made your stomach flip: your mouth slack, makeup a little smeared, the sharp jut of his shoulder as he finger fucked you against the mirror like he owned your body.

"say thank you," he said softly, eyes pinned to yours in the reflection.

your breath came in shaky bursts. "Thank you..."

"for what?"

you gasped when he pressed his thumb against your clit and rubbed. it was too good. too much. you could barely stay upright.

"for... for making me feel good," you moaned.

"that's right."

he withdrew his fingers, and you nearly cried from the loss. He brought them to your lips, smirking.

"open."

you parted your lips, and he pushed them in slowly, all the way to the back of your throat briefly, watching with obsession-dark eyes as you sucked them clean and gagged onto them. your tongue swirled, and he groaned low in his throat.

"good girl."

the praise sent a full body shiver down your spine.

he spun you around and pressed your front against the mirror, your cheek flush to the glass. you could see him in the reflection—how he stood behind you, one hand palming your ass, the other at his zipper.

"i've been patient," he growled, the sound low and dangerous. "but now i'm gonna ruin you."

you whimpered. "please, armin..."

"you want it rough?" he asked, teeth grazing your neck.

"yes."

"say it."

"i want you to be rough. i want you to ruin me."

his breath caught, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. then you heard the unmistakable sound of his jeans lowering. a condom wrapper tearing that eren had given him, 'just in case.' thank God for that. his hand gripped your waist tight.

"you're not gonna be able to walk after this," he warned, sounding way too certain, despite his lack of experience.

"do it."

he didn't ease in. he slammed into you with one brutal thrust, knocking the air clean from your lungs. you cried out, legs trembling, nails clawing at the mirror for balance.

"holy shit," he hissed, panting. "you feel like fucking heaven."

he pulled out completely—slowly, leaving just the tip in—then drove back in, hard, deep and fast. you yelped, and his hand clamped over your mouth.

"shh. don’t want anyone finding us, do you?"

you shook your head, dazed. the pressure of his hand, the weight of his body pinning you to the mirror, the thick, deep drag of his cock—it was all too much. too good.

"you're dripping," he said, sounding wrecked. "God, you were made for this. for me."

you nodded desperately under his palm, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

"take it," he growled, shoving himself ballsdeep into your dripping cunt with each thrust. who knew that he packed like this, splitting you completely open. “take all of it like a good fucking slut."

you whimpered under his hand, clenching around him. he groaned and shoved deeper somehow.

"you like that? being talked to like that?" he sneered, lips brushing your ear.

you moaned against his palm.

"you're gonna cum all over my dick, aren't you? gonna cream like the filthy girl you are."

you were already close—so close. every snap of his hips pushed you higher, every filthy word driving you closer to the edge. his other hand found your clit again, rubbing harsh circles with no mercy.

"cum ," he commanded. "now."

and you did—body wracking, vision going white as your orgasm ripped through you like lightning. you screamed into his hand, eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into your own skin.

he wasn't done.

even then, he fucked you through it, pace punishing, grip bruising on the fat of your ass, slamming you into him harshly. the loud sound of skin slapping together and your whines filled the hallways.

"fuck, i'm gonna-" he grunted, and then he was spilling into the condom with a broken moan, jerking hard against you one last time.

you both sagged against the mirror. sweat slicked your bodies. your legs trembled like they might give out.

he pulled out slowly, almost reluctantly, then turned you around and kissed you. this time it was soft, reverent, like an apology for how wrecked he'd just left you.

your legs wobbled dangerously as you pulled your dress back down into place, fixing your lipstick in a smeared reflection while armin clumsily adjusted his shirt and pants back.

you both looked wrecked.

you felt wrecked.

not just from the sex—though that had clearly been engineered in a lab to dismantle you piece by piece—but from the everything. the night. the high. the way he'd taken you apart like he was discovering something, like you were the rare find in the room full of mirrors.

you glanced at him.

he was still catching his breath, cheeks flushed, curls sticking to his forehead. his glasses were still tucked safely between your tits—so, technically, he'd entrusted you with his vision too.

a little symbolic, no?

"hey," you said softly, smoothing your fingers over his shoulder. "you good?"

he looked at you like he wasn't sure if he'd ever be "good" again, then gave a dazed nod. "i- i think so. yeah. just... processing."

"same," you said. "like, what the fuck just happened?"

he laughed, boyish and hoarse, the sound melting into something sweet between you. "i blacked out for a second there. did i actually call you a slut or did i imagine that?"

you grinned. "you absolutely did."

he looked horrified. "oh my God-"

"and it was hot as hell," you cut him off. "don’t feel bad."

"...okay. wow."

you handed him his glasses. he slid them on with shaky fingers.

"guess we should probably..." you jerked your chin toward the direction of the bass, now a little less distant. "rejoin civilization?"

he groaned. "eren’s never letting me live this down."

"yeah, well, my homegirls are gonna roast me alive."

"deserved."

you both snickered, then lingered. neither of you made a move. the silence stretched in a weirdly tender way.

"hey," you said eventually. "for what it's worth, i’m really glad i met you tonight."

he smiled, small and soft and stupidly gorgeous. "me too."

and with that, you slipped your hand into his one more time, and made your way out of the mirror hallway, like exiting a fever dream.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

disclaimer: i do not own the fanart shown. it was created by @musapylsa

#nerd armin #attack on titan #armin arlert #armin x reader

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