#I knew he was getting my job long before any other person did | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelyhan · 1 year

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— meet cute of the century ⟢

the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 25.4k words

★ TAGS; meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining, discourse abt being an idol as a career, mild angst, smut

★ NOTES; it's finally done!! and it turned out to be the longest oneshot i've written ever T T i reaaally didn't mean it to become this long but i got overly self-indulgent so here we are :3c also psa that this story features a handful of other characters from the series, so if you find them familiar that's totally on purpose HEH

this is part of the doting on you! series.

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, service top wonwoo, praise kink, voice kink, first time together, fingering, creampie, ofc they're grossly in love

★ TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jeonghancvunt - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @emmmui - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @coffeestay - @jkbabiey

★ SERIES TAGLIST; @ti--red - @jeonwonhi - @gyusbabydoll - @xiaoting999 - @marksluvr0 - @ohmyhuenings - @downbadreading

P.S. i reserve the right to refuse to add you to my taglist if you don't have any age indicators in your profile :^)

There are a handful of things that a college student can do with their free time. Studying, hanging out with friends, and maybe even picking up a hobby of sorts. You, on the other hand, use up all the hours you’re not spending on your undergrad thesis or sleeping the day away at an animal shelter just a few minutes away from your apartment.

Your friends constantly wonder how you’re still able to maintain a remarkable GPA with a part-time job that’s starting to look full-time, but you just laugh their questions off for the most part—saying that other people have got it worse than you, but can still perform leagues better academically.

You also tell them that most of your motivation comes from all the unadopted animals from the shelter. You started as a volunteer just to kill time on weekends when you’re free, but even if you knew better than to get attached to all those adorable faces, you eventually found yourself on the employee roster anyways.

Now you’re rushing to finish your degree so you can get a neat sugar mommy job that’ll let you afford to adopt everyone that’s been stuck in the shelter for nearly a year or more.

Okay, maybe not everyone because you’re no fool with a savior complex. But just enough to give a few furry friends a new home, right?

“Don’t look now,” your coworker, Mina whispers conspiratorially while you’re in the middle of snacking in the break room, “but that cutie you’ve been crushing on just walked inside. He’s checking out the cats out in the playroom as usual.”

Right. Apart from your altruistic dream of adopting as many animals as your financial capabilities can allow, there’s another reason you’re always looking forward to your shifts at the shelter. A reason that you’re a bit too embarrassed to let your friends know about.

You nearly choke on a potato chip when Mina informs you of the news and she immediately breaks into a fit of laughter. Glaring at her, you compose yourself with a long gulp of water before saying, “I do not have a crush on him.”

“Sure,” she plays along. “If you consider making googly eyes at the guy every time he drops by as ‘not having a crush on him’, then I’ll concur.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, sweetheart. Now get out there and sweet talk him into taking one of the kittens home! Pretty sure he wants one if he’s been showing up as much as he did for the last two months.”

While you would’ve argued that the so-called cutie you’ve been crushing on could just like seeing the cats play around in his free time, you don’t really have much energy to play mental gymnastics with Mina. You’ve had a long day of revisions and other nonsense materials you have to submit for your majors, so you’ll let this one slide.

Your workplace is as bleak as every other shelter you’ve seen a few times in your life. Gray walls, concrete floors, and steel cages stacked on top of each other. It looks more like a prison than anything, really, but it’s the staff and those kind-hearted souls who rehome animals that have long been abandoned that give the entire place some life.

While Mister Cutie That You’ve Been Quote-Unquote Crushing On doesn’t exactly fall into either of those categories, you like to think he still leaves the building just a touch more colorful once he walks out of the front door.

Speaking of color, he’s wearing a loose, dark green shirt that falls just below his elbows. Cutie—as you’ve deigned to call him not because you think he’s cute but because you’re yet to get his name—has one palm flattened across the viewing glass of the playroom. He’s wearing his usual black face mask today, but from the way his eyes glint behind his glasses, you’re just going to assume he’s having a good time just by watching the cats frolic inside.

“You’re here pretty late,” you state nonchalantly before standing a few feet away from him.

“Is that so strange?” he murmurs with a chuckle, surprisingly not startled with your sudden entrance before glancing your way. “I always show up here at this hour, don’t I?”

God. No matter how many times you hear his voice, you just can’t get over how deep it is. But before any of your thoughts could show on your face, you get talking.

“True. You’ve sparked a debate among the volunteers about your line of work, actually.” Not exactly. You’re not sure if any of the volunteers have even seen this guy, since they mostly work day shifts. “Anyway, are you just here to check ‘em out or am I finally going to hand you the adoption papers?”

His eyes crinkle a bit before he shifts his gaze towards the playroom again. Most of the older cats have already been put back in their respective cages. All that’s left inside are the kittens with way too much energy to spare. The director, A.K.A., your boss, believes that it’s best to tire them out first before settling them into individual enclosures for the night. Keeps the place nice and quiet for the evening shift fellows like yourself.

“Not yet, sadly,” Cutie says with a sigh before pointing at a small black kitten huddled up in a corner. “That one’s new, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen him around before.”

“Her,” you correct. “Her name’s Hani. She’s a stray that someone from the university I’m attending brought in last week. It was pretty ugly, actually. Poor thing got into an accident and was bleeding everywhere. Good thing our usual vet was paying a visit when they came here.”

“Oh? That’s a relief then. No wonder she’s got a little limp every time she walks around,” he observes with a saddened tone. “But I digress. You mentioned you were attending university?”

…Okay, why’d the topic of interest suddenly shift to you?

But since it’s a harmless enough question, you reply with, “Yeah. The one that’s just a few blocks away. It’s kinda why the person who found Hani brought her here instead of a vet clinic. The nearest one’s like half an hour away.”

“Good call, good call.” He nods with a look of understanding. “I hope someone comes and adopts her. She deserves all the love she can get. Well, everyone here does of course.”

You flash him a conniving smile, raising your brows a few times. “You could give that to her.”

Cutie shakes his head with another low-pitched laugh. “As much as I’d love to, my…living conditions won’t be suitable for her at all. Or any of the other animals for the matter.”

“Hm?” You stare at him curiously. “Your landlord doesn’t allow pets or something?”

“Mmm… Not exactly.”

The conversation pretty much ends there. Cutie excuses himself—saying that someone is waiting for him at home. You don’t know why your heart deflates a little at the very real possibility that he has a significant other. Then again, if you’re this whipped when you haven’t even seen his face, you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to settle down with someone who has.

Either way, it’s none of your business. And correction: you’re not whipped. Just…hyper aware of his presence every time he stops by.

Despite the fact that you’re dead-set on filing this strange fascination you have for the guy, however…

“Wait!”

Cutie turns around to face you with an inquisitive look. “Yes?”

You swallow thickly, deciding to just bite the bullet before your nerves get the best of you. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Cu—I mean, Glasses Guy in my head whenever you pay us a visit.”

He blinks for a few seconds, obviously nonplussed by your forwardness but you don’t think your pride can take it anymore if you had to refer to him as—

“You can call me Woo,” he says warmly and you can almost see the smile that stretches behind that black face mask.

Shit. Did your heart just stutter?

“Mister Woo—”

“Just Woo is fine.”

“Okay, Woo,” you start, kind of liking the way that something that’s obviously a nickname rolls off the tongue, “just let me know if you ever want to take Hani home. We’re open twenty four-seven, as you already know.”

He nods. “Sure thing. Is it okay if I can get your number for that?”

Now you have to fight the urge to scowl at him after he’s been so nice to you all night—and every other night he’s dropped by.

This guy isn’t flirting with you. He said it himself—someone’s waiting for him at home. Plus, he’s expressed consistent interest in adopting a kitten for himself a handful of times before. Maybe he just connected with Hani on a level that’s above the others. Enough to ask for your number since the possibility of him bringing one of these angels home is becoming more and more real.

Yeah, that’s definitely the reason!

So you give it to him—hastily scrawled behind an old flier gathering dust in one of the drawers on the front desk. It’s way too big to write just yours and the shelter’s contact details on, but the other calling cards are nowhere in sight. You’ll have to ask Mina if she’s seen them once—

“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch,” Woo tells you while folding the sheet of paper into a sleek black Louis Vuitton wallet.

Wait a minute.

Before you can even seriously ponder about what job he’s got to be able to afford that, Woo is already out of the door—heading into the evening streets without once looking back.

“Gosh, I swear that guy’s an idol in disguise or something.”

That’s the first thing that Mina tells you when you find her doing a few rounds among the sleeping dogs in the far back. You haven’t even spoken a single word about your most recent exchange.

“What makes you think that?”

“He just exudes idol vibes, y’know? Shows up here when the place is deserted. Always acts subtle and inconspicuous. Oh and not to mention how hot he looks even with a face mask on! He could be that one idol your little sister is crazy about.”

You roll your eyes at her odd ways of deduction. “Mina, I’ve seen enough of Haewon’s Mingyu merch to last a lifetime and Woo definitely does not look like him.”

“Oh?” Your coworker perks up with a mischievous smile. “You finally got his name, huh?”

God. This is going to be a long shift.

The next time you see Woo is, surprisingly, not at an ungodly hour in the shelter.

Well, it’s still at an ungodly hour, but the change in venue is a little baffling. You were up all night studying (read: cramming) for a major exam that you’ll take at eight in the morning the next day. When you were finally at your wit’s end, you decidedly hauled yourself away from your laptop and fluttered off to the only twenty four-hour coffee shop in the neighborhood.

You don’t usually frequent this place because you’ve tasted their shitty americanos firsthand, but you’re not in the mood to grind some beans yourself and you’re much too stubborn to drink anything instant—convinced the powdered concoction would only make you sleepier.

So here you are, in line for an espresso because you’ve decided to give them the benefit of the doubt that maybe not everything on the menu tastes less than it’s worth. With how many other students are pulling all-nighters here, that should be testament enough that they tolerate the place’s drinks enough to linger.

But, to your horror, when you’re right in front of the graveyard shift barista, he informs you that wireless payments have been temporarily disabled and that they’re only accepting cash up front. You make a show of patting down the pockets of your hoodie to check for your wallet even if you know damn well that you left it back at your apartment on purpose. Just when you’re about to resign yourself to buying shitty instant coffee at a Seven Eleven instead, the person behind you in line clears his throat.

“Uh, I can pay for her drink.”

You don’t think you’ve ever whipped your head around to check for a person’s identity faster than you did at that moment. It’s not that you’re particularly obsessed with the low timber of his voice or anything, but you’d recognize the way the shelter’s late night regular speaks in a goddamn heartbeat.

“Woo?” you scowl as he maneuvers himself to the front of the line, bringing out that same Louis Vuitton wallet you were ogling the last time you saw him.

He pulls out a few banknotes and places them on top of the counter with what you think is a smile behind his mask. “Couple that with four iced americanos please.”

You purposely hold your tongue about your personal vendetta against that particular drink as the barista nods, punching in Woo’s order and asking for a name. Just when you thought he’d say the same one he’d given when you’d asked, however—

“Soonyoung. Oh, and I’ll get those drinks to go, please.”

Your gaze is on him the entire time as the two of you shuffle to the end of the counter to wait for your drinks. Woo is doing a pretty okay job at playing it cool despite the fact that he lied about the names on his orders. Or maybe he lied when he told you his name was Woo.

Either way, does it matter? It’s not strange for people to make up fake names for baristas to write on their coffees—Mina does it all the time. But something about the idea that the man standing in front of you doesn’t look like a Soonyoung bothers you more than it should. It makes you wonder what his actual name is and if it’s weird to ask when he already gave you one to address him with—

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he suddenly says and you nearly have a heart attack.

“Uh,” you start somewhat dumbly, before finally getting a hold of your brain. “I live around the area. Thought I could use a drink if I didn’t want to sleep through my lecture notes.”

He lets out a low chuckle and at that moment, you let yourself observe him a little more closely. His hair is hidden behind a black beanie which he expertly paired with an equally black parka that’s zipped up all the way. He’s wearing a different pair of glasses today—one with thick, black frames—and you’re starting to get an idea of what his favorite color might be.

“Is that why I haven’t seen you at the shelter these days?” he wonders. “Every time I dropped by last week, you weren’t on shift.”

Oh. Shit, he’s been visiting still? And he was looking for you?

“Yup, I needed to take a few days off because if I wanna graduate, I’ve got to keep myself from failing any of my majors,” you explain as briefly as you can—not wanting to go into detail about GPA requirements and your thesis. “How about you? Why’re you out and about at this hour, Soonyoung?”

It’s kind of adorable, how the tips of his ears flush pink at your words. “Soonyoung’s one of my friends. I actually went out tonight because I lost a bet and had to buy four of us coffee.”

You’re not sure how and why you feel a wave of relief wash over you, so instead, you brush the feeling aside before leaning against the counter. “Lost a bet about what, pray tell?”

Woo is quiet for a while, as if contemplating if he should unveil his losses to someone who’s virtually still a stranger before letting out a defeated sigh.

“Mario Kart.”

The snort you let out draws a few curious stares from other customers sitting near the counter and you force out an apology that’s underscored with a hiccup of laughter. Woo doesn’t seem at all offended by your reaction though. In fact, he seems even amused by it.

Not ten seconds later, the barista calls out his—rather, Soonyoung’s name and he hands you your drink while he carries a takeout package in his other hand. You try not to think too much about the way his fingers brush against yours when he gives it to you, thanking him despite the obvious redness settling across your cheeks.

“I actually meant to text you last week but I didn’t know if you were comfortable with it,” Woo admits as he opens the door to the coffee shop for you—thanking him as you step out of the air conditioned space and into the humid evening air. “I wanted to ask about the adoption requirements at the shelter.”

Part of you is a little skeptical about his explanation because… If he’s been dropping by your workplace as often as he claimed last week, then he could’ve just asked the other staff about the details. Why wait until he meets you again to bring it up?

But of course, you’re way too polite to ask that to his face.

“I don’t mind you texting me about that or…anything, really,” you say, turning up the flap on the lid of your espresso before taking a small sip. Bearable. “It’s not like I’m too busy to respond to you. Well, I kinda am, but I can spare a few minutes.”

Woo nods with a soft laugh. “Okay. I’ll just get into detail via text later. I gotta bring these coffees back or they’ll chew me out for the rest of the night for being late. Oh, but do you need someone to walk home with you?”

The idea of having your not-work crush escorting you home flusters you more than it should and when you take another sip of your drink, it nearly goes down the wrong hole. Woo pats your back in comforting fashion when you sputter from your coffee, tears stinging your eyes as you attempt to breathe like a normal person. Fuck, you must look so fucking weird right now.

“I-I, um, sorry about that.” You cough into your fist, laughing uneasily as you grip your drink a little too tightly. “No, it’s fine. I only live a few blocks away.”

Now that you mention it, does that mean Woo is the same? If he’s out here in this specific neighborhood at this specific hour, that would only mean he lives in the area, or is at least staying for the meantime, right? But before you could get swept up by your own curiosity, you immediately sweep any and all ideas under the rug.

“Oh, that’s—that’s good to know.”

He sounds disappointed. Why does he sound disappointed?

“So I guess this is goodbye? ” you start.

Woo nods briskly. “Yup. I’ll keep in touch.”

You chuckle. “That’s what you said last time.”

Whoa. Were you propositioning him or something? Sometimes, it baffles you how one minute, you’re choking on a cup of coffee—several shades embarrassed—and the next, you’re practically daring him to text you like he said he would.

“And I’ll make good on that as soon as time permits.” Woo shakes his head with a laugh. “It was nice seeing you again, though. Good luck with your exams.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat up yet again at the thought of him having remembered that you mentioned your exams. “Thanks. I think I need all the luck I can get.”

When Woo turns to look at you through those thick-rimmed glasses, you almost wish you could see the smile that’s undoubtedly spreading behind that pesky mask of his.

“I’ll be happy to give it to you every time then.”

Today was probably the shittiest day of the week.

Not only did you spectacularly flunk the exam you took this morning whilst running on less than two hours of sleep, but your thesis adviser emailed you about several concerns regarding the latest version of your manuscript. Needless to say, you spent a good chunk of your day holed up in the university library, consulting new reference materials to back up your data since the ones you used were much too outdated for your adviser’s liking.

It should’ve been something you’d consider a walk in the park, given the many revisions that have preceded this one, but it just so happens that you’ve got three more exams to worry about for the remainder of the week. Meaning, you had to squeeze in a few minutes of studying in between editing your newest draft and telling yourself that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if you got held back for one semester before graduating.

You’ve been so caught up with your piling academic responsibilities that you’ve barely looked at your phone. You only deigned to dig it out of the deepest pit of your backpack when you got a little hungry and wondered if they still let food delivery guys past the school gates. To your surprise, you’re greeted with a few text messages that you immediately feel horrible for not replying to the moment they were delivered.

Unknown Number [10:45]: So about those adoption requirements…

Unknown Number [11:33]: Oh. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. It’s Woo.

Ignoring the fact that you’re obviously famished, you hastily type in a response after marking down Woo’s number with a black cat emoji right next to his name. It takes a moment because you’re so shaky, you end up suffering from a few typos here and there.

Me [13:10]: hey! sorry i was a bit busy and i just saw these…

Me [13:10]: what do you wanna know? i’m on a self-imposed lunch break rn

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:15]: No worries, I figured you got a long day ahead. Hope lunch is good at least.

Me [13:16]: actually, i haven’t ordered anything yet ‘cause time got away from me but Anyways

Me [13:16]: you wanted details abt the adoption process?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:18]: What? You haven't eaten yet?

Me [13:18]: yeah, but it’s no big deal. i could just have some food delivered.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:19]: Well, I’m out right now. I could just buy some food for you and drop it off.

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets when you read each word of Woo’s text message. Is he being serious right now? The guy just paid for your coffee last night—a coffee that you forgot to pay back because of how surprising the circumstances were. Now he’s offering to buy you lunch?

Me [13:20]: you really don’t have to, i swear!! i’ve still got a few discount vouchers in baenim

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:22]: I insist. I’ve got my bike with me anyway.

Me [13:22]: bike? like, a bicycle?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:23]: Mmm. Close. Anyway, what food do you want?

Now what the hell does that mean?

Part of you feels like you should be freaked out with how…kind he’s being to you. The world is full of weirdos who play the nice guy just to do something despicable to you in the end. Yet another part of you—a less reasonable one, admittedly—insists that Woo is nothing like that, despite the fact that you barely know the guy.

Then again, you’re tired, stressed out, and barely slept a wink last night. If the hot guy you’ve been quote-unquote crushing on is offering to buy you food, where’s the harm in accepting?

Me [13:25]: fine. i could use some yangnyeom chicken and tteokbokki.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:26]: Nice. I know a good place.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [13:27]: I’ll head out in a few, so just text me the address.

Right after sending your university’s pin location to Woo, you start to consider the chance of him being some sort of serial stalker. Could he be biding his time, trying to let your guard down and easing personal information out of you so he could do something nefarious when he gets you alone? Fuck. Maybe it’s a good idea you didn’t let him walk you home yesterday…

But despite the very real possibility of Woo being someone with bad intentions regardless of how nice he is, you see no problem in meeting him at the school gates when he arrives with your food. In fact, you don’t even feel apprehensive of him in spite of all the ideas you conjured in your head over the past hour.

Me [14:15]: where are you?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [14:16]: Parked by the curb in front of a bookstore. You can’t miss me.

Me [14:16]: i don’t even know what you Look like today, genius

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [14:17]: I told you, I’ve got my bike with me. I don’t see anyone else looking the same way within a twenty meter radius.

You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. For someone you deemed as ‘nice’, he can get pretty mouthy if he wants to.

You head to the general direction of the bookstore that Woo was talking about as you try to ignore your growling stomach. Given that the lunch rush is more or less over, the usual crowd of pedestrians has considerably thinned out and it makes it easier for you to scan the vicinity for any bike-wielding impromptu delivery guys.

However, the only person that does stand out to you is some dude wearing a black leather jacket, chilling next to an expensive looking motorcycle as he taps away on his phone with a matching pair of leather gloves and everything. His face is obscured by a black helmet and you would’ve let your gaze go past him had it not been for a sudden realization that hits you right there.

Bike? Like, a bicycle?

Mmm. Close.

“Woo!”

Of course the leather jacket-clad, expensive motorcycle-wielding man looks up at the sound of his name being called from across the street. The visor of his helmet is drawn all the way up and you could see that he isn’t wearing his glasses for good reason. He seems to perk up at the sight of you before grabbing something from the trunk of his motorcycle and jogging to meet you where you stood.

You’ve seen him sporting a spectrum of comfortable outfits during his late night visits, but this is the first time you’ve witnessed Woo looking as dapper as he is now.

“Late lunch delivery?”

You don’t even try to hide the way you roll your eyes as you accept the paper bag he hands to you. “Thanks. How much do I owe you now? You already got me coffee and now lunch.”

He shakes his head and you find it a little ridiculous, considering he’s still wearing that huge helmet of his. “It’s on me. It’s the least I could do to repay you for being so accommodating.”

“Woo, I haven’t done shit for you ‘cause you’re yet to properly talk to me about the adoption process. What on earth are you talking about?”

“But you will do shit for me when we do talk about it. I’m just repaying the favor in advance,” he rebuts cheekily before pulling back the sleeve of his jacket to check for the time. “Though as much as I want to do that now, I need to catch a flight in a few hours.”

That makes your expression morph into disbelief. “You need to catch a what?”

“A flight. Gotta head to Japan for a few days,” Woo tells you nonchalantly, as if heading to Japan for a few days is something people do on a regular basis. “Can you make sure no one else takes Hani home before I can settle everything on my end?”

You tell yourself that you’ve got time to mull over what this guy does for a living some other time. Clearing your throat, you manage an awkward smile. “Um, yeah, sure thing. You’re really attached to her, aren’t you?”

“You can say that again,” he laughs softly. “She kinda reminds me of myself from a long time ago… But anyway, I’ve gotta go. Tell me what you think about the chicken when you’re done with it?”

You nod. “I’ll be as brutally honest with my review as possible.”

“Just the way I like it,” Woo replies, eyes crinkling with amusement.

When you head back to the library, the person you were sharing a table with looked after your stuff for you while you were gone. You thank her profusely before settling back into your seat, grabbing the takeout packages from the paper bag that Woo personally delivered to you.

Before you can start wolfing down the delectable-smelling chicken he brought, however, you notice a cute sticky note plastered on the lid—a doodle of a cat with glasses and a speech bubble that says you can do it~ scribbled on the corner.

Don’t overwork yourself. It’s been ages since my last exam, but I know how hard it can be. Make sure to eat properly so you can absorb all the info you need.

When your head bangs against one of the many wooden tables in the library, the person seated at the far end stares at you with a concerned look. You can’t muster the energy to assure her that everything’s alright, though because…

That quote-unquote crush of yours?

It’s starting to become a little too real.

You’re in the middle of throwing out old files from the back room archive when Mina peeks her head into the doorway and says, “You’ve got a visitor again.”

One glance at the old wall clock hung above the steel cabinets tells you that it’s midnight, but you know for one that this mystery visitor isn’t Woo this time around.

You’ve been keeping in touch with him through Kakao, since you can’t exactly afford to send international text messages to Japan and your new friend(?) has been keeping you posted about his shenanigans for the past week. He hasn’t replied to your last message from over three hours ago and you’re not so delusional to think he got on a plane back to Korea and is suddenly here to surprise you.

When you see who it is, though, your heart warms just a little.

“Why haven’t you been texting me back?” Haewon, your sister who’s two years younger, gets up from the seats lined up across the walls of the lobby. “I missed you!”

You shake your head before pulling her into a hug. “I missed you, she says. But you’re really just looking for someone to show you around the city again, aren’t you?”

“Hey, missing you and needing a chaperone aren’t mutually exclusive,” she huffs and you notice that she’s in full fangirl gear again—a lightstick hanging off a strap slung across her shoulder, a windbreaker with her favorite boyband’s logo sewn on the front pocket, and of course, a photocard of Mingyu dangling from her little handbag.

Despite the fact that she’s also in college, Haewon chose to stay in your hometown in Jeju to pursue her studies there instead. The first few months since you left were the hardest—so unused to not having your little sister go on and on and on about how much she loves SEVENTEEN. But you’ve also come to appreciate the peace and quiet that living alone in Seoul affords you.

Besides, with how much money she’s raised for being one of the more well-known event organizers in her fandom, Haewon can pretty much come visit you in Seoul whenever she feels like it.

“I’m guessing your thirteen boyfriends have a thing going on?” you ask before glancing over at the playroom to make sure there aren’t any kittens left inside.

Haewon nods enthusiastically. “Yup, they’re having a mini fanmeet outside their company building in a few days—”

“In a few days?” you parrot before gesturing for her to follow you in the break room so you can get changed. “What’re you doing out here all dressed up then?”

Your little sister rolls her eyes. “Unnie, I’m not some weirdo who wears their merch on a regular night for no reason. I came from this little cupsleeve event for Wonwoo’s birthday. Things ran a little late because we had to help clean up at the café.”

While you’re not well-versed in fandom jargon, you have learned a few terms from Haewon here and there. Plus, she already took you to a cupsleeve event for another member’s birthday once. You’re not really sure who it was because the only one you do consistently remember is Mingyu—your sister’s ultimate bias, apparently.

“What made you stop by then?” you wonder as you exchanged your work uniform for a loose shirt. “You didn’t tell me you were coming in advance. I could’ve fetched you from the airport.”

“I did tell you in advance.” She pouts. “But you said you were busy working on your manuscript when I did, so it must’ve slipped your mind.”

Oh. Okay, now you feel bad. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you this weekend with dinner?”

Haewon whines. “Unnie, their fanmeet is on Saturday and I leave on Sunday.”

“So? How long is that going to be anyway?”

“Uh, all day?”

You sigh. “Fine. How about you crash in my place tonight and we can rewatch Hometown Cha Cha Cha while stuffing our faces with ramen?”

“Deal.”

After timing out for the evening, you say goodbye to Mina, who’s just waiting up for your other coworkers who’ll cover the next shift. Haewon talks your ear off about what happened in the event she attended as you both walked back to your apartment and, while only some of the things she’s saying makes sense to you, it’s nice to be in your little sister’s company again.

“Oh, by the way, here.”

You stare at her curiously as she rummages through her bag, handing you a photocard enclosed in a dainty-looking toploader.

“What’s this for?” you ask.

“You told me back then that Wonwoo was your type,” Haewon explains with a grin. “So I did my best in one of the parlor games and won that extremely in-demand photocard just for you.”

You scan the piece of idol merchandise in your hands for a few minutes more—staring at Wonwoo’s face as if waiting for him to speak. You never really understood the appeal of collecting photocards. As long as it makes Haewon happy, you won’t bat an eyelash.

But now she’s giving you one to keep for yourself and the more you stare at the idol printed on the sturdy paper, the more you think that you’ve seen him somewhere.

Then again, Haewon has been talking about these boys since they debuted years ago. The familiarity must’ve stemmed from those numerous fancams and music show performances that she forced you to sit down and watch with her.

“You better take care of him, okay?” Haewon pouts. “If I see him suddenly being sold for a high price, I’m never going to let you live it down.”

“I barely know how the market for this works, so you don’t have to worry about that,” you chuckle before carefully sliding the toploader inside your own bag. “So what ramen are we eating? Shin Ramyun or something else?”

Me [21:17]: btw, when are you coming back again?

Me [21:20]: someone was asking about hani earlier and i feel like you’ve gotta come back here to assert your dominance.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:35]: Shit, sorry. I forgot about the time.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:35]: My friends and I had a birthday celebration at the izakaya near our hotel. It’s been a while since we got to unwind like this.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:36]: Anyway, who’s the funny guy who thought he could have my cat?

Me [02:38]: wow. YOUR cat? 🤨🤨🤨

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:40]: You’re still awake?

Me [02:40]: yeah, my little sister is in seoul and we’re binging our favorite drama

Me [02:41]: how about you? why are You still awake?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:45]: Taking care of drunk friends. Remember Soonyoung?

Me [02:45]: what about him?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:47]: Pleading for forgiveness in the toilet while he retches his guts out.

Me [02:47]: huh. some birthday party. who’s the celebrant anyway?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:47]: Me.

“Whoa. You okay?” Haewon asks when you suddenly lurch forward on the couch, choking on the ramen you were in the middle of slurping.

You thank your sister when she offers you a glass of water and you gulp it down to soothe the burning sensation in your throat. “It’s fine. I just received a surprising text is all.”

“From a boyfriend?” she teases.

You scowl. “No. From a friend. Just a friend.”

“Boo. But you’ll tell me once you land yourself your very own Hong Dusik, right?”

The look on your face only worsens at the reference she’s made to the drama that’s still playing on screen. “I’d actually rather die than have someone like Dusik as a boyfriend. If the whole enemies to lovers thing works with Hyejin, it really won't with me.”

“True, you’ve always been a mellow lover,” Haewon agrees and you roll your eyes. “That’s why Wonwoo would be perfect for you~”

“I think me landing a Hong Dusik-esque boyfriend is more likely than me getting together with a world famous idol but okay.”

You’re momentarily distracted from your conversation when your phone vibrates in your lap again, and— Fuck.

You forgot to reply to Woo.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:55]: Fell asleep on me already?

Me [02:56]: no, no. sorry. my sister was just talking to me.

Me [02:56]: anyway, it’s your BIRTHDAY?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:57]: Hahaha, yes. It’s been a while since I could sit down and actually celebrate it with my friends.

Me [02:58]: is that why you went all the way to japan? for a little birthday getaway?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:58]: Hm… something like that

Me [03:00]: i’ll give you hani’s adoption papers as a gift

Me [03:01]: that or you let ME treat YOU to something nice for a change

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [03:05]: Well, I’ll be back in Korea this Saturday, but won’t be free until late at night.

Me [03:05]: back to regular programming, huh?

Me [03:06]: we can celebrate later if you’re busy, you know.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [03:07]: It’s okay. I wanted to spend time with you anyways.

“You sure that’s just a friend you’re talking to?” Haewon asks with an unimpressed stare as you choke on your instant noodles for the second time. “The only way I’d react like that to a text is if my friend told me one of our professors is fucking his TA despite being married. If that’s the case, you gotta let me in on the juicy details.”

You make a face at her. “Isn’t that way too specific?”

“Isn’t that way too specific?” Haewon mocks. “Whatever you’ve got going on with this friend of yours, promise I’ll be the first to know once you make it official?”

“Haewon!”

For the sake of your own sanity, you only reply to Woo’s message once you’re tucked in bed and Haewon is comfortably dozing on the couch in the living room. She’s a heavy sleeper that passes out quickly after a long day, so you don’t feel particularly worried about your little sister barging into your room when you type out a response.

Me [03:43]: gotcha. just meet me at the shelter after your thing.

Me [03:45]: happy birthday, woo.

You don’t wait for him to type out a reply anymore—eyes drooping into slumber as you let the screen of your phone fade into sleep mode.

Unbeknownst to you, a man who just finished putting his intoxicated friends to bed an ocean away stares at your chat history with a fond smile, heart racing just a few beats faster at the prospect of what awaits him at home.

You’re just about done cleaning up the big dog kennels when Woo drops by on a bright Saturday morning.

The sound of his deep ‘hello’ nearly made you drop all the cleaning utensils you were about to put away. When you turn around to confirm that the shelter’s nighttime regular has indeed switched things up and decided to visit during daylight hours, you’re too busy scowling at him to mind the fact that you’re all gross and sweaty from all the hard labor.

Sure, you texted him about taking up a day shift today, but you definitely didn’t expect him to visit when he just got back to Korea a few hours ago.

Surprisingly, Woo isn’t donned in all black this time around. He’s wearing a gray pullover with some muddled text you can’t quite read with the hood pulled all the way up, concealing the white cap resting on top of his head. Of course, his signature face mask is still in between you and his no doubt handsome countenance, but you’ll take what you can get.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, a bit breathless before you notice that takeout bag he’s setting down on one of the empty tables. “I thought you’re not gonna be free until tonight.”

“Thought you could use another lunch fix,” he says nonchalantly. “Well that and I wanted to personally give you some cool trinkets from Japan.”

The sentiment makes your heart stir a little, but you end up voicing out a dry laugh before stuffing the shelter’s cleaning paraphernalia inside the broom closet. “Keep doing all these nice things and I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”

Woo laughs but does absolutely nothing to deny the allegations.

“Here.” Your brows arch a little when he fishes something from the pocket of his hoodie, handing it to you. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d like so I just got all of them.”

You’re a bit reluctant to receive his gift in your current state—dirty hands, dirty clothes, dirty everything—but Woo doesn’t seem to mind when he drops a small plastic package full of…

“Kitties!” You coo out loud at the assortment of colorful enamel pins inside before gawking at him. “Seriously, Woo, you’re way too nice to me. I’m starting to feel indebted.”

He shakes his head with an adorable laugh. “It’s nothing. I swear. They just reminded me of you when my friends and I passed this one booth at a festival.”

Shit. They reminded him of you?

“So are you finally going to sit down and talk to me about adopting Hani or are you gonna keep skirting around again, mister?” You place a hand on your hip, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction as you tuck his gift safely in the back pocket of your jeans.

“Surprise, I actually came here to do just that. I still have an hour free before I have to go to work,” Woo admits and him mentioning work taps in on your innate curiosity about what he does for a living. “But your coworker said something about rounding up the dogs and putting them back in the kennel?”

Oh. Shit.

As if on cue, Mina—along with a few on shift volunteers—emerge down the hall, all of their hands gripping several leashes as an army of dogs fills the hallway with excited and agitated barking alike.

“Are we good to go?” Mina yells over the noise.

Trying not to look too disappointed that your time with Woo has been cut short, you give Mina a thumbs up before striding off to meet them halfway. You take it upon yourself to take a few of the dogs off one of the volunteers’ hands and he looks at you with withering relief when you do.

“Yep. Everything’s as fresh as a daisy now,” you inform them. “Hope these guys didn’t make too big of a mess up in the front though. That would mean Kino’s turn for cleaning duty came a little early.”

“Hey!” The volunteer in question complains. “I’ve got a date later, noona. Don’t go saying weird stuff like that.”

You’re just about to tease him a little more but you suddenly feel the force of a couple of former strays tugging you forward disappear. That’s when you notice that Woo made his way to your side, guiding the dogs silently as he helps lead the first of them to the kennel.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you insist but your friend(?) merely shakes his head.

“It’s no big deal,” Woo reassures.

It doesn’t help that this particular hallway is a little cramped. You’re practically standing arm to arm as you all make it to the end. You can practically smell the expensive cologne wafting from his clothes amidst the scent of dog fur that’s starting to permeate the air. When Woo lets out another soft laugh when one of the dogs he has on a leash licks his hand, you know it’s over for you.

It takes about half an hour to settle all fifteen big dogs into their respective cages and by the time it’s over, you’re convinced that you need a shower now more than ever. As Mina and the rest of the volunteers head back to the reception room, you decide to take a break and help yourself to the takeout that Woo personally delivered yet again.

“Thanks for your help. Cleaning day is really one of the toughest days of the month. Especially when we have to clean up the big dog kennels,” you sigh before plopping into an empty seat in the break room.

“Don’t mention it,” he says and you find yourself imagining a smile behind his mask yet again. “I actually have a dog at home, too, so I would now. But she’s definitely more tame than these guys.”

That makes you pause. “Is that why you’re beating around the bush so much about adopting Hani? You think she won’t get along with your dog?”

He hums a little before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “That’s one of the reasons, yes.”

“Well, you won’t know unless you try,” you huff as you unseal the takeout package—the delectable scent of yangnyeom chicken pervading your senses. “Anyway, you’re going to sign the papers this time, right? Right?”

You have a feeling that you’ve finally got him cornered, but before Woo can even formulate a response, a ringtone that definitely isn’t yours starts going off inside the break room.

Your friend(????) answers it with a wistful sigh.

It’s so quiet that you can vaguely make out the voice at the other end of the line saying, “Hyung. Everyone’s looking for you. Where are you?”

You try not to stare at Woo as he takes the call out of pure decency—distracting yourself with your food. But you can’t help but listen in when their conversation is the only thing you can hear at the moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon. Tell everyone I’m sorry for the hold up, Mingyu.”

The moment that name leaves Woo’s mouth, you freeze mid-chew. Did he say Mingyu? Like…the idol that Haewon is downright obsessed with? No… It was probably just someone with the same name. It is pretty common, after all.

When he ends the call, you flash him a tight-lipped smile that manages to conceal your momentary surprise. “Rain check?”

“Rain check,” Woo sighs in agreement.

You nod. “It’s okay. The more you keep delaying Hani’s adoption, the more presents I get from you.”

“And you’re absolutely right about that,” he humors you before reaching out to ruffle your hair. You haven’t even recovered from that little gesture he just did when he asks, “Hope our plans for later are still up though?”

Woo must’ve caught the look on your face with the way he retracts the hand that was just on top of your head to snicker into his palm. “Don’t tell me you forgot. We were supposed to celebrate my birthday, remember?”

Curse you and your habit of making plans at ass o’clock in the morning. You always forget them!

“Uh, it kinda slipped my mind?” you admit sheepishly as you pick at your food. “I ended up going for a day shift ‘cause I have to see my sister off at the airport tomorrow.”

He nods in earnest and it kind of makes you feel bad about your short term memory. “It’s alright. I’ll just drop by some other time to get the paperwork over with. I’ve disturbed you enough as it is.”

“No, it’s fine!”

Your sudden outburst makes Woo look up at you with a confused stare. “Hm?”

“I-I can still meet up with you later,” you stammer and you have to force yourself not to bury your face in your hands out of sheer embarrassment. Pull yourself together, damn. “If you’re not too tired from your plans for the day, of course.”

He mentioned something about having to go to work, and while you can’t imagine what sort of work has to be urgently done on a Saturday, you’ll still respect his time.

Woo blinks for a few seconds, as if still digesting what you just said before his eyes disappear behind his glasses with a soft chuckle. Your brows cinch together, not getting what’s so funny.

“Noted. I’ll come pick you up here later, still? If you’re not comfortable with sharing your address with me yet.”

He’s so thoughtful, you might actually give him all your personal details at this point. But at the end of the day you’re actually a person with a head full of common sense, so you answer him with, “Sure thing. Thanks for going out of your way to come hang out despite how busy you are.”

“No, thank you for always putting up with me,” Woo insists with a shake of his head. “I swear I’m not hassling you with this whole adoption thing on purpose. There’s just…a lot of things to consider on my end. I hope you understand.”

You wave away his concerns with a laugh. “Just keep getting me more of this chicken and we’ll call it quits.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

When Woo sees himself out of the break room, you fumble for the plastic package in the back of your jeans—taking one of the adorable black cat enamels before pinning it in the front pocket of your uniform. You can’t help the smile that creeps up your face when you see your reflection on the small mirror sitting on the table.

How could you be this down bad for someone whose entire face you’ve never even seen before?

Haewon 🪷 [17:20]: Are you suuure you don’t wanna come to the fan meet?

Haewon 🪷 [17:21]: I’ve still got a few extra passes :3c you’d get to see wonwoo in the flesh!

Me [17:30]: why do you want to set me up with wonwoo so badly

Haewon 🪷 [17:31]: Bc we’re sisters? And it’d be cool if we stanned MinWon together?

Me [17:32]: …not even gonna ask you to elaborate on that

Haewon 🪷 [18:00]: Unnie ㅠㅠ

Me [18:00]: why? what’s wrong, hae?

Haewon 🪷[ 18:05]: Mingyu looks sooooo much better than I remember

Haewon 🪷[18:06]: The girlfriend allegations must be true

Haewon 🪷 [18:06]: Only a man in love can smile like that!

Me [18:07]: or: a man who relies on fanservice to get paid?

Haewon 🪷[ 18:08]: RUDE!!!!

Haewon 🪷 [18:08]: Here’s a pic of Wonwoo to shut you up

Haewon 🪷 [18:09]: [Sent an attachment]

Me [18:10]: idk if i should find the fact that you think some kpop guy affects me in any capacity amusing or concerning

Haewon 🪷 [18:11]: !!!! Take that back wtf?? Wonwoo isn’t just ‘some kpop guy’?????

Me [18:10]: sure he isn’t.

Haewon 🪷 [19:45]: Good news!!

Me [19:45]: you’re finally going to get off my back about the whole wonwoo thing?

Haewon 🪷 [19:46]: No ^_^ My Monday final got canceled so I can stay in Seoul for a day more!

Haewon 🪷 [19:46]: Aka you don’t have to wake up early to drag your ass to the airport w me

Me [19:47]: oh. that’s cool. what’re your plans for tomorrow then?

Haewon 🪷 [19:48]: Gonna attend the pre-recording for a music show :3

Me [19:50]: …Haewon i swear to god if you ask me to do what you’re about to ask me to do

Haewon 🪷 [19:50]: Come with me pretty pleaaaase?

Haewon 🪷 [19:51]: I’m using my adorable dongsaeng powers to get you to agree

Me [19:55]: there’s no talking my way out of this, is there?

Haewon 🪷 [19:55]: Nope <3

Me [19:56]: fine. just text me the details. i need to go out soon.

Haewon 🪷 [19:56]: HEHE have fun !!

You weren’t lying when you texted Haewon that you had to go out soon. You agreed that you’d meet up with Woo for his post-birthday celebration at 9 P.M. Hell, you even called a local bakery to have a personalized cake made for pick-up before you head over to the rendezvous point. Everything was already set right from the start.

But then you ended up falling asleep while scrolling through Twitter and now the clock reads 10:45 P.M., and you’re rushing to pull on a ratty sweater instead of the cute outfit you planned for the night as you rush out of your apartment.

Me [10:47]: FUCK IM SORRY

Me [10:47]: i was SUPPOSED to take a five minute nap but i didn’t realize how tired i was

Me [10:48]: are you still up to hang out? i totally get it if not though.

You immediately stuff your phone in the pocket of your jeans—not even bothering to glance at Woo’s reply when it vibrates with a text notification. Your conscience is much too guild-ridden to read any sort of reassurance he’d undoubtedly give to you despite how long you’ve made him wait.

Two hours, jeez. You’d be furious if someone was that late on you.

When you arrive at the shelter after doing a couple of quick detours, you’re panting like you just won first place in a marathon. Needless to say, it’s a pitiful sight to behold when Woo is leaning across his motorcycle—looking much too attractive in that stupid leather jacket of his.

“Is this what the kids call fashionably late these days?” he chuckles.

If you weren’t so apologetic, you would’ve rolled your eyes so instead, you give him a crumpled paper bag with a smile that borders on overcompensating.

“Happy birthday?”

Woo looks like he was just about to say something until a quiet mewl interrupts him midway. You gaze at him with a puzzled look until he stifles a soft laugh, pulling the lapel of his jacket open to reveal—

“Hani?” You scowl.

The black kitten is tucked away snugly in the inner pocket of Woo’s jacket—nearly blending in with the leather. It’s almost as if two pairs of big yellow eyes are staring at you from a void.

“Finally got the papers over with when you fell asleep on me,” Woo chuckles before scratching behind her ears. “So I guess it wasn’t so bad that you made me wait for two hours.”

“Hey, I said I was sorry!”

“Yes, and I heard you,” he insists before peering inside the paper bag you gave him. “What’s this?”

“No peeking until we get to your good old thinking spot,” you scold, smacking his hand away.

A hand that you just noticed is also clad in a leather glove.

He shakes his head playfully before putting his arms up in surrender. “For someone who’s two hours late, you’re pretty demanding.”

“Woo!”

During his last few days in Japan, Woo told you about his favorite thinking spot that’s specifically located beneath Hannam Bridge. There’s an old watchtower that was built before the bridge even existed. I go there when I want to clear my head.

When he said he wanted to bring you there for his belated birthday bash, the ghastly possibility of him turning out to be a serial killer luring you to your doom crossed your mind for half a second before you ended up agreeing anyway.

Now here you are, drowning in the musk of his cologne as you press your cheek against the fabric of his jacket. He’s definitely going past the speed limit with how sharply the wind sings in your ears, but instead of complaining about it, you tighten your arms around his torso—letting the warmth of his body seep into yours.

“It’s not so scary if you don’t think about it too much,” you hear him shout from the front. “Look to your right! This is why I’ve always liked doing late night rides!”

Easy for him to say. He’s brave enough to harbor a kitten inside his jacket and a person who’s never ridden a motorcycle before at a hundred kilometers per hour! But despite how terrified you are of falling off his bike, you do as he says anyways.

When you tilt your gaze in the direction of the Han River, you’re immediately greeted by the dazzling lights that glimmer across the water. You haven’t been to the districts on the other side of the river, but you think you’re content with getting to see them from afar.

With the roar of an engine ringing in your ears. With the summer evening breeze whipping past your face.

With your arms around someone who’s slowly but surely leaving his mark in your life.

“Are you sure this is legal?”

Your companion glances behind him as he makes his way to the aforementioned watch tower—a knapsack full of god-knows-what slung around his shoulder while he carries the paper bag with your “gift” in his free hand. “I’ve never seen a single ‘No Trespassing' sign since I’ve started going here ages ago, so probably.”

“Probably?” you parrot and Hani, who you’ve deigned to carry in your arms after that grueling motorcycle ride, meows as if she’s just as incredulous as you are. “So it’s still possible for us to get arrested?”

“Yeah, but what’s life without a little risk?”

Unbelievable.

Yet, despite the common sense you were oh-so proud of this morning, you still follow him up the winding steps of the watchtower, which is hardly even a watchtower given that it’s a few meters beneath the widest bridge in the city. Woo wasn’t lying about his strange description of it after all.

“Well, here we are,” he announces when the two of you reach the platform on the very top. The edges are lined with metal rails that are beginning to rust with age, but seem sturdy enough to grant you some sense of security—no matter how sparse. “I’ll just set this up. You can go enjoy the view if you want.”

Woo doesn’t even let you get a word in before he unzips his bag and brings out a checkered picnic blanket. He gently lays it across the dusty concrete, smoothing out the fabric before fishing some more stuff inside his gym-bag-turned-picnic-basket. You keep yourself from making any snide comments about his choice of venue because despite the unorthodox location, you actually get why he’d find it peaceful here.

It’s far enough from the freeway that the sound of vehicles rushing through the night can barely reach your ears. If you listen closely enough, you can even hear the water flowing below much more clearly. You close your eyes to get a better feel of the place—imagining a six-foot something guy leaning across the rusty railings as he watches the city lights sparkle across the Han River.

“There we go.”

You startle when you feel Woo’s warm, leather-clad hand on your shoulder—prompting you to turn around and see his handiwork. In the middle of the picnic blanket is something that looks suspiciously like a portable emergency light. How he got his hands on something like that, you’re not entirely sure, so you decide to focus on the other details instead.

Like the two unopened bottles of soju right next to a take-out package of your favorite yangnyeom chicken.

“Didn’t we agree that I was treating you to something this time around?” you grumble as you absentmindedly stroke Hani’s fur.

“We did, but then you overslept and—”

“Okay, fine! Point taken!”

Woo snickers as he hands you the paper bag you brought for the trip. It looks even worse than it was when you ran all the way to the shelter and you can only hope the package inside isn’t completely ruined.

You decide to let Hani down inside the gym bag that Woo left unzipped. Surprisingly, the newly adopted kitten makes a home out of it quickly—curling up into a ball as her tail swishes every now and again. Cute.

“Don’t judge, okay?” You breathe out nervously as you take the plastic container out of the bag. “I had a legit cake custom-made and everything but…yeah. Overslept.”

When Woo doesn’t respond a second too long, your gaze nervously rivets to his face to parse for a reaction. Was he disappointed? Should you have gotten a different design?

The moment you see the dazzled look in his eyes, however, you realize that isn’t the case.

He receives the little cupcake with open arms when you give it to him. It’s chocolate topped with bad fondant icing art, but you didn’t really have a choice. When you spotted it in the convenience store earlier, you grabbed the one that looked most like a kitten and dipped. It’s nice to know that he might actually like it after all.

“Oh and uh, sorry, but I couldn’t bring any candles for you to blow,” you add sheepishly. “You can just make a wish and pretend.”

Woo’s gaze drifts to you for a moment before his eyes crinkle with laughter. “I don’t really have to do that though. My wish has already come true.”

Huh?

To your chagrin, he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, Woo invites you to sit on the picnic blanket—carefully removing his boots so he wouldn’t track dirt all over the food and you follow suit.

You fill the silence with your goings-on for the rest of the day and how exactly you ended up dozing off and he’s kind enough to listen to every word. However, when you ask if he wants to do a toast, he shakes his head.

“I need to drive you back, remember?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “So you took me all the way out here just so I can have two bottles of soju all to myself while you sit there and listen to me talk about my day?”

“...Yes?”

Men are so fucking infuriating sometimes, you can hardly believe it.

“Nope.” You firmly shake your head—plucking the bottle opener he set down on the blanket to pop the caps off. “You’re drinking with me. Just quit driving past the speed limit so we won’t die in a freak accident.”

You immediately notice the stiffness in his shoulders as you shove the bottle of soju in his hands and part of you feels kind of bad for being pushy. For a moment, you allow yourself to scrutinize him for a bit longer. What could possibly be deterring him from drinking after going out of his way to do all this?

That’s when you realize he still has his mask on.

Does he…have issues about people seeing his face?

That would definitely explain why he hasn’t once taken it off in all the times you’ve met him so far. With that in mind, you promptly decide to tell him that okay, he doesn’t have to if he really doesn’t want to, but then Woo is already reaching up to peel the blasted face mask off.

Your chest seizes with panic, hands flying in front of you to keep him from doing something against his will. But the effort is futile because it only takes a second for him to remove and…

Fuck.

Cue the choir of angels because goddamn does this man look like heaven.

Woo shifts somewhat uncomfortably under your stare, as if he’s waiting for you to blow up all over his face or something. But you’re much too mesmerized by too many things to form any sort of response right away.

The sharp cut of his jaw. The gentle curve of his Cupid’s bow. The tinge of red spreading across his cheeks.

“I can’t believe you’ve been gatekeeping yourself from me all this time,” you whisper with a strained laugh—purposely peeling your gaze away for the sake of your own sanity. “I knew you were hot, but…God. I hate you.”

“You…don’t recognize me?”

The question brings you out of your feelings for a moment, making you glance at him with a questioning stare. “Am I supposed to?”

Woo gapes at the question like he didn’t expect that to be your response before shaking his head vigorously.

“N-No. Anyway, you said I was hot but you hate me?”

You narrow your eyes at him before taking your first swig of soju. “Don’t start getting all cocky with me, mister! I’ve got eyes and I can’t help that you’re objectively attractive. Just stating facts here.”

When Woo smiles for the first time without the figurative cockblock that is his signature black face mask and honestly? If you died right now, you’d die happily.

The night presses on in a haze of soju, spicy chicken, and the occasional visit from Hani who uses either of your laps as her personal bed for about five minutes before switching to the other person.

This is the longest you’ve been with Woo and you’re starting to realize that he isn’t much of a talker, which you completely understand. You can’t imagine someone who’s hell-bent on keeping what he looks like a secret for so long being a chatterbox.

“Oh, but you mentioned something to me at the shelter one time,” you pipe up before scooping a forkful of chicken into your mouth.

“Yeah? What is it?” Woo asks softly as he pets Hani’s back.

Feeling just a little bit tipsy from the alcohol, you try not to stare too hard at his handsome face or the way his lip curls at the edges with a tiny smile when Hani purrs from his touch.

“You said Hani reminded you of yourself from before,” you whisper as your gaze drifts to his leather-gloved hands. “Is it okay to ask what you meant by that?”

The sound of the river flowing beneath the watchtower fills your ears as you bask in the silence. It’s a pretty personal question. You’d totally get it if he decides not to answer, but you’re much too curious to keep yourself from asking.

“Well, I wasn’t a stray or anything, but there was a time in my life that I felt so…aimless. I lost someone near and dear to me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it for a very long time.”

Hearing the earnest ring of Woo’s voice, you force yourself to snap out of your subtle inebriation—scooting a little bit closer to him on the blanket to make sure you catch every word.

“I didn’t get into a life-threatening accident like this one did either, but…” He trails off for a moment, stroking the scar that you know runs along Hani’s sternum but has long healed with his fingers.

“I managed to get back on track when the people around me showed me their support. They didn’t leave even if all I wanted was to be left alone. If it weren’t for them, it might’ve taken me even longer to move past what happened. Worse, I might not have moved past it at all.

“When I saw Hani that day, she looked scared of all the other cats. Like she wasn’t ready to let anyone get close to her just yet.” Woo breathes deeply before taking a small sip from his bottle. “I guess I was the same way, too. Healing isn’t linear. Sometimes, when I think I’m all better, one day, I just spiral back to where I started in the next one. That’s…kind of where you fit into the picture, actually.”

The brief pause in his story makes you blink at him, surprised. “Me?”

He nods. “You used to feed the strays in your neighborhood, right? You even had a schedule and everything.”

“That was months ago,” you mutter. “You mean you already knew me back then? Because of that?”

“I…actually live in that area, too.” He clears his throat, that familiar blush settling across his cheeks once again. “I often saw you feeding the strays because that’s usually the time I got back from the cemetery. One day, things got a bit too much and I kind of…broke down in the park instead of just doing that at home.”

He says it like he’s embarrassed and now that he mentioned it, you vaguely remember consoling a stranger during your days before volunteering at the shelter. You don’t recall much of it though—just the memory of awkwardly patting his back before sending him off feeling just a bit better because you saw him smile a little.

Other than that, you’re drawing blanks.

“How exactly did I help you, though? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I wouldn’t say you helped me or anything, but…” Woo pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose while slyly avoiding your eyes. “I distinctly remember you saying something like—”

Hey, it’s just a bad day. Or a bad week. Or a bad month. I don’t know. But it’s not a bad life. It’ll get better soon. I promise.

Fuck. Maybe you do remember.

“It didn’t really mean much to me at the time. Honestly, it kind of pissed me off at first,” Woo admits with a guilty chuckle before taking another sip. “But you were right. Sometimes, things got worse. Other times, it got better. But one day, I realized that I got to a point where it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

“I’m not usually this open about my problems, but I learned overtime that talking about them makes them less taxing to deal with. Almost like I’m just talking about the weather, you know?” He smiles softly and you swear your heart melts at the sight of it. “And…I also don’t want to be closed off from others anymore. Back then, I mostly just kept everything to myself—bottling it all up until it was just unbearable.”

“Now you’re here spilling your guts out to some random college senior,” you snicker before taking another swig of your soju. You pout when you realize the bottle’s all empty before placing it back on the picnic blanket. “That’s some character development.”

“It really is.”

The silence sets once more and your eyes wander off to the city so close yet so far away. The lights from the skyscrapers glimmer like stars across the calm waters of the Han River and you like to think it compensates for the fact that the sky is blocked out by the bridge stretched far and wide above you.

This isn’t how you imagined your first stargazing date would be like, but it’s a good start.

Although, the moment the idea crosses your mind, you’re quick to jolt at your own thoughts.

This isn’t a date. You’re just celebrating his birthday together. Alone. On a picnic blanket. With one of the loveliest sceneries you’ve laid your eyes on. In a place where he claims that he never once showed to anyone else.

“Hey, is this—”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you turn to look at Woo—only to find his face mere inches from yours.

“What?” he whispers and despite the fact that you’re wearing a sweater, you feel goosebumps rise across the skin of your shoulders.

“Uh.” Fuck. “Is this a date?”

His mouth curves into a smile that you can’t quite get a read on. “It can be what you want it to be.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, suddenly feeling hot all over as his eyes flicker to your lips. “Just so you know, I don’t kiss on the first date.”

When Woo laughs again, it’s a deep-seated noise that makes your insides tingle with an indescribable feeling. You don’t really want to give it a name.

“Okay,” he repeats before pressing his forehead against yours. “We can have our first date next time then.”

Of course the sly fucker dives in for a kiss anyway.

“H-Hey,” you whisper in between, trying not to get too distracted with how plump his lips are as you keep holding him still by his broad shoulders. “You’re going to end up crushing Hani if you d-don’t cut it out!”

Woo sighs against your lips before pulling away regretfully. For a moment, he stares at the sleepy kitten on his lap, gazing around cluelessly after being roused from slumber. His expression softens for a moment as he scoops her up with both hands, settling her down in the comfort of his gym bag. She lets out a satisfied mewl before curling into a ball once more.

“Better?”

You’re not sure if he’s asking you or the cat, but…

“Better,” you whisper before fisting the lapels of his jacket and crushing your lips with his.

You don’t know where you’re pulling all this pent-up frustration from. During the very brief period that you’ve gotten closer to Woo, your general opinion about him never really deviated from he’s cute and he’s hot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet here you are, gasping into his mouth as he flattens his tongue against yours. A strong arm hooks around your waist, pressing your bodies infinitesimally closer and your skin is slowly hitting a fever pitch beneath your clothes. Something wild and all-consuming burns in your veins and you channel it into a moan that makes his grip on you grow tighter.

You don’t know how exactly you wound up on top of his lap—knees planted on either side of his hips as he continues devouring you with no intention of leaving anything behind. You can feel the expensive material of his leather gloves when his fingers graze along the hem of your sweater. Your skin tingles like every nerve ending has been set alight and if you weren’t already rendered dizzy by his intoxicating cologne, you’re in for a ride with each second his touch hikes further up your torso.

Woo sighs against your lips before pulling away momentarily—eyes aflame before he removes his fogged up glasses with one hand, tossing them somewhat carelessly on the picnic blanket.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why was that so hot?

You’re too stunned to even draw a breath as he stares you down without the constant partition of his glasses. Has his gaze always been this sharp? Have those eyes always been transfixed on you?

“This…This wasn’t part of the plan, if you’re wondering.” Woo croons out the words huskily. Like an afterthought he only considered out of concern for you. Cute. “I swear I didn’t have any ulterior motives when—”

You giggle, before pressing a kiss on his nose. Woo’s eyes widen just a fraction.

“What made you cave then?”

The way his Adam’s apple bobs has no right to be that alluring, but it pulls you in anyway. “You looked really cute tonight.”

“Is that all?”

“Um, I thought it was sweet that you still got me a cupcake after you overslept?”

You groan, forehead bumping into the crook of his neck. Jesus Christ, he smells so fucking good. “How long are you going to hold that over my head for?”

You feel the vibrations of his laughter humming against your connected chests and your heart swells as Woo wraps his arms around your frame—pulling you into a firm embrace as the heat that engulfed the both of you slowly simmered into the cool evening air. You can feel him tracing idle shapes along your shoulder blades and the small of your back, and it does nothing to keep you from melting into his touch.

It’s so strange how easily you gave into him. You’ve formally known Woo for about three months and became legitimate friends(?) for less than three weeks. If you told Haewon about this whirlwind romance of yours, she’d hit you upside the head and tell you you’re being way too hasty for a man.

But if it’s a man with a black kitten taking a nap in his gym bag while he kisses you senseless underneath one of Seoul’s busiest freeways, you suppose you can make an exception.

“We should go,” Woo murmurs softly. “You’ve still got to accompany your sister to the airport right?”

“Mmm. Nope. She’s staying a day longer,” you inform him with the same quiet tone, letting your fingers trail up to his hair so you can toy with the strands in your fingertips. “But I do have some more edits to get over with in my final manuscript, so…yeah. We should go.”

Despite wanting nothing but to stay there in Woo’s little safe haven, the two of you manage to miraculously peel yourselves away from each other. Your face is hot the entire time you helped clean up his little picnic setup. When he shuts off the portable emergency light, you squint as you parse your way through the darkness.

You kind of end up tripping on air like a complete idiot, but before you can tumble off the rails and into the river, Woo catches you by the waist—not so different from how he held you ten minutes prior.

“Careful,” he mutters as he lets you go and you can’t help but silently mourn the loss of his touch again. “I don’t want to be accused of being a murderer.”

You snicker as he gently scoops Hani out of the gym bag and back into the spacious compartment in the lapel of his leather jacket. For a sleepy kitten, she’s surprisingly compliant. “I actually thought all this time you were some sort of serial killer trying to lure me to my doom.”

“You thought that but you came with me anyway?”

“Why not? You’re hot.”

That night, you let Woo drive you back home now that he’s more or less beaten the serial killer allegations. You tell him that he doesn’t have to walk you to your apartment, but he insists—saying that he can afford to leave Hani on his bike for a few minutes.

Of course, it ends up with another heated makeout session against your front door. This time, those stupid leather-clad fingers hike high enough on your back to toy with the clasp of your bra while his other hand remains tangled in your hair to pull you impossibly closer.

“I have to go,” he rasps before swiping his tongue along his bottom lip—giving you a sudden itch to sink your teeth into it. “But you’re making it really hard to leave.”

He’s making it really hard to tell him to go home, too, but as much as you want to kiss the night away, you still have some of your wits about you.

You chuckle as you reluctantly extract his wandering hands away from your body. Woo sighs in surrender with a nearly inaudible laugh.

“You already bent my I don’t kiss on the first date rule, genius,” you remind him breathlessly. “Don’t push your luck just yet until we’ve had that so-called first date next time.”

He grins. “So there’s going to be a next time?”

Deciding to keep him on his toes, you bat your eyelashes coquettishly at him. “Only if you want to.”

Woo leans in to press his lips against the corner of your mouth—trying his best to suppress the grin on his face.

“I’ll hold you to it then.”

Despite having lived in Seoul for four years and having a hardcore fangirl for a sister, today’s the first time you’ll be attending the pre-recording session for a music show.

Needless to say, you feel like an outsider amongst the fans armed with all sorts of idol merchandise and dressed in the prettiest outfits. Haewon managed to mooch a lightstick off one of her friends for you to use, but despite the fact that you know not a single soul would give two shits about you here, the alienating sensation remains.

“Hey, don’t be too nervous,” your little sister chortles as the marshals usher the crowd into the studio. “All you gotta do is wave that lightstick to the beat. You’ll blend right in, I promise.”

You crack her a nervous smile. Oh, the things you do to make Haewon happy.

It’s a little bit of a blur from there. You squeeze past the throng of fans while simultaneously trying not to lose your sister in the crowd. Some of the staff are handing out photocards that you hear are exclusively given away at this specific broadcast and were worth hundreds of thousands of won. You’re not sure which member Haewon got for you, but knowing your little sister, she must’ve snagged one of Wonwoo’s.

When the two of you are settled in your seats, you take the time to admire the set. You never imagined idol music show stages being this massive in person. In fact, you never really spared an active thought about them. Most of the info you do know about these kinds of things are secondhand accounts from Haewon from all the times she’s been to several broadcasting studios across the city.

“Did you bring the PC I got you last time?” she asks before taking out the broadcast ones out of their plastic package.

You shake your head. “Sorry. That Wonwoo’s sitting in a different bag.”

“Well, at least you haven’t sold him,” your little sister laughs before handing you one of the cards in her hands. “I told the staff to give us Mingyu and Wonwoo, but they gave me Hoshi and Wonwoo. It’s okay though, ‘cause Hoshi’s my bias wrecker anyway.”

Ah. More fandom jargon that you’re just now hearing about.

Just as the staff is starting to do the final preparations on stage, you decide to check out the broadcast PC that Haewon just gave to you. When your eyes land on Wonwoo’s face, however, you suddenly feel your blood freeze in your veins.

You…don’t recognize me?

One of the staff members announces that the boys will be out shortly to begin the pre-recording session but the words are all but muted in your ears.

Because how the hell can you focus on anything else when the face of the man who drove you back home last night—the man who kissed you until you were lightheaded—is plastered on a photocard that could be exchanged for an entire fortune?

This can’t be right, you muse with a scowl—fishing your phone out of your bag as your trembling fingers make haste to open your messaging app. He can’t be the same guy.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [09:35]: Good morning, I hope you got enough rest!

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [09:36]: I have a schedule later this morning so I might be MIA

Me [09:40]: it’s cool. i just woke up actually hahaha

Me [09:40]: i also don’t mind! i’m heading out with my sister in a while too

Me [09:41]: have fun at work(?)

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [09:45]: Haha I will :) Have fun with your sister!

With a deep breath, you lock your phone just as the lights start to dim and the crowd cheers their hearts out. Haewon urges you to turn on your lightstick and the part of the studio that’s filled to the brim with an audience is lit up with hundreds of dazzling lights.

You would’ve appreciated the sight if only a certain someone didn’t play you for a fucking fool.

Just as promised, the boys that your little sister has been crazy about since their debut all fill the stage gradually. Some of them greet the fans with wide grins and silly little gestures. The others are a little more reserved with their greetings—all shy smiles and reserved movements.

Like Wonwoo, for example.

After several years of only knowing Mingyu thanks to Haewon, this is the first time you were able to pick out another one of them on stage with ease. Why wouldn’t you be able to recognize him?

He had you pressed up against your front door only a few hours ago.

It all made sense now. The affinity for keeping a face mask on. The late night visits. The fact that he seems to make an exorbitant amount of money from a job he doesn’t want to disclose.

Woo is Wonwoo from SEVENTEEN.

And he somehow forgot to let you know over the course of your time together.

You try to keep down the frustration that burns in your throat, making you feel like the roof of your mouth is stuffed with cotton. It’s much easier to mask your feelings once the performers all get into position and the music starts. The loud beat blaring from the speakers coupled with the well-practiced fanchants from the audience easily overpower the sound of your hitched breathing. Even Haewon was too engrossed with the performance to notice your distress.

Still, there’s not much you can do about it now. Especially when Wonwoo’s the one who starts up the first verse of their newest song.

He looks so…different from the gentle giant you’ve come to know over the past few weeks. There’s a dangerous look in his eyes that you know is all for show, but it makes your spine tingle at the sight of it nonetheless. The words to the song are raspily sung into the mic and if you weren’t convinced that he and Woo aren’t the same person, you most certainly are now.

After all, it’s his fucking voice that got you so down bad in the first place.

Once his part is done, Wonwoo quickly heads over to the next formation—a complete professional by heart. He belts out each dance move with such perfect precision and you wouldn’t expect any less from an idol who’s spent years honing his talents. But despite how awe-struck you are to see this side of him in person, it just wasn’t enough to completely erase the feeling that you’ve been betrayed.

It stings even more when the song ends and the studio is filled with deafening screams from the audience yet again. For once, Wonwoo’s stoic expression cracks with a handsome grin as he and the rest of his bandmates huddle together and exchange high fives.

That person on stage is both the man you caught feelings for and a stranger at the same time. He easily smiles at the fans the same way he would smile at you, but the difference between Woo and Wonwoo is that only one of them is willing to show this part of his life to the rest of the world.

Did he not trust you enough? Did he think you’d act like some crazy fan if he told you the truth?

You love Haewon. You love your little sister more than anything in the world, but you can’t pretend that things are okay when the man who kept you in the dark is standing right in front of you, clueless of the revelation that occurred to you just now.

“Where are you going?” Haewon calls out when you make your way out of the rows of seats—earning yourself a collection of glares from the other fans in the vicinity. “Unnie, hey!”

The last thing you want to do is ditch her for something you promised you’d see through until the end but you’re just so fucking done. You don’t want to see Wonwoo right now. Or hear him and his stupidly perfect voice through the studio’s sound system.

Right now, you just…want to be alone.

About two weeks after you stormed out of the first and last music show pre-recording you’ll ever attend in your life, things have more or less mellowed out. Sort of.

You’ve been taking fewer and fewer shifts at the shelter as graduation draws ever-so near. But aside from wanting to focus on getting your academic backlogs over with, you also wanted to stay away from the one place that Woo—or should you say Wonwoo—can easily find you and subsequently corner you to talk. Because you don’t want to talk to someone who’s basically been lying to your face the entire time you’ve been friends.

Well, you suppose if you really don’t want to hear even a peep out of him, you should’ve blocked his number altogether. But that’s not really the case.

Your phone buzzes while you’re in the middle of signing off adoption papers to a couple who wanted to adopt one of the shelter cats. You thought it was pretty adorable of them to make that decision since having a pet together is almost as good as having a kid together after all.

Thinking it was from your adviser, you snuck a glance towards the notifications in your homescreen. But when you see a familiar emoji plastered on the sender’s nickname, you’re quick to put it face down on the wooden desk.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [09:35]: Good morning. Are you at the shelter today? Can I speak to you?

How he has it in him to keep texting you as if you haven’t given him nothing but radio silence for the past two weeks, you’re not sure. Wonwoo must’ve sensed that something was amiss the moment you stopped replying to him altogether, but he never tried to pester you about what was wrong. Instead, he simply continued sending all those messages to check in on you despite the fact that it’s almost as if he’s talking to a wall.

Well, it’s not like you have time to entertain him now anyways.

“Are you sure she doesn’t have a name yet?” One of your clients—the boyfriend—asks as he smooths down his newly adopted Maine Coon’s fur.

The girlfriend rolls her eyes. “You heard the nice shelter lady, Vern. This one just wouldn’t respond to any name they tried to give her.”

You agree with a half-hearted laugh, trying your best to ignore the guilt that’s perpetually swelling in your heart the longer you ignore Wonwoo’s pleas. “Yup. Our director said she’s got a bit of an attitude, but I think she just has high standards.”

Vern the Boyfriend makes a funny face at that. “So you’re saying that she doesn’t like the names she’s been given so far?”

“Mhmm. We tried Cupcake, Winter, Princess, and Lily, but she liked none of those. Try naming her something fancy. ”

“Chairman Meow?”

“Vern.”

“What? You gotta admit it’s funny, Sohee.”

Sohee the Girlfriend rolls her eyes. “Yes, but it’s an overused pun now! Think of something else.”

“Hmm. How about…Milana?”

“Is that because Seokmin wouldn’t shut up about his trip to Milan?”

“Ugh, yeah. Two months later and he still won’t stop talking about—”

“The gorgonzola he had for dinner the night before he flew back to Korea. I know. You won’t stop talking about it either.”

“Hey, Seokmin-hyung pays great attention to detail when it comes to food. You can’t help but want it, too.”

As you observe the friendly banter between the couple, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You don’t come across two people who complement each other as well as they do, and from the curious glint in their newly adopted cat’s eyes, you think she likes being in their company as well.

“Fine, let’s test it out first,” Sohee huffs before scratching behind the Maine Coon’s ears. “We’re going to call you Milana. Does that sound good to you?”

When the cat nuzzles her hand with a pleased meow, Sohee and Vern turn to glance at each other at the same time—two matching smiles plastered on their faces.

God. You can only wish to have what they do.

Once the rest of the documents have been finalized, you and Mina—who just got back from updating the vaccination records for all the animals in the shelter—see your most recent clients off. Vern the Boyfriend, Sohee the Girlfriend, and Milana the Child are off to the streets to start the next chapter of their lives or whatever.

When the door to the front entrance clicks shut, you let out the longest, deepest sigh known to mankind. Your coworker stifles a laugh.

“Looks like someone’s jealous,” Mina comments.

You whine. “How could I not be jealous of that? They’re so in love, it’s sickening. They even got a kid together!”

“You know, you could easily have that too if you just stopped avoiding—”

“Oh, look at the time!” You interrupt her a little too theatrically, stomping off to the direction of the break room. “Gotta go meet my thesis adviser. Kino and the other volunteers should show up in the next hour, though!”

You don’t catch the frustrated look on Mina’s face as you make a hasty retreat, but it doesn’t make you any less guilty about trying to skirt around the topic every chance you get. Mina’s always had your back during these past two weeks. Though you never told her why you’re avoiding your not-so-quote-unquote crush like the plague, she’d always come up with excuses and alibis to throw him off your trail.

Which, coincidentally, happens again just as you’re changing out of your uniform.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a sibling for Hani?” you hear Mina sigh from outside.

The person she’s talking to laughs softly. “No. I think you know why I’m here again.”

God. That fucking voice.

“Well, again, she’s not here,” your coworker bluffs. “And uh, word of advice, I get that you’re hot shit and all, but if you keep trying to bother my friend who, for some reason, doesn’t want anything to do with you, I might have to call the authorities.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second.

That’s a little too different from the typical ‘oh I’m sure she’ll come around one of these days’ spiel that Mina always feeds to Wonwoo every time he visits. Sure, you’re not yet ready to face him yet after everything that’s happened, but it’s not like you want him thrown in jail—

“Uh, right. I get it,” he says awkwardly, clearing his throat in the process. “It’s just that she hasn’t spoken to me in days and I’m a little worried—”

“That’s clearly a sign for you to back off, buddy.” You can almost see Mina with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been keeping myself from saying anything about it, but I’ve always found it strange how often you visit a goddamn animal shelter. And now that she’s clearly avoiding you, you’re still trying to corner her? Are you a stalker or something?”

Fuck. This isn’t how the conversation is supposed to go!

Mina’s job is to just politely drive Wonwoo away so you can slip out of the building without having to talk to him. But your coworker must’ve misinterpreted your persistent reluctance to meet him as genuine fear and…while you’re glad you have a friend who looks out for you like that, she’s going about all of this the wrong way!

Wonwoo doesn’t speak for a long time and your heart squeezes at the notion that he’s been called all those harsh words when all he wanted to do was talk to you. You didn’t even give him any reasons as to why you suddenly decided to cut him off. But instead of marching out there to face him and clear the air yourself…

You stay hidden in the break room like a fucking coward.

“I understand why you’d assume that, but I don’t have any ill intentions—”

“That's exactly what a guy with ill intentions would say,” Mina scoffs. “Do both of us a favor and just leave, yeah? And stop trying to contact her when she obviously wants nothing to do with you anymore.”

The silence hangs thick from outside and despite being in the break room, you swear you can almost choke on it yourself.

You’re not sure what expression Wonwoo is wearing. Actually, you don’t even know him well enough to know those kinds of things. The most you’ve seen of his face was during that quiet night you spent together two weeks ago and you’ve severed contact with him all because of something that he probably could have explained if only you gave him the chance to.

“Okay,” he whispers so softly, you almost don’t catch it. “Thanks for your time.”

Fortunately, Mina doesn’t try to add any more fuel to the fire. All you hear is the sound of retreating footsteps and the sound of the front door clicking shut.

It’s only when your coworker pokes her head inside the break room that you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

“He’s gone now,” she murmurs with a comforting smile. “And if he doesn’t stop bothering you even after that, I’ll raise the complaint to the director himself. I’m sure he can pull some legal strings to keep that guy out of the area for good.”

You find it kind of ironic that a few minutes ago, Mina was teasing you about him and now things have escalated into restraining order territory. But you can’t really blame her for it.

Especially when you’ve done nothing to clear up the misunderstanding.

“Right. Thanks, Mina.” You manage a thin smile, fingers absentmindedly drifting to the black cat enamel you still pinned to your uniform’s chest pocket.

“I really appreciate it.”

Haewon 🪷 [10:30]: Unnie hiii

Haewon 🪷 [10:33]: Can you call me as soon as you read this? Xoxo

You get to check Haewon’s message three hours late because finally, finally you’ve managed to defend your thesis after innumerable sleepless nights and neverending changes to your manuscript draft. Your panelists and advisers had nothing but praises to sing about your work—even going as far as to promise that your paper will definitely be published in the next volume of the academic journal you’d been secretly hoping it’ll get selected for.

It’s still surreal that the only thing you’ve got left on your university to-do list is to attend the commencement rites scheduled in three weeks’ time. Four grueling years have really just gone by in a flash.

After enjoying one of your last lunch breaks in the quad with some old classmates who’ve also conquered the figurative beast that is their undergrad thesis, you excuse yourself for a while to give your little sister a ring. Haewon picks up on the second ring.

“About time you called,” she huffs. “I thought you were sleeping in the day again.”

You shake your head with a laugh despite the fact that she can’t see the gesture. “No more sleeping in the day for me ‘cause I’m graduating.”

Haewon gasps—loud enough to create static across the line. “Really? Oh my god. That’s good news then! Mom and dad were actually getting worried about you, you know? You’ve been throwing yourself into that stupid thesis of yours for a month now.”

It takes a while for you to formulate a response, something akin to guilt creeping into your heart at the prospect of worrying your parents sick. But then again, what’s done is done. You can catch up on the several hours of sleep and countless brain cells you’ve lost trying to make your final manuscript actually make sense.

“It’s all good now,” you reassure. “All you guys have to do now is fly over to Seoul for my graduation and I can pack my bags and go back to the countryside as soon as I can.”

You half-expect Haewon to laugh off your haste to travel back to your hometown and say something about how you’re better off in the city than this old dump.

But you’re met with silence instead.

“Um,” she starts nervously after a few moments. “I know most of the stuff that’s been stressing you out is gone now, but… Are you sure you’re okay?”

The question makes you swallow thickly. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Unnie, I’m your sister,” Haewon says a-matter-of-factly and you can almost picture her scowling at you. “We both know you’ve been acting really weird ever since the pre-recording. I couldn’t pester you about it ‘cause I had to go back home the next day. And I didn’t want to bother you while you were finishing up your thesis.

“So now that all those obstacles are out of the way, do you mind telling me what’s wrong?”

The sound of the other students milling around the quad rings in your ears as you process Haewon’s words. When you take a deep breath, the exhale is accompanied by defeated laughter.

You’re an idiot to think you could ever escape your little sister’s scrutiny.

“I know you’re going to give me shit if I say it’s nothing you should worry about—”

“You’re right,” she interjects. “I will give you shit.”

“—but it really is nothing you should worry about,” you continue anyway, toying with the hem of your sweater with a wistful sigh. “Long story short, it’s…boy problems. Boy problems that I’ve ignored long enough that they just went away all on their own.”

At the other line, Haewon makes a strangled noise as if that’s not the answer she was expecting. “Come again?”

“Yeah, Hae. Your big sister actually has boy problems,” you chortle. “Weird, right?”

“Yes and you didn’t even bother telling me about it at all?!” She crows angrily. “You have to give me the gist or I’m hanging up and booking the next flight to Seoul.”

For a moment, you hesitate and give yourself a moment to think about what you can and can’t tell Haewon over a phone call when she’s a whole plane ride away from you.

She absolutely cannot know that the boy in question is Wonwoo. You’ll probably spend more time trying to convince her that what you’re saying is true than avoiding a pity party. So instead, you tell her:

“Well, this boy and I had…something good going for us, I think. I like him, you know—really, really like him. But then one day, I found out that he’s been keeping this important thing about himself from me.” A sigh. “Like, I know some stuff is none of my business, but it’s so easy for him to let others know about that…that thing, yet somehow he never bothered to tell me. I couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t trust me enough.”

Surprisingly, Haewon lets out a hum of understanding. “Yeah, that’s kind of a dick move on his part. Did you confront him about it?”

You find yourself tongue-tied for a moment—a bit embarrassed to admit to your little sister that you chose the coward’s way out of this.

“Um, that’s the thing. I kind of ghosted him when I found out,” you tell her sheepishly. “I don’t think he knows the reason why I suddenly just dipped to this day. Haven’t spoken to him in…two months.”

“Uh-huh. So all this time, you’ve been burying your guilt in schoolwork. Is that it?”

The straightforward tone catches you off guard for a second. “That’s not—”

“Unnie,” Haewon calls out firmly, making you close your mouth. “Again, I’m your sister. I know things about you that others don’t—things that you don’t either, probably. And trust me when I say this, but you are not the confrontational type. Don’t worry though because it’s perfectly fine to avoid the things you don’t want to deal with. Especially if you’re dealing with a person that’s more trouble than they’re worth.

“But…you said that you really, really like him. Present tense.” She pauses briefly, as if letting you digest what she’s saying a little better. “If the circumstances were even slightly different, I would’ve cheered you on for ghosting someone who hasn’t been one hundred percent honest with you because, duh? Deserved. But from the way you’ve been coping with what happened, I can’t help but think that avoiding him like this isn’t what you wanted to do at all.”

Haewon’s words flow from the speaker and lance straight through your heart, and you start to wonder when she started sounding so reliable. You’re used to looking out for her even with the distance separating you. But ironically, it’s in your last year of college that your sister effortlessly dissected the dilemma that’s been plaguing you for weeks.

“Look, I think you’ll feel much better about all this if you just talk to him,” she continues when you don’t utter a word in response. “Not that I’m siding with some semi-lying jerk, but maybe he had his reasons for hiding…whatever he was hiding from you? If he gives you a bullshit excuse, then at least the ghosting will finally be justified, right?”

Her frankness makes you snort. “I guess.”

“Good. Now hang up and call him now.”

“...What?”

“You heard me.”

“Haewon, I can’t just call him out of nowhere after ignoring him for so long.”

“Pfft. Of course you can! If he doesn’t answer, then that still justifies the ghosting because he obviously doesn’t want you enough. Men like that don’t deserve you, unnie.”

“...Fine. Point taken.”

You end the call after Haewon makes you swear to keep her posted about the situation and your love life in general from now on. Sighing, you reluctantly scroll through your messaging app—finding a conversation that’s long been buried by more recent texts from other people after he sent his final messages to you.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:35]: It’s been three weeks since you last replied. Hope you’re doing okay.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:36]: Mina told me that you wanted nothing to do with me anymore but I really don’t understand why because…aren’t we good? Didn’t we have something back there? Or was I just reading you wrong the whole time?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [02:55]: Either way, she was right about one thing at least. I’ve probably made you uncomfortable with my texts. Kind of pathetic now that I think about it.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [03:01]: I’m sorry for constantly bothering you like this. It’s just that…I want to know what went wrong.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [03:05]: It’s getting harder for me to sleep at night knowing I fucked up something that could’ve been the start of something nice. I was already planning our first date, you know?

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [03:10]: Fuck. Now it just sounds like I’m gaslighting haha.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [03:17]: Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I don’t even know anymore.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [04:25]: What I do know is that I miss you. So much.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [10:05]: Uh. Sorry about all of that. I had a few drinks and…you know how it goes.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [10:12]: I’ll stop texting you for real now.

Woo 🐈‍⬛ [10:15]: I hope your studies go well. Thank you for being part of my life, no matter how short our time together was.

Fuck.

This is going to be much more difficult than you thought.

You don’t really blame yourself when it takes you a few days to decide whether or not you should call Wonwoo. The choice has been weighing on you like a cloud above your head and you had to decline several invites to go out from your friends because you simply cannot sit still, knowing that you have to do something about…whatever’s going on with the two of you.

Part of you insists on just leaving it as it is. Wonwoo is an idol that’s almost a decade into his career and you’re much too certain that he’s met enough people in his life to deem the loss of your company specifically a big deal. He has his members, his fans, and anything else a person could ever want.

So what if some college senior he doesn’t even know that well just ghosted him out of nowhere?

But even with that logic, you still end up holding your breath before pressing the call button one Tuesday afternoon.

There are a total of five attempts made and all five lead you straight to voicemail—each instance making your heart grow heavier and heavier once the prerecorded message comes to an end. You secretly fear that he must’ve blocked your number altogether. Why wouldn’t he after you’ve wasted his time as much as you did?

Others would’ve considered this as a sign to just give up. The universe is basically telling you that the brief time you shared together would yield nothing more. Wonwoo has his own career to worry about and as do you, now that you’re finally going to be ejected from university and into the life of an unemployed fresh grad. You’re better off not chasing after the things you’ve purposely run away from in the first place.

So why on earth are you looking up the exact address of his company building, making the long commute for the slim chance of running into him against all odds?

The security around the area might look lax but you can spot the assortment of security guards stationed both inside and outside of the company building pretty easily. Given the nature of the business they’re running, it would make sense that they’d put up all possible countermeasures against people who might try to inconvenience their artists in any way.

Not wanting to be branded as a crazed fan, you decide to keep your distance—purposely lingering outside the shopping center just across the street as you brainstorm how exactly you’re going to meet up with Wonwoo.

But as the minutes ticked past, your sense of reason is starting to overpower your desire to clear things up with him. For one, you don’t even know what his schedule looks like. How can you be so sure that he’ll even be there today? Worse, would Wonwoo even want to speak with you after everything? Despite having kept the fact that he’s an idol a secret to you all this time, he has all the right to refuse speaking with you when you never even gave him a chance to explain himself.

The noise of the busy district fades in the background as your eyes fall to Wonwoo’s final text message. You haven’t even thought of texting him since you considered reaching out. But with the fact that your earlier phone calls didn’t go through, you don’t think you can bear seeing your apologetic messages get denied in the very real chance that he’s blacklisted your number altogether.

God. You feel so pathetic.

“Hey, it’s you!”

You immediately blanche at the feeling of someone placing a hand on your shoulder—turning around to see who it is only to be met with the sight of two familiar faces.

“Oh,” you voice out somewhat dumbly. “Miss…Sohee? And Vern?”

The couple who adopted a cat from the shelter flashes you pretty smiles, the two of them carrying grocery bags in each arm. Sohee perks up when you recognize them. “Yup! I didn’t expect to see the nice shelter lady around these parts. What brings you here?”

“Just…stuff.” The laugh you spare them is a little too forced, but if they notice, they don’t comment on it. “How about you guys? How has Milana been?”

“Feels right at home in either of our apartments,” Vern chuckles. “You were right about her having high standards. We always end up doing our grocery shopping here instead of the supermarket near my place ‘cause Lana refuses to eat any of the cheap cat food being sold there.”

Sohee sighs in agreement. “Mhmm. You wouldn’t even think she was a rescue with how high maintenance she is, but we’re idiots that dote on her all the time. It’s just a good thing we work right across the street from here.”

Feeling endeared with how much they spoil their new child aside, the latter part of Sohee’s statement catches your attention for a moment. “Sorry? You work right across the street?”

The moment the words leave your lips, the charming smiles on their faces falter before the couple before you share a look. A brief moment of telepathic communication must’ve occurred between the both of them, as if wordlessly discussing whether they should respond, but in the end Sohee relents.

“Yeah. Vern and I work at HYBE,” she chuckles. “I’m actually surprised you don’t recognize him, since he’s—”

“A very loyal employee that the nice shelter lady can’t possibly recognize,” Vern interjects with a cough into his fist and the immediate reaction makes it easier to put two and two together.

He’s an idol. One hundred percent an idol.

Deciding to play along, you offer up a nod in understanding. “I see. Guess you guys are heading back for the day?”

“Yep. We had one of the other members—uh, I mean, one of our friends look after Milana while we had our grocery run,” Vern explains not-so-smoothly.

“As much as we’d like to stay and chat for a while longer, our baby kind of needs us,” Sohee tells you with an apologetic look. “I hope things at the shelter are running smoothly! We’ve seen how dedicated you guys are to taking care of those poor animals.”

You nod. “Of course. I’ll see you guys around?”

“Anytime!”

You and the beautiful couple exchange quaint bows in farewell before the two of them start walking away. But with each footstep that they take further and further away from you, the itch to run after them and ask what you’ve been dying to when they said they both worked at HYBE grows all the more unbearable.

Cut it out, you mentally hiss at yourself. You can’t bother other people about your issues with Wonwoo. That’s just a whole new low.

You should’ve just gone the opposite direction when the conversation ended. You should’ve just directed yourself to the nearest bus stop back to your apartment—buried all of this in the past where it belongs.

But it’s as if your body has a mind of its own. The next thing you know, you’re sprinting towards Sohee and Vern before they could cross the next intersection—surprising the couple with your sudden re-entry.

“Did you need something?” Sohee asks, accommodating and confused all at once.

Now or never.

“Yes, actually,” you dole out breathlessly, pursing your lips before adding:

“Do you guys know where Wonwoo is?”

Out of all the ways you thought this day could turn out, you never would’ve imagined being in the backseat of one of HYBE’s music producers—breezing through the city’s freeway as she interrogates you about just how exactly you know Jeon Wonwoo.

“So you’re the reason he’s being so off lately,” Sohee chuckles before switching lanes. “Wonwoo’s always been the quiet type, but sometimes you can just tell when there’s a lot on his mind. Isn’t that right, Vernon?”

Vernon, who you come to realize is part of the same group as Wonwoo, glances at you from the rearview mirror with a shake of his head. “I can vouch. Wonwoo-hyung’s been working on sharing stuff with us, but of course there’s still some things he’d like to keep to himself.”

I also don’t want to be closed off from others anymore. Back then, I mostly just kept everything to myself—bottling it all up until it was just unbearable.

Great. Now you feel twice as horrible.

“Honestly, I was kind of scared that you guys would think I’m a sasaeng,” you admit with a dry laugh before settling further into the car’s plush upholstery.

“While we have no reason not to think that with all the weirdos popping up these days,” Sohee starts before her lips curve into a smile, “it just so happens that Soonyoung also can’t keep his mouth shut about Wonwoo’s little crush.”

That makes your face heat up a little. “Soonyoung like…Wonwoo’s friend?”

“You might know him better as Hoshi,” Vernon explains.

Hoshi, Hoshi, Hoshi…

You snap your fingers once you figure it out. “Yeah. He’s my sister’s bias wrecker.”

“Now we learn that your sister is a fan, too? Huh. Small world.”

“Anyway,” Sohee interjects. “The reason why we believed your explanation was because Soonyoung described Wonwoo’s crush as an animal lover. He’s not so much of a blabbermouth that he gave us more details aside from that, but Vernon here told me about how Wonwoo always comes late to their unit meetings because he keeps making all these detours first.”

Vernon stifles a laugh. “I actually found out about the shelter because Coups-hyung insisted that we follow him around to figure out where he’s been going. It didn’t occur to me at the time that his animal lover crush and the nice shelter lady could be the same person.”

At this point, you can honestly get used to being called a nice shelter lady. But that aside, you can’t help but flush even further at all the things being revealed to you right now.

It’s…a lot to unpack.

First, Wonwoo has a crush on you? A complete nobody? Then again, from how often he’s been seeking you out before things went to shit, you could infer that he’s at least a little bit interested from how he kept going out of his way to see you. He’s even late to meetings because of his little visits. This so-called crush was quite obvious, you just don’t like how flustered hearing it out loud makes you feel.

“But then Wonwoo-hyung just started showing up on time to our meetings during our comeback promotions,” Vernon continues. “We were glad we didn’t have to keep waiting for him to start, but…we also noticed that he’s been kind of down lately. The first time it happened, I assumed it was just an off day for him, though now that we met you like this, that’s definitely not the case.”

Wonwoo’s been feeling down? Because of you?

If the roles were reversed, you can say that you’d feel the same if he just stopped talking to you when you thought you were already growing closer. It doesn’t help that the last time you were together, you shared far too many kisses that mere friends should indulge each other with.

You sigh, leaning your head against the headrest.

You’re such an idiot. A selfish, inconsiderate—

“Well, here we are.”

When the car pulls over, you don’t even realize that Sohee already left the freeway and drove into one of the roads overlooking the Han River. You can barely keep yourself from choking on your own breath when you spot a very familiar motorcycle parked in front of the vehicle. It doesn’t help that Sohee pulled over a certain spot underneath the elevated highway that you’re very much certain you’ve already been to once before.

“Hyung doesn’t know that we know about this place. He never brings anyone else here,” Vernon informs you with a small smile. “From the look on your face, we can assume that he’s already brought you here though, right?”

You can’t even deny it at this point. “Yeah…”

Sohee moves to unlock the doors before glancing behind the driver’s seat with an encouraging look. “Well, how about you clear things upso we can start going on double dates and stuff.”

“Sohee,” her boyfriend groans.

“What? I think it’d be a great idea.” She pouts. “We can even rope Nari and Mingyu into tagging along. Then it’ll be a triple date.”

“What she means to say is,” Vernon cuts in before Sohee can get another word out. “No pressure. You go sort out the stuff you need to with Wonwoo-hyung. I’m sure the two of you can make the best decision for each other once you get to talk properly.”

The best decision, huh…

Your new friends watch you with wordless encouragement as you open the door to your left, letting out a long-winded breath so you wouldn’t be too psyched out by the circumstances. You thank them both with a subtle nod as you gather enough courage to see the person you’ve been longing to meet again for a while now.

Now or never, you repeat to yourself before finally stepping out of the car.

Wonwoo’s thinking spot looks much different in the day than it does at night.

You had a pretty hard time navigating the short terrain from the road to the old, weathered steps of the watchtower because of the lack of proper illumination. If it weren’t for Wonwoo guiding you the entire time, you would’ve face planted into the pebbled pathway on the first few steps.

The sun is already setting when you make it to your destination—red orange rays splintering through the high rise buildings on the other side of the river bank. It’s not difficult to spot Wonwoo’s tall figure leaning across the rusty railing of the watchtower, a gentle smile gracing his handsome face as he plays with the growing kitten in his arms.

He doesn’t notice you at the foot of the concrete steps right away, too engrossed with playing with Hani to take in the rest of his surroundings. But the longer you watch them from afar, the more your chest twists with guilt.

All this time, you never really thought about how Wonwoo must’ve been faring since you ghosted him. You merely assumed that he’d still be living his best life despite what happened between the two of you. The thought that he’ll still be better off without you in his life spurred you on to solely focus on the things you’ve got going on your end. You didn’t consider just how your actions would affect him. Not even once.

But now, despite having such an adorable cat to keep him company, it isn’t hard to tell that he’s not in the most stellar of moods.

It’s not like you’ve seen Wonwoo smile a lot when you still knew him as Woo—no thanks to his silly little face masks. But you always liked how his eyes crinkled behind his glasses whenever you said something he finds funny or amusing. The easygoing body language he always seemed to have around you.

There’s none of that now.

“Wonwoo.”

He visibly stiffens at the sound of someone calling his name. Cautiously, Wonwoo tucks Hani closer to his chest—glancing around for anyone who could have infiltrated his safe haven.

When his eyes land on you, you can almost hear his breath hitch from where you’re standing.

Seeing no indication that he doesn’t want you here, you swallow the lump in your throat before climbing up the stairs. Each step you take is familiar yet foreign at the same time and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears the closer you get to him. The startled expression on Wonwoo’s face doesn’t falter even when you’re mere feet in front of him on top of the watchtower—like he’s having a hard time grasping your existence.

Hani, however, doesn’t seem all that fazed. The black kitten mewls in delight at the sight of you, squirming around in Wonwoo’s arms, which seems to snap her owner out of his stupor.

His throat bobs. “You know my name.”

You laugh softly. “It isn’t hard to figure it out when you’re as famous as you are.”

Silence permeates the air by the riverside as Wonwoo processes the words you just told him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, hands absentmindedly running across Hani’s fur.

“So that’s why,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. “I should’ve known…”

You mirror the gesture somewhat vigorously, your throat closing up from all the things you want to say. He doesn’t deserve to be left hanging all because of that stupid reason alone. He doesn’t deserve those hurtful words from Mina.

Most of all, he doesn’t deserve to feel this shitty all because you were too much of a coward to communicate with him.

“I’m sorry.”

He startles at your apology—obviously not expecting that to be the first thing you say to him after two months of radio silence. “W-Why are you sorry? I should be—”

“It was unfair of me to just ghost you like that when you haven’t explained yourself,” you murmur, tucking your hands behind your back as you stare down at your shoes in shame. “I’m sure you had your reasons for not telling me right away, but… I selfishly thought you didn’t trust me enough to let me know.”

“No,” he quickly clarifies. “It’s not like that at all. I trust you—so much.”

“I know,” you sigh. “It took me a while, but I realized that along the way. The last time we were here, you entrusted me with the story of how you coped with losing someone. You entrusted me with your thoughts, your feelings, your secrets. And I took all that for granted because you didn’t tell me you were an idol.”

Wonwoo falls silent for only a moment as if considering what words to say next. Hani seems to sense his distress, cuddling up to his chest in an attempt to soothe him. He notices what she’s doing right away and Wonwoo scratches behind her ears with a breathless chuckle.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t plan on hiding it forever. I knew you would find out eventually—just not as soon as you did,” he murmurs. “It was also unfair of me to take advantage of the fact that you didn’t know me as Wonwoo. But…I wanted to keep my career out of the equation first because it’s nice being treated like a normal person. You never put me on a pedestal or looked at me like I was some sort of god.

“You treated me like I was human.”

This time, you’re the one who’s at a loss for words.

Having Haewon as a sister, you have this preconceived notion about idols where they have the world in the palm of their hands. You thought for the longest time that all they had to do was go up the stage to sing and dance and look beautiful and the rest will follow.

Hearing Wonwoo tell you this easily subverted all those assumptions.

You’ve never been good at telling people the things they need to hear. That’s Haewon’s area of expertise, not yours. So instead of offering up any words of comfort, you quickly close the distance that’s been keeping you apart to throw your arms around his broad shoulders.

Wonwoo freezes up when you pull him into a hug and he loathes the fact that he can’t even reciprocate it given that he has his hands full. It’s kind of adorable how careful you’re being to make sure you don’t accidentally squish Hani between your bodies.

Suddenly, all that heaviness that’s been lingering in his heart for weeks dissipates in a flash. Wonwoo relishes in the feeling of your warmth seeping into his, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds back his emotions.

“Can we start over again?” you murmur. “We still haven’t had our first date, right?”

When you feel the sound of his laughter rumbling in his chest, you can’t help the goosebumps that rise across your skin. “Wow. I didn’t expect you to forgive me that fast.”

Pulling away for a moment, you shoot him a dirty look. “Jeon Wonwoo, are you saying I’m easy?”

“Not at all.” Wonwoo grins and you can barely look at him without recoiling at how good he looks.

His hair has grown much longer than you remember and seeing the smile that oh-so easily hooked you in deeper than you already were, you already know that you can’t ever hope to put up a fight.

Not when he’s so love-of-your-life-shaped.

“Since we’re at the point of catching up, I’m actually graduating in three weeks.”

Wonwoo sharply turns to look at you with a scowl as he puts Hani in a little cat backpack he got for her. “Three weeks? Shit… I think we’re going to have a concert at that time.”

You wave away his concern with a smile. “I didn’t mean I was expecting you to show up at the venue, doofus. Can’t have any weird rumors about you going around by attending my graduation.”

“Rumors about what?” he challenges.

“You know.”

“I actually don’t.”

“We just made up ten minutes ago, Do you really want me to bail on you again?”

“Hey, I just thought that if you ever want to spark some dating rumors, we can make it happen any time.”

“We’re not even dating!”

“Not yet.”

“What?”

“It’s just like you said—I still owe you that first date, don’t I?”

“...Have I told you that you’re insufferable?”

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t start calling me that when I kept visiting the shelter too often to be considered normal.”

“That reminds me, why were you visiting the shelter so much?”

When Wonwoo hands you Hani’s cat backpack, you take it as an invitation to hitch a ride on his motorcycle. After all, it would be uncomfortable to have it sitting between the two of you. However, he takes you completely by surprise by answering you with:

“I like you. That’s why.”

It takes you about five whole seconds to recover from what he just said but it’s five seconds too late because Wonwoo is already chuckling to himself as if he deserves to have the last laugh.

“You’re lucky that I like you too,” you mumble as you carefully hop on his ride—sitting comfortably behind him while making sure Hani is strapped securely behind you. “If I didn’t, Mina would’ve made our boss file a restraining order against you.”

Wonwoo hands you a spare helmet before putting on his own, laughing again as he clicks the lock in place. “Dating rumors and stalking rumors? Being with you sounds like such a big hassle now.”

“Are we going on that first date or not?!”

Two months after graduating and four weeks into officially dating Jeon Wonwoo, you find out the real reason he was taking so damn long to make up his mind about adopting Hani.

The landlord doesn’t prohibit pets—he loves them, actually.

His dog, Seol, is a little shy, but she gets along with Hani just fine.

But then his old roommate, Mingyu, dropped by to visit Wonwoo’s apartment one day, sneezing all over the place like it’s pollen season. Except the pollen in question is cat fur and it just so happens that he didn’t bring any of his allergy meds for the trip.

“As much as I want to cuddle on the couch catching up on the Marvel Cinematic Universe with you guys, I gotta go,” Mingyu explains while blowing his nose into a tissue. “I’ll die if I spend even a second longer here.”

Wonwoo throws a piece of popcorn at him. “Didn’t you say that you’re going on a date with Nari?”

“Oh. That, too.”

“If she finds out that you just remembered as an afterthought, she’s going to kill you,” you tease while shoving a handful of your movie snacks into your mouth. “At least, that’s what I’d do if Wonwoo did the same thing.”

“Oh, she will. That’s why neither of you are going to tattle on me,” the beefy idol huffs before tossing the soiled tissue in the trash bin. “Anyway, Wonwoo-hyung, you should totally keep in touch with this pet sitter that Seungcheol-hyung discovered recently. A bunch of other artists leave their pets with her whenever they have tight schedules.”

Your boyfriend merely looks at him with an unimpressed look. “Are you saying that just so I can leave Hani there when you come over to play video games with me?”

“Yes.”

Mingyu leaves shortly after receiving a phone call from his girlfriend, Nari, who sounded nothing short of furious when she asked where on earth he is and why he’s late for their date again. Wonwoo tells you that his best friend has a thing for pissing off Nari just so he has an excuse to do grand gestures for her without his girlfriend complaining about it. You tell him that he should start doing the same too.

“By the way, you’re flying back to Jeju for a while, right?” Wonwoo asks once the credits start rolling in the film playing on his TV—the loose grip he has around your waist tightening ever-so slightly.

You shift your weight on the couch to cuddle closer to him. “Yeah. I haven’t seen my parents and Haewon since I graduated. Plus, I don’t have to start working until next month, so I can afford a last-minute getaway.”

He nods. “I still think it’s funny you haven’t told your sister about me. Are you ashamed of me or something?”

“Quit saying weird stuff, Jeon Wonwoo,” you huff before hitting him in the chest. Damn those firm pecs. “I just want to see the look on her face when she finds out I’m dating the person she ships with Mingyu for fun.”

“And I still can’t believe my future sister-in-law is a Gyuldaengie.”

You try not to think about how he said Haewon is his future in-law. You really do.

Once the last of the end credits pans on-screen, the bonus scene at the end of every Marvel movie starts playing and you can’t help but snort when Eddy gets snapped back to his own universe before he can even pay off his tab to the bartender. Just when you’re about to ask Wonwoo if he wants to watch the next movie, you realize he’s had his eyes on you the entire time.

“What?” you laugh.

“Nothing,” he whispers. “I just thought you were really pretty.”

“Wonwoo, you tell me that every thirty minutes. Don’t you get tired of it?”

You yelp when he abruptly pulls you onto his lap, steadying you by the hips so you wouldn’t accidentally topple to the floor. He flashes you a lazy grin as he traces circles along the curve of your thighs and you can barely suppress a groan when you look down at him.

He might look like some otherworldly creature every time he kills it on stage, but you love this Wonwoo just the same—dressed down with his glasses sitting all crooked on the bridge of his nose, hair falling across his eyes.

“Never,” he says simply.

There’s something oddly sensual about the way he says it and at that moment, you catch on to the half-lidded look in his eyes. You gulp, gaze instinctively wandering around his apartment to look for Hani and Seol, who you spot dozing next to each other in the kitchen.

Now that you’re sure none of the kids are watching, you let out a defeated sigh before lacing your arms around his neck and leaning down to kiss him.

Wonwoo is a guy you caved and kissed before the first date, so it’s pretty natural for the two of you to fall into this degree of intimacy every now and again. His effect on you is especially lethal whenever you spend several days apart because of the nature of his career.

But even if you’re yet to cross that line with your boyfriend, the possibility of it finally coming into fruition becomes more and more real every time his hot tongue slides against yours.

“Won…woo—” you gasp when you feel his cold fingers sneak up your shirt, hands firmly grabbing your waist to keep you in place.

Your boyfriend chuckles and the low vibrations that come from his chest shoot straight to your core. “I know tonight was supposed to be movie night, but you’re making it really hard to keep my hands off of you.”

“That’s what you say all the time,” you groan as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. Fuck. “Always blaming me for your lack of self-control.”

“I can’t help it when you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips before tugging you back down for another heated kiss.

You’ve fooled around with Wonwoo a handful of times and during said times, you’ve gotten an idea of how…into it he gets when pleasuring you. It’s almost as if he delights in seeing you come undone for him even if it’s just with his mouth and fingers.

It’s during those moments that you can’t help but imagine how he would be once the two of you finally take things all the way. But for all your teasing about how he has questionable self-control, Wonwoo has done nothing but respect the boundaries you’ve clearly set when you started dating.

“Fuck,” he rasps when he pulls away briefly, resting his head against the cushions of the sofa as he closes his eyes. “Baby, we’ve gotta stop or else I might just cave and fuck you.”

You simper. “You’re the one who started this.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m putting a stop to it before I end up doing something you don’t like!”

You shift around on his lap for a moment and Wonwoo is convinced that you’ll give him some reprieve and get off of him before he loses his mind. But then he realizes you’re grinding your hips against the hard-on he’s sporting in his sweats.

Chuckling to yourself, you pull him by the front of his shirt—pressing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth before leaning into his ear to whisper:

“What if I want you to fuck me, Woo?”

The deep growl that resonates in his throat sounds so fucking hot, you can feel a gush of slick surge between your thighs. He doesn’t say a word—merely opting to keep his hard stare on yours as he wraps your legs around his waist. You immediately get the gist and hold on tight to him as he carries you out of the living room and into his bedroom.

“I’m giving you a chance to back out again, sweetheart,” he sighs as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Think you can handle it when I get serious about fucking you until you can’t walk?”

The mental image he conjures in your head has you mewling in his arms, prompting you to pepper his neck with sloppy kisses as he gropes your ass like it’s always belonged to him.

“Think you can actually make good on that though?” you challenge with a soft chuckle, grazing your teeth just below his collarbone. You won’t bite—knowing that his stylists will give him hell for it if he shows up to work with hickeys. “We both know you like to talk big sometimes.”

Wonwoo breathes out a condescending chuckle before gently easing you on top of the mattress. You didn’t think it was possible, but you swear you get even wetter when he takes off his glasses and licks his lips at the sight of you.

“Oh, baby, you’re in for a fucking ride.”

That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed against Wonwoo’s insanely sculpted chest—both your mouth and pussy stuffed with his thick fingers as he works you open enough to take his cock. He slides those thick digits in and out of your wet channel, making sure you get used to the stretch all while he muffles your noises at the same time.

Normally, he likes hearing you get whiney and desperate for him, but there’s a charm to seeing you slobber all over his fingers as you clench up around the ones buried in your pussy.

“Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight for me,” he whispers huskily in your ear and the sound of his rough voice layered with the lewd squelch of your cunt makes your insides tingle. “Been thinking about having this pretty pussy all to myself for a while now. You gonna let me have it now, baby? Let me wreck you on my cock?”

Wonwoo easily has the hottest voice you’ve ever heard in your entire life. While you often think about how you can fall asleep happily just listening to him talk about anything under the sun, it’s an entirely different story when he’s spouting all this filth into your ear as he prepares you for an overdue dicking down.

“Yes, please—” You sob pathetically when he takes his fingers out of your mouth, curling your arm behind you so you can blindly grab his hair and mend your lips into a messy kiss. “Wonwoo, I need you so bad.”

“Desperate little thing,” your boyfriend chuckles before withdrawing his fingers from your needy hole. The loss has you writhing in his lap, one hand shooting out to keep him where you want him but Wonwoo coos into your ear as if to pacify you. “Shhh, baby, I need you to come first before I fuck you. You’ll be good for me and let me make you come, right?”

Shit. Who are you to refuse when he propositions you like that?

“I need an answer, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good,” you gasp almost immediately as your boyfriend starts parting your pussy lips with the hand that was muffling your cute noises. “I’ll be so good for you, please just—”

“Just what, baby?” Wonwoo teases and you nearly cry.

“M-Make me come on your fingers…”

He hums, slick fingers gliding along your slit. “Not if you don’t say—”

“Please,” you whimper before grinding your pussy against his hand. “Wonwoo, I wanna come. Wanna come so bad. Want you to stuff me full of your cock. Want you to—”

It’s almost like he tapped in on every single nerve ending in your body when his dexterous fingers find your clit—rubbing the puffy bud in fast, tight circles as you start twitching in his arms. Wonwoo lets out another evil laugh as he forcibly pries your legs apart. The firmness of his grip leaves you no choice but to thrash around as he builds your orgasm from the ground up, trailing wet kisses along the column of your throat as he teases an orgasm out of you with the sound of his voice coupled with his sinful ministrations.

“So wet and ready for me. Have you thought about taking me inside this sweet little pussy? Do you think you can even fit me when you’re this tight?” he breathes into your ear and you don’t even have the dignity to bite down your moans anymore. “You’re so close, sweetheart. Let yourself go and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll blow your pretty back out over and over until you’re sick of me.”

Never, you want to tell him. I’ll never get sick of you, stupid Wonwoo.

Funnily enough, that silent jab at him is quickly followed by a mind-numbing release. It washes over you like a storm surging into a calm shore—overloading every cell in your body with pleasure until the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken rendition of your lover’s name.

Wonwoo talks you through your high because he knows you’ve got a thing for his voice. Knows just how much tighter you get when he whispers filthy words with a sultry sweet tone.

And when he growls, “Good fucking girl,” into your ear, you’re convinced he just made you come again while still riding the waves of your first orgasm.

For all his vigor, Wonwoo is surprisingly patient with you as you recover from what he just put you through. He plants brief kisses all over your neck and face until your breathing finally evens out and you stop seeing stars in the seams of your vision. Your boyfriend offers up a gentle smile when you finally come to—leaning in to kiss your nose.

“You still want more?” he whispers, exercising enough restraint to be revered despite the fact that you can feel his hard, leaking cock pressed against the small of your back.

A soft, somewhat weak laugh makes its way past your lips as you turn around to peck his lips. Wonwoo smiles against your mouth and you can’t help but do the same.

Then, you issue another challenge.

“Do your worst.”

You’re grateful now more than ever that Wonwoo is the easiest person to talk to in the entire world. You can practically count the things that he wouldn’t want to discuss with you on one hand alone.

In other words, you’ve already had the necessary conversations about sex, should you ever have it with him in the future (A.K.A., right now). Wonwoo knows you’ve been on birth control ever since you moved to Seoul all those years ago. He knows that you get yourself tested at least once every month if you can and assures you that he does the same.

On the other hand, you’re well aware that your boyfriend has a thing for coming inside, and now that you’ve gone this far with him, you’ll gladly let Wonwoo make his fantasies a reality.

He only agreed to it once you promised to tell him whenever you feel like he’s going too far or if he’s doing something you don’t like. You swear you would’ve married him on the spot, if it weren’t for that tiny voice in your head that suspiciously sounds like Haewon telling you off for losing it over a man who’s doing the bare minimum.

With those measures in place, you feel safe enough to let Wonwoo press your face down onto the mattress as his free hand grips your ass—fucking into your tight cunt as he tries (and fails) to keep himself from being too rough with you.

He really, really wanted to be gentle, considering it’s your first time to lie together like this. But your unfiltered reactions do nothing but test both his patience and self-control in more ways than one. All his plans on making love to you in good old missionary have been tossed out of the window now that you’ve given him the green light to actually fuck you until you can’t walk.

“Wonwoo,” you moan, fists curling into the sheets as he cants his hips deeper and deeper—the head of his cock hitting spots your own fingers could never hope to reach. “S-So fucking good…”

“Yeah?” he breathes raspily before leaning down to press his chest against your back, wanting to engulf you in the heat of his body until it’s all you’ll ever know. “My pretty baby loves my cock that much? You want me to fuck you all the time now?”

“Uh huh.” You nod before letting out a high pitched keen when he amps up the speed of his thrusts—slamming his hips harder against your ass.

Wonwoo thinks he could really get used to the sight of your pretty pussy sucking him in like this. You’re so greedy—clamping down on him as tightly as you do as you moan his name like it’s the only word in your vocabulary. But how could you not when each vein that runs along the underside of his perfect cock drags so deliciously across your velvet walls? When his balls—hot and heavy and full of enough cum to fill you to the brim—keep clapping against your pussy with each powerful thrust?

It’s the first time that you got to get a taste of what your boyfriend is capable of in bed and you can only imagine every instance that will follow once all’s said and done.

When he feels your walls start to spasm around his length every now and again, Wonwoo presses a sloppy kiss across the cut of your jaw—a hand sliding between your thighs so he can find that little bundle of nerves that made you fall apart only several minutes ago. Your reaction is immediate—crying and squirming below him even when you’re helpless against his massive frame pressing you down into the bed.

“I’m so close, baby,” he groans into your ear, holding out for as long as he can just so he can feel the sensation of you coming around his cock. “You’re almost there, too, aren’t you? My good girl—taking my dick like it’s always been yours. Can you come with me? You can do that for me, right, sweetheart?”

The fondness in his voice strings you even further apart and you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure and delirium as Wonwoo continues his assault on your poor, abused clit. He knows just the right amount of pressure to use and manages to time his thrusts with each delicious pass on that oversensitive bud.

It’s all over before you know it.

You let out a long-winded moan that will definitely earn him a couple of noise complaints from the neighbors but Wonwoo doesn’t have it in him to fucking care at the moment. Not when your walls are clamping down so tightly around his cock—making each stroke all the more tantalizing as your pussy milks him for everything he’s got to give you.

You mindlessly babble a string of I love yous against the sheets, a trail of drool dripping onto the mattress as Wonwoo fucks into you with heightened ferocity. He catches every single word you say and he tilts your head to the side so he can kiss you. Your boyfriend forces your tongue into a dance with his own until his hips stutter and stop—white hot emission surging into your cunt in thick spurts that he hopes would stay inside you for days if he can help himself.

You’re a mess—face painted with a fucked out expression as your pussy leaks with a mixture of yours and Wonwoo’s cum. The mere sight of it is almost enough to make him hard again, but he tells himself that he can take you up on marathon sex next time.

For now, he just wants to clean you up and tuck you back into bed.

“Woo?”

He turns to face you with a questioning look. Your boyfriend just finished with your mandatory aftercare session and is in the middle of making the bed comfortable enough for some post-sex cuddles. “Hmm?”

“You’re still free next week right?” you ask, drawing silly shapes on his chest with your finger once he finally lays down next to you.

“Yeah. I don’t have any major schedules until…” He pauses before conjuring up an imaginary calendar in his mind. “Next month. Why?”

Despite all the debauchery you’ve subjected each other to in a single night, your face still flushes as you consider what you’re about to ask him. Wonwoo smiles at that. Cute.

“How do you feel about flying to Jeju with me so I can introduce you to my family?” you ask shyly, gulping with a nervous laugh. “I totally get it if your management won’t allow it though. It’s hard to keep the media off your back when you’re so famous and—”

He doesn’t do this often, but Wonwoo shuts you up with a firm kiss.

“What are you talking about?” he murmurs, caressing your face tenderly. “Of course I want to meet them.”

When your eyes light up at his confirmation, Wonwoo swears that he couldn’t be more in love.

Me [11:23]: hae, i’ve got good news~

Haewon 🪷 [11:24]: You’re bringing Mingyu with you to Jeju so we can get married?

Me [11:26]: very funny

Me [11:26]: not to spoil your delusions or anything but i’m bringing my boyfriend

Haewon 🪷 [11:30]: Omg…

Haewon 🪷 [11:30]: Rudeness aside, is it the same guy from before?

Me [11:31]: yep

Haewon 🪷 [11:32]: AAAAAAAAA

Haewon 🪷 [11:32]: I can’t wait to meet him!

Haewon 🪷 [11:34]: He better be treating you right or I’ll drop kick him off Jusangjeollidae

Me [11:40]: you’ve already met him though~

Haewon 🪷 [11:41]: ?

Haewon 🪷 [11:45]: Unnie, what do you mean…

Haewon 🪷 [12:32]: Hey!!!!

⟢ end notes: if you've made it til the end, congrats! this is the last of the doting on you! series (for now~) and i really hope you enjoyed reading through it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! special thanks to all the friends that read through this for me T T i wouldn't have done it without any of you ueueue and to everyone that has been patiently waiting for me to put up the last installment for the series, thank you for waiting <3 i hope you guys continue to support me with my future work as well!

this is part of the doting on you! series.

#seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #svthub #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo #lovelyhan #full length fic 📚

8K notes · View notes

silencesscreams · 10 months

Text

i can see you

james potter x best friends sister!reader (smut)

summary: james develops a strange feeling for sirius’ sister (reader) when she comes to london once her job required her to move. he first off thought she was a shitty person, an awful one with an awfully pretty face. so when sirius offers for her to stay in their loft until she finds an apartment, he decides he’s going to make her want to get out of there as fast as possible, until he wants her to stay more than anything in this whole world.

a/n: omg im so sorry this took so long, i tried my best w this one. also, english isn’t my first language so sorry for any mistakes. inspired by i can see you - taylor swift

warnings: mdni. smut with plot, afab!reader, use of she/her pronouns in reference to reader, use of y/n (I AM SORRY), afab!reader, being shorter than james, muggle & modern day!au, chef!peter, ships included (dorlene, marylily, wolfstar), swearing, cuddling, mentions of alcohol and drinking, a lot of physical touch, kind of public??, kissing, praise, v soft dom!james, fingering, oral (m receiving), light choking, size kink??, penetration, unprotected (don’t do this please), overstimulation

for the past two years, you started to have weekly calls with your brother, to update him on your life and know what’s happening on his.

you got transferred to london because of your job, you couldn’t find any apartments online and you were supposed to move the other week, being really desperate you told him about it, hoping he knew a real estate agent or something like that, but you were incredibly caught by surprise with his answer.

“thats such nonsense, you should just stay in my empty room until you find another place.” sirius said, his phone on speaker as he made a sandwich in the kitchen. james eyed him with a confused look on his face, but sirius decided to ignore it.

“really?” you ask, hopeful, you really could take a break from looking for apartments.

“of course. i mean, remus has practically moved into my room, so we just need to take some stuff of his out, but yeah, its no big deal.” james couldn’t help but look at him like he was crazy, remus’ room was right next to his, hell, remus’ room had a bathroom adjoined to his. james was starting to feel faint.

as soon as sirius got off the phone with you, he started blabbing.

“what the fuck, sirius?!” james said loudly, sirius sighed, putting his sandwich harshly on the plate.

“what now? i’m really just trying to eat here”

“your sister? really?” he looked like he was about to faint.

“she’ll pitch in on the rent, don’t worry about that” your brother tried to get him calm.

“oh please, i dont care about that! you know how i feel about sharing spaces” he was getting stressed, he couldn’t help it. “and you know how i feel about your family, i have been telling you to be more careful these past years but you don’t listen at all!”

it really had to be remus’s room? couldn’t peter just switch rooms and lend her his instead?

“she’s not like my parents, and neither is regulus, they didn’t do anything” sirius paused, “do your best friend a favor, will you?” and he knew he was going to.

“she’s not messy or nosy or anything like that, right?” james asked, giving into it fully.

“please, shes a cleaning freak, she’s worse than my mother” he paused. “that’s an exaggeration but she’s not messy at all, i swear. you wont even notice she’s around.” james doubted that, but he knew how much sirius missed his siblings, and he knew how fond sirius was of you.

james swore to himself he was going to get you to leave either way, he didn’t want you there and he didn’t care if he had to pay more rent because of it. he didn’t like you, he never did. even in school, before the whole sirius moving out thing, he felt weird around you. and he remembered that feeling very well, even if it was many years before, he didn’t feel like he could forget.

your moving truck arrived at the building a few hours before you, but when you got there, sirius had already arranged your furniture, which did make you a bit emotional. he had even bought a toothbrush, carefully arranging it in the right side of the cabinet, the side that pointed towards the door of the bathroom that led to your room.

the boys came to pick you up at the train station, you recognized them from sirius’ social media. they were everywhere.

you were extremely confused on why all of them had come and pick you up, you were hoping to see your brother standing awkwardly, instead he was there with all of his roommates. you felt like you were a teenage girl again, trying to talk to your brother during lunch, but his friends were always around.

you recognized remus from the photos he sent you, and peter was always on the background of your calls with him baking something.

and then there was james.

james potter. you didn’t know how to feel about him anymore. when your brother first introduced you, you found him attractive, but then you hated him.

when your brother ran away to his home you couldn’t help but hate him.

sure, your house wasn’t the best place in the world, but he took away your older brother, how were you supposed to feel?

as time passed you started to tolerate his presence. now you really don’t care about him, but he sure looked better than he usually did many years before.

you felt like you could kill him.

after living with james for a month you found him obnoxious, rude, annoying and a few other things you were too lazy to mention.

but the thing you hated the most was how invasive he could be.

you barged into his room, he was laying there, crumbs all over his red shirt.

"you should learn how to knock" he rolled his eyes when he said it, your brows furrowed.

"you ate my brownies." you had baked a few because it was bring your kid to work day and you were in charge of the snacks.

“they were really good, i thought peter made them” james paused. “he runs a restaurant downtown, you know, he’s always baking and-“

“i’m gonna have to make a whole new batch. you ate like ten of them.” you were about to get a really bad headache depending on his answer.

“i told you, they were really good.”

if you were in a cartoon you would’ve turned red and there would be smoke coming out of your nostrils and your ears. you had no comment.

you hated when he did that, just compliment you so you couldn’t really hate him that much anymore.

he used your shampoo, but it smelled really nice.

he ate your leftovers, but you really know how to order chinese food.

he even wore one of your biggest shirts you bought when you were in college because you were too lazy to buy pajamas and suddenly that shirt was really nice, because, sure, james potter actually listened to avril lavigne.

he shrunk one of your favorite sundresses, you almost cried that day and he never even apologized.

the list went on and on, and somehow, every compliment of his sounded like he was taunting you, making fun of you right in front of your face and all you could ever do was thank him.

maybe that’s just how you were, polite no matter what. but you sure didn’t want to be polite to james that day.

“no, you don’t get to do that” you felt like you were being crazy.

“what do you mean?” he chuckled. he so did not chuckle.

“you don’t get to compliment me! that doesn’t bring my brownies back!” the word brownie sure sounded stupid in that moment.

“i’ll bake more for you, but they’ll suck, you know that” he actually sat on the bed to argue, how kind of him.

“the kids will probably die if they eat your brownies.”

“you’re feeding children? where do you even work?” he looked so confused and you kept getting angrier.

“do i really look like the kind of person who would eat a hundred billion thousand brownies? god, james, why can’t you just not touch my shit?”

“that’s not even a real number and there were a lot of them! i thought it wouldn’t make a difference!”

“it wouldn’t, if you had eaten one or two, but you ate half of them!”

“oh please, lets put it to a maximum of 25%, alright?” you felt like you were going absolutely insane. he was probably going to get you in a mental hospital and you’d be walking around, looking half dead, murmuring ‘brownies brownies brownies, i want my brownies back’.

you decided to just give up, slamming the door the hardest you could while heading out.

as halloween came around, the bickering with james stopped, you didn’t quite know if it was because of the season or you just got used to each other, but you didn’t mind it much. he could be very exhausting when upset, and you were sure you could too.

you loved fall, maybe it was that you were in a great mood. pumpkin flavored stuff, candles and everything else included.

on the day before halloween, you woke up early, you had to go apartment hunting and once you got back you would try and help peter make deserts. even though your ghost shaped cookies look like very sick jellyfish, you wanted to help. it was the most you could do, you weren’t paying rent, sirius wouldn’t let you. and they were going to throw a party on the next day so you wanted to help them get everything settled.

when you got home you were so incredibly tired, you had spent all day out and it was already 9pm. you had to walk so much you felt like you were your feet would fall off because they were used more on that day than they were your entire life. you were more upset you didn’t get to help with the food though, the pain didn’t really matter that much compared to that.

you just wanted to lay on your bed, put your feet up and-

giggles.

there were giggles coming from your room.

and then you remembered it, the neighbors, a few girls that went to the same school as you and were very good friends with your brother were staying over. a big slumber party of some sort, you and james were sleeping in the living room, because, of course, the four girls formed two couples and they would sleep together separately. no actual bed for you tonight! you really liked them though, so you couldn’t complain.

you knocked on the door to your own room and marlene opened it, cheeks flushed, and you could see dorcas on your bed, doing something on her phone.

“hi, lene” you decided to call her that because sirius called her that, it was cute. “sorry for bothering you both, i just wanted to get my pillow, my blanket and change real quick”

“oh sure, come in” she opened the door and you went straight for the drawer under the bed, grabbing a light green heavy one, you usually used that on winter but it was a cold night and you didn’t really want to bother them by taking your usual one from off the bed.

you never changed clothes so fast, tossing them in the laundry bin along with a shit ton of james’ shirts that were on his side of the sink.

“thank you, have a nice night”

you sighed while going to the living room, to find james sitting on the armchair, shirtless and wearing sweatpants, drinking a beer and watching that 70s show (again). you decided to ignore how good he looked and just get some rest because you really didn’t want go think about james in that moment, or ever as a matter of fact.

you lay down on the couch and throw the blanket over your head.

“you know what bums me out about this show?” james says abruptly, like you would really like to know. you grunt, waiting for his answer. “they really didn’t know when to stop it, its only good until what? season-“

“james, im really tired, i just wanna get some rest, please” you get out from under the covers to say that, so he ignores it fully.

“how did apartment hunting go?” he asks, pausing the episode and asking alexa to turn on some playlist with songs a sad dad would listen to.

“shitty, theres not one good place up for rent in this city, its actually sick”

“yeah, thats tough” he pauses for a brief moment “come here” he said, patting his knee. was he asking you to sit on his lap? was he going fucking crazy?

“i’m sorry, what?” you were so confused, since when was he like that to you?

“get up, sit here with me a little.” were you dreaming? was this one of those weird wet dreams you had in high school?

“james, i’m really tired, my back hurts and i really want to lay-“

“i’ll give you a massage, it’s whatever” he answered, a sad puppy look on his face.

you gave in. you walked over to him and sat on the arm of the chair, but he pulled you onto his lap.

“i need to be close to you, if i’m not it’s really awkward and uncomfortable.” some song you didn’t know was playing.

it was slow and sounded old, you didn’t recognize it.

“james come on, im really tired.” you say, smiling though, you didn’t know why he was doing this. he must’ve had an awfully good day.

“just for a bit.” why were his hands on your waist? why were you nervous. you nodded, you felt that if you opened your mouth to speak, nothing would come out.

you could feel his breathing on your neck, his hands roaming your waist as he lead them up to your shoulders.

his hands were on the low of your back, under your shirt. that was certainly new, and that was really not a massage, but you weren’t complaining.

you looked back at him, wide eyed, what was he doing?

once you turned your face to look at him, you couldn’t look away anymore.

maybe it was how nice he looked in the paused lighting of the tv, maybe it was how warm he felt, when the weather was so chilly recently, whatever it was, it hooked you.

he was looking straight into your eyes and you felt so open to him, it was weird to see him like this.

you felt like you were back in school being head over heels for your brother's best friend.

you heard keys jingling outside, so you stepped away, leaving him sat by himself wondering what he did wrong. sirius opened the door abruptly, scaring james, who looked at him confused.

“sorry, mate, the door was … hey! is that my instrumental playlist?” james turned a bit pink.

“yeah, I was just...” he looked at you. “forget it.” he turned it off. you were pretending to be unbothered, looking at something on your phone.

you couldn’t quite wrap your mind around what had just happened.

you unfolded the sofa into a bed, getting comfortable on the right side, but then you felt his eyes back on you as sirius went into his own room.

“oh, sorry. do you want the couch? i can sleep on the chair, i don’t really-“

“we can share. don’t worry about it.” you nod at his comment. what had gotten into him? he turned off the lights, leaving the tv on. you were trying to calm down, sleeping in the same place as him, being nervous about it was so silly, but, still, you could feel your heartbeat.

“you wanna pick something?” he interrupted your thoughts, you didn’t want to watch anything. you wanted it to be over as soon as possible.

“no, you can just go back to your thing, i don’t mind it.” you answered. he laid down by your side.

fuck.

you were going to share the damn blanket.

he unpaused the tv, putting the remote on the right arm of the couch, that was your side. his arm went over you, he wrapped his arm around your waist once he went back to his side, though half of it was empty.

was he trying to spoon you? you could feel yourself getting nervous, your body starting to feel hot.

you (stupidly) decided to test his actual intentions with that, turning to your side to see if he’d pull you in, he quickly did.

you could have died right there.

he had never even hugged you before, was he really horny or something? and so you felt it.

‘oh my god.’ you thought to yourself repeatedly.

you felt his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him, which was basically impossible with your ass already glued to his crotch.

you ended up sleeping like that, waking up in the morning to the ‘are you still watching?’ screen.

the day was fine, and you found out you and James had a lot in common, you ended up talking the entire evening, he spent the whole party next to you.

you slept in separate rooms at night, but you still spent a while with him in his room talking about all sorts of things. you never imagined how you and james could be alike. you never imagined how he could be so sweet, funny and nice.

after the fall holidays you and james became closer and closer, when labor day came up you realized how much you liked him and when thanksgiving came around, you realized how you might actually be falling for him.

he didn’t help with that at all. he was always touching you, you even ended up cuddling when you would watch some awful movie in his room.

you never really got if he liked you as a friend or he wanted something more, until christmas.

you carefully placed your gifts under the tree on christmas eve, so in the morning when you saw a little box with your name on it, you were incredibly excited.

everyone was sat on the living room floor, opening gifts. in the little box was an envelope and it was from all of the guys. there was something written in the paper inside but you didn’t want to read it at the moment.

“thanks” you smiled, but you didn’t quite know what it meant.

“we all talked and we want you to put your name on the lease.” sirius said quickly, looking at you anxiously.

“like, actually?” you ask, starting to feel extremely happy because you loved living with them.

“yeah” remus answered, smiling.

“thanks, i really appreciate it.” you couldn’t stop smiling, it felt great to know they wanted you there. james, who was sitting next to you, gave you a one arm hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“so you’re gonna let me pay rent now?” you ask to your brother, smiling.

“i guess so.” he replied. you knew he was happy too. “gonna get you an actual gift though”

they were planning a big christmas party, they invited some people from work, the girls and some other people you didn’t really know, so you were expecting to spend the night with james. you went all out, put on your favorite red dress which was short but still fancy for the event.

once you were ready, half of the party was already there, including all of james’ coworkers and friends. you sat next to him on the couch, they were all there all talking about something from his work you didn’t really understand.

they were all dressed up too, but what shocked you the most was that james was wearing a suit, sure, his necktie was already loose and the buttons on his shirt too, but he looked amazing.

“can i stay with you for the rest of the night? i don’t really know anyone here.” you whispered into his ear, nervous about the answer.

“sure” he nodded. “hey, henry” he called for his coworker that was sitting on the arm of ouch.

“yeah?” the guy answered.

“this is y/n, the friend i was telling you about the other day.” james gestures to you. you can’t help but smile awkwardly and wonder what he said about you.

“oh, hi! pleasure to meet you.” he got up from his chair and shook your hand, smiling at james and nodding. what did that mean?

“pleasure to meet you too.” you smile at him.

“i’m just gonna get some drinks, i’ll ill be right back. do you want something?” james asked you.

“just a soda.” he gets up and heads to the kitchen.

“so, tell me, how are your brownies?” henry jokes, you look at him confused.

“good, i guess, but thats a biased opinion.” you answer, curious on how he knew about your brownies.

“you know, james talks about you all the time.” he comments, you were sure he already had a few drinks.

“really? what does he say?”

“when you first moved in he hated you, you know? he always said it was fun to make you mad and all. but since october he’s been so nice when he talks about you, i personally think he fancies you, but i wouldn’t know. i don’t think he’d tell me if he did, specially because you’re his friends sister and all.” he was rambling but you really enjoyed the part he said about james seeing you as more than a friend, you enjoyed it so much you didn’t even pay attention to what he said after that.

“i doubt it, we just turned into good friends, that’s all.”

“nah, i think he wants to make you into something else.” henry might’ve just made your entire night with that phrase. you couldn’t hide your smile anymore.

“here’s your soda, a beer for you, henry” james handed the drinks and took a sip of his coke. you sat next to him, holding your soda in both of your hands, looking down at it nervously. “did something happen?” he asked you.

“no, just thinking ‘bout something” you answer, looking into his eyes now. he smiles, wrapping his arm around your waist. that makes you so flustered, you feel your entire body getting warmer and that’s just the start of it.

for the rest of the night, he stayed by your side. his hand resting on your waist, thigh, around your shoulders, wherever he wanted them. you could feel your heart beating in your chest for most of the time. he had never done that before, not in public and surely not like that, not in a sexual manner, at least that’s how you identified it, because one thing was a friendly touch, the other was what he was doing.

he made you feel needy, aching for more - he was making you want him.

did he notice? did he ever even perceive how he made you feel? how could he not?

goosebumps covered you once he grazed your thigh for the first time out of five, the fifth was when he finally let his hand stay put there.

it made you feel crazy, it really did.

you didn’t know if he meant it as you took it, but you really hoped he did.

the party was still going around 1am, james had disappeared and you were left sitting on the couch, waiting for him to come back.

you couldn’t stop thinking about him and it made you feel kind of silly. you were a bit disappointed that nothing happened but you sort of expected it. you knew nothing would actually occur, but still, it made you a bit sad. maybe the touch lead you on, but it-

you looked at your phone once it vibrated and you felt the absolute need to scream because of how excited the text made you, but you didn’t.

‘James: come to my room once you read this, please.’

you didn’t think much of it, though you would’ve come if he just asked you to like he normally did.

you finished your drink and knocked on his door. he opened it but didn’t look at you, his eyes were focused on your knees, he looked nervous.he was still wearing his pants and the dress shirt, except it was unbuttoned. shit.

“y/n?” he was looking at you now.

fuck.

“yeah?”

“you look really good tonight.”

“i clean up nice sometimes.” you smile.

“oh please, you always look good” he turned a bit pink once he said it. “and thats a really nice dress” his voice was low when he said it, was he actually hitting on you?

“thank you” you whispered, you couldn’t help but feel anxious as his body got closer to yours.

“you know, i’ve been thinking about something for a while now” he says. you could feel your stomach start to twist and turn because you were so anxious on what he was doing next. you hummed, making sure he would continue what he was saying, but he didn’t.

he just kissed you like it was the easiest thing in the world. he pulled you into his room and closed the door, locking it quickly.

the feeling of his lips on yours was something you craved for a while now, you needed it so much you started to wonder if it was normal for you to need something this much.

you couldn’t stop once it started. his hands were on your hips and you tugged onto his hair desperately.

kissing him is redefining the whole concept of kissing to you, and probably ruining every other sexual experience you could have for the rest of your life.

he pushed you into the door, his hands now on your ass.

“shit” he let out quickly as he stopped kissing you so roughly and started giving you quick pecks. “you have no idea how long i wanted to do this.” you hummed. “you’re so fucking hot, it makes me crazy.” the praise was making your stomach twist again, a wet spot being formed between your legs.

he carried you with your legs around his body and took you to his bed. the same bed you have used to lay down to watch movies, to just gossip or discuss things, to do whatever.

he sat down and kept you on his lap, straddling him, but you needed more. as he kissed you roughly and messily you would casually rock your hips, causing friction. after you did that a few times he laid you down on the bed, telling you to stop being such a tease, he got on top of you, supporting himself with his knees, one of them between your legs, causing friction and making you more aroused.

when he started playing with the strings that held the dress together, you knew you were done for, so you let him undo the bow, kissing your neck. he was messy, sometimes he would bite and it would send bolts of electricity down your spine.

“james…” you let out as he bit you again.

“tell me” he said, trailing his kisses down to your clavicle. “can i take this off too?” he asked, playing with your bra. you nodded but he didn’t move an inch.

“i need to hear you say it. can i take this off?” he was such a fucking tease, it made you go crazy. he loved to hear your voice, he knew you wanted him to take it off, he just liked to hear you say it.

“yes, please” you struggled to hold in a moan once he started sucking on your neck.

“thank you” he answered, looking back to the hickey he gave you. “hmm, that’s gonna leave a mark, sorry baby” baby? he had never called you that, you hummed as he took off his collared shirt and then proceeded to take off your bra . he groaned at the sight of you, which drove you mad. his growing bulge was exposed.

he was big.

you immediately regretted every single time you had made a small dick joke (sure, there were only 2 times but they did happen).

he was on his knees, towering over you.

“you’re so pretty”, he leaned down to kiss you again, this time more eager than ever. his right hand cupped your jaw as his left one roamed your body, making you ache for more and more. “i really wanna touch you” he whispered and went back to kissing you, his left hand now between your thighs, waiting for permission to move.

“please” you whisper, stopping the kiss briefly. he kept on kissing you as he stimulated you through the fabric of your underwear, but that didn't happen for long, especially because of how wet it was, he needed to touch you, he couldn't help himself. the dress was so hiked up it looked like a shirt, but instead of helping you take it off, he pulled it down a bit, so he had access to your chest. he immediately started kissing around your left tit, making you go absolutely insane. and that combined with the sudden touch to your clit? yeah, you were getting fucked up that night.

he was better than anyone had ever been to you. sucking in your nipple and fingering you slowly, he was making you go crazy, needing him more.

he stopped sucking on your nipple and went back to your neck, his hand not stopping at all. the right one went to cover your mouth as you moaned.

“be quiet, hm? want everyone to listen? don’t wanna stuff that pretty mouth of yours too” his non dominant hand went to your neck, choking you lightly as his other one fucked into you. you were so close to cumming, with his thumb stimulating your clit as his other fingers went in and out of you, he knew that you were close, specially with the way your pussy was tightening around him. “so fucking tight, aren’t you? can’t imagine how you’re gonna feel around my cock” he stopped and took his fingers out, making you whine, missing the feeling of him.

“jameees” you moan, finding the courage in you to pull him in, giving him a kiss.

“take it off”

“what?” you’re confused.

“the dress, i really wanna fuck you in it but i don’t wanna ruin it.” he lets out. “take it off” he sounded like he was ordering you, and you loved it so much, you wanted to give something back to him.

“i will, but can i suck you off first?” you ask, looking at him doe eyed, and how could he say no?

“you really want to?” he asks, furrowed brows, you nod, quickly getting on your knees as he unbuckles his belt, throwing it on the carpet. he got up and pulled his pants down, staying just in his boxers, he climbed back into bed with you, kissing you sweetly.

you were on your knees in front of him, pulling his cock out of his underwear, stroking it lightly then kissing the tip. you take him in your mouth, using your hands to stroke what couldn’t fit, which, frankly, was about a bigger portion of it. he was the biggest you ever had.

“fuck” he groaned at the movements you were making, using his left hand to get strands of hair out of your face, as his right one supported him on the bed. he was trying not to thrust into your mouth but you were making it so hard. “your mouth was made for me, baby” he whispered, looking into your eyes. his free hand went to your neck, choking you just a bit, as your head bobbed up and down, taking as much as possible.

“so good, your mouth feels so goddamn good honey” he groaned as he finished the sentence and you used your non dominant hand to cup his balls. he was moaning a bit and it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen or heard, though you were sure you would see hotter things that same night. he started thrusting lightly, he couldn’t help himself, specially with how good your mouth made him feel.

“stop” he ordered you, and so you did, a pop sound being made as you stopped sucking and looked up at him.

“did i do something wrong?” you ask, brows furrowed. his hand hasn’t left your neck, and so he pulls you in by it. his tongue went straight in your mouth, he needed to taste him on your lips.

“i wanna fuck you” he said, looking into your eyes, waiting for any kind of response.

“yes. please do” you quickly say, kissing him quickly.

“the dress” he remembers and you quickly take it off, not stopping the staring for a second.

“want you down on all fours” he says, getting on his knees. you do as he commands, getting in an arch position as he’s on his knees behind you. he can see that you still haven’t taken off your underwear, he bites on your ass cheek and then pulls it down with his teeth.

“you don’t mind if i keep this, don’t you?” he asks, helping you take it off fully. “it’s already ruined”

“it’s yours” you look back at him, he’s smirking like the devil. he throws your underwear into his bedside drawer.

“gotta keep it safe” he whispers. you can feel his bulge through his boxers as he leans in to kiss your neck, you whine, needing him more.

“patience, i’m gonna give it to you, sweetheart” his right hand gave your ass a smack. “up” he said, signaling for you to arch your back even more. as you do so, he groans, pressing his covered member against your wet cunt.

“you’re so pretty like this, all for me?” he asked, using his hand to play with your clit.

“y-yes, all yours” you said, trying not to whine mid sentence.

“good girl. mine” he gave your shoulder a quick peck. “gonna put it in now, okay? tell me if you wanna stop” he took his dick from out of his boxers and pumped it a few times. you could’ve fainted once you felt his tip lined up to your entrance.

he went in slowly, he was way to big for you. every time you thought he was done, there would still be more of him left.

“jaaames” you would whine

“just a bit left; don’t worry, princess” once he was fully inside of you, you felt amazing, like you were in heaven. “you’re so fucking tight, ‘feels so good” he said, trying to to groan, his voice was raspy.

if took a few thrusts for you to get used to his size, but as soon as he picked up a pace, you were a mess. you couldn’t hold in your sounds, the way he was stimulating your clit was absolutely killing you.

“be fucking quiet” he demanded with a groan, “you want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?” he didn’t stop, he just went quicker as a matter of fact.

“fuck!” you squealed as he pinched your clit, his thrusts began to be more rough, you couldn’t even focus. you’re eyes kept rolling back, your mind was fully blank and the only thing that was coming out of your mouth in that moment was a mixture of james, fuck, shit and a few other curse words.

you were in ecstasy.

“you like this, don’t you?” he was grunting lowly in between every few thrusts. you were so close, you felt your high coming to you, the way he was fucking you was not helping with you trying to hold it.

“james ohmygod james, im gonna cum” you say, trying not to stumble over your words.

“ask nicely and i’ll let you” he said, stopping the stimulation on your clit and thrusting harder. he was close too, the way your tight pussy would clench around him was making him go insane.

“please let me cum, james. need it so bad” you blurted out in between whining and moaning. he grins and goes back to stimulating you.

“good girl, do it” he went faster and didn’t stop playing with your clit. your eyes rolled back and you let it go.

your walls clench tight around him, he didn’t stop as you made a mess all over his dick.

as you finished, his thrusts only got harder, you were feeling so overstimulated and you felt like he was close too.

“fuck, sweetheart. gonna cum inside you, that’s alright?” you moaned in answer.

his hips stuttered and you felt his cock twitch spilled inside of you, his juices mixing with yours.

he made sure he got rid of every single drop.

your legs were shaking as he pulled out and tucked himself back into his underwear, you collapsed on the bed and he laid down next to you.

“wanna go back to the party?” he jokes, looking into your eyes.

“shut up” you reply, looking at the ceiling of his room.

“gonna clean you up, okay?” james assured you as he threw you a shirt of his that was under the bed. you put it on but pulled him closer to you.

“okay, but just stay with me for a while if that’s alright.” you asked.

“always” he pressed a kiss onto your forehead and you knew that this was not going to be a one time thing.

#lila writes #james potter x reader #james potter fic #james potter smut #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #marauders x reader #silencesscreams

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nouvellevqgue · 7 months

Text

✦ THE BOY IS MINE, O. BEARMAN

is where you're in a mission to prove that ollie is yours, but little did you know that he's also going to do the same to prove that you are his.

fc: pdm.clara on instagram

taglist: @queenofmanydreams @muglermami @4limq @avengers-assemble123456 @cabbyhabs @meowtastick @4mula-1 @miarabanana @amel1ee @dinosushilun1 @auggieblogs @namgification @charli123456789 @cherry-piee

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yourusername Think I like you best when you're just with me. And no one else 🎶

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TWITTER, AROUND 2 HOURS AFTER HIS POST ON INSTAGRAM:

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HER POSTS BEFORE MARCH 2024:

yourusername

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olliebearman I fell in love with the whole outfit yesterday. Such a pretty one.

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yourusername Sorryyyyy... 😬😬

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TWITTER:

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 7 months

Text

My Alpha

This is kind of a long one shot (5619 words!), but I thought I'd try my hand at the ABO!/Omegaverse. Hope you like it!

Being an omega wasn’t always a bad thing. At least that’s what she told herself repeatedly as she religiously took hormone blocking birth control pills and wore scent blockers on the daily. Y/N hadn’t had a heat in years and wasn’t planning on letting up any time soon. She had started working as a personal assistant for the Avengers under Tony Stark years before, going through the Sokovia Accords debacle, surviving the Blip, losing Natasha, Tony, Steve, T'Challa, and all the other strange and traumatic things that happened during her tenure. She had denied her biology to get this job, not wanting it to affect her performance or be a target while being surrounded by literal super Alphas in this field. And as hard as the job was, she loved it.

One of the greatest highlights was gaining Bucky Barnes as a friend. While other Alphas she had come across were domineering, he was compassionate and kind. He very rarely lost his composure like others did during high pressure situations in missions, and never fought over who was in charge. He was incredibly careful to make sure everyone around him felt comfortable in his presence. After finally shaking the Winter Soldier programming he didn’t want to ever lose control of himself again, and with the super soldier serum messing with his hormones to the extent that he was nearly feral during ruts, he would isolate himself away to keep her and others safe.

Y/N felt like she could talk to him about anything, and he felt the same. She was his sanctuary after rough missions, one of the few people that could break him out of a deep depressive state or the nightmares that still plagued him. He knew she was an Omega but could barely smell her because of her blockers, which he both loved and hated. Loved because it made it so they could be friends without the weird biological dynamics getting in the way, and hated because he was super curious about what her scent was. They had fallen for each other long ago, but were both too afraid to do anything about it.

As they both relaxed during a rare weekend off they got on the topic of Omega versus Alpha traits. “I get it, Alphas can be rough, but don’t you want to mate someday? Find someone special to settle down with? Maybe have a family?”

She sighed. “Of course I do, Buck.”

“Then what are you afraid of?” he asked gently.

“Not having a clear choice,” she answered simply, giving him a sharp look. “I don’t want my biology to decide my fate. So many Omegas get stuck being mated with bad Alphas because their heats were uncontrollable and the Alpha wouldn’t take no for an answer. I know that I’m predestined to be a nurturer. Hell, that’s what my job is now, taking care of all of you guys! But I should get to choose who I end up with based on love, not by body’s reactions.” Bucky nodded in understanding, looking down at his intertwined hands. “Do you want to settle down someday?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just don’t know how it would work out. This job…my past. It all points towards disaster at any given time.”

She slid over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders awkwardly as she sat next to him. “You deserve a happy ever after, Bucky.”

“You do, too, you know,” he reminded her, resting his head on top of hers.

“Mmh, maybe someday,” she said wistfully as she undid her embrace and leaned back against the couch.

“So, anyways,” he cleared his throat. “Is it true that Omegas have a better sense of smell than Alphas or Betas? Like you can pick up on others’ scents and identify them really well?”

She laughed. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Really? Okay, what does…” he scanned the room as other Avengers milled in and out. “Peter. What does Spidey smell like?” He tested her, watching her expectantly.

She took a look at Peter across the room, her nose slightly flaring as she took in a whiff from his direction. “He always smells like fresh bagels to me. You know the smell of just-baked bread? Kinda like that. Mixed with a little bit of hazelnut.”

Bucky looked at her in awe. “Yeah I kinda get that off of him. Alphas can smell and track scents but not to that level.”

“Hm, that’s interesting,” she said as her eyebrows furrowed.

“Now how about Sam?” he asked excitedly, hoping it would be something not so pleasant he could tease him about.

“Ha, Sam is Cajun seasoning with a sweet lemony undertone. Like really well done seafood,” she answered quickly with a smile on her face, knowing Bucky would be disappointed in that answer.

Bucky frowned as he thought about who to ask of next. “Okay, how about…Steve?” He knew it was a long shot. Steve had been gone for a few years now, so she probably wouldn’t remember. But she gave him a soft smile.

“Steve was smoky, like fireworks. A summer night that ends with warm apple crisp and melting vanilla ice cream on top,” she said as she stared out the window, a dazed look in her eyes as she remembered him.

“Wow…” Bucky whispered. “I always got the fireworks, and something like a picnic. But now that you say it, yeah, apple with vanilla.”

“Yep, he was truly all American,” she winked at him.

He laughed as he turned towards her on the couch. “How about, um…me?”

She gazed at him, her expression softening as her nose flared again and she huffed out the breath she’d taken. “Smoky, like Steve, but different.”

“Like gunpowder?” he asked suddenly, his eyes searching hers. He had been told that before and was hoping they were wrong.

“No, not gunpowder. More like…” she sniffed again but frowned. “Do you mind if I…?” she gestured her finger from herself to him.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said, opening himself up for her to scoot closer to him. She leaned in towards his neck, the best place to scent someone, and breathed in a slow sniff of him. She closed her eyes.

“Campfire. A campfire on the beach. And the smell of the ocean after it rains,” she said resolutely, opening her eyes to look at him. Their faces were close as he stared at her. “But no, not gunpowder,” she reassured him.

“That’s good,” he breathed, his eyes shifting from her eyes down to her lips and back.

Her eyes suddenly widened, her brow furrowing and she pulled herself away quickly. “I, um…I need to go…excuse me,” she said hurriedly before she jumped off the couch and power-walked down the hall towards her room.

“Wait, Y/N, are you okay?” Bucky stood from the couch as he watched her leave.

“Yeah! I’ll talk to you later!” she yelled back without looking, her voice sounded strained.

“What the hell?” he asked himself quietly, looking around him like something had jumped out and spooked her.

Once she was out of sight she ran to her room and had Friday bolt the door. She doubled over in pain and clutched her stomach. “No way,” she moaned as she reached for her phone and called for help.

“Hey you, how are ya?” Bruce asked when he answered the call.

“Bruce,” her voice was pained as she held in another moan. “I need help, something’s wrong.”

“What? What’s going on?” he sounded worried, the rustling of papers and beeping from a screen by him going off.

“It feels…like a heat? But that’s not possible, right? We made sure of it,” she grunted as another cramp shot through her abdomen, and just as suddenly as it all started, it suddenly stopped, leaving her gasping. “Wait, now it stopped? What the hell is happening?”

“Come down to the lab, right now. We’ll get you tested.”

She didn’t need to be told twice as she hung up and crept out of her room towards the elevator. She was able to get in and down to the lab a few floors away without being caught by Bucky or anybody else. She ran into the lab in a panic. Bruce was already setting up the medical bay in the back with everything needed to do a check-up, some vials next to the other instruments.

“Hey, let’s take some blood and see what’s going on,” he called out to her when he heard the doors slide open. She jogged to the bed and hopped up on it, taking off her cardigan so he could access the veins in her arm better. After a quick routine check up he took a few vials of her blood then stepped out towards all the equipment he had for medical and scientific tests.

He worked silently as she sat there deep in thought. It can’t be, she tried to reassure herself. I’ve been so careful. Not missed a single pill ever. This can’t be happening. After about an hour Bruce came back with a screen in his hand, his eyebrows hung low over his eyes and a frown on his face.

“Y/N, it’s…it’s not working anymore,” he said softly, his eyes sad and confused as he looked at her.

“What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly, her eyes widening.

“The hormone blockers, the pills…your body isn’t responding to them anymore. Your hormones are syncing back to normal Omega levels. Your heats are going to come back.”

“No, no no no no no…NO Bruce! I can’t. Please, there’s gotta be another pill to try, a shot, an implant, something? Anything, please?” she began to cry.

“I’m sorry Y/N. We already got you the best blockers that are available out there. If your body is weaning off of them it means your biology is taking over, probably because you’re getting older and it’s fighting back to have a chance at mating. I’m so sorry,” he showed her the hormone levels on a chart on the screen, pointing out the differences and then setting it down. “There’s nothing I can do. Nothing you can do but prepare yourself for it to start again. And your first one is probably going to be brutal after avoiding them for so long. You’ll need help–”

“NO! No, I can’t do this. I can’t ask some random Alpha for help. This isn’t fair!” she cried harder, hiding her face in her hands. Bruce patted her on the back, trying to help ease her pain by giving off a calming scent. He was also an Omega and knew how much this meant to her.

“It will be alright, Y/N. You have friends here who will help you without making it awkward between you and them, or won’t immediately try mating with you during your heat. They’re good Alphas. They won’t hurt you or take advantage of you,” he promised.

She tried to calm the loud beating of her heart that was wringing in her ears, a panic attack trying to settle deep in her bones that she was fighting back. “How long do I have until it comes?” she sighed as she sniffled.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. With it being so long since you last had one it could be next week or it could be in a couple of months,” he answered gravely.

“Ugh, great,” she laughed as she wiped her tears away. “No choice, whatsoever. My body ultimately got to decide for me after all. Wonderful,” she spat as she jumped down off the bed. “Thank you, Bruce, for testing. I just…I need to go sleep this off, I don’t know,” she said, giving him a quick hug and then leaving the lab.

She took the elevator back up to her floor, her eyes stinging from the hot tears still slowly falling down. Her heat was coming back, and with a vengeance. She would need help. Who would she ask? Any of the unmated superhero Alphas would probably say yes, though she knew she only wanted one. But how could she ask this of him? And if he did help, how could she go on with their friendship as if nothing had happened between them afterwards?

The elevator opened and she trudged into the common room. The floor was already dark as twilight set in and everyone had split off to their rooms. She slipped into the kitchen since she missed dinner while down in the lab to grab something to eat, although she wasn’t particularly hungry. As she made herself a sandwich she turned to grab a knife then saw a figure in the corner at the dining table.

“Jesus! Fuck, Bucky you scared me,” she gasped, holding a hand over her heart.

“Sorry, honey,” he grunted as he sat watching her. “Why are you crying?”

She stiffened as she looked at him, trying to act nonchalant as she grabbed the knife and turned back to her sandwich. “I’m not, I’m just tired,” she waved him off, quickly cutting the sandwich and putting the ingredients and dishes away to escape.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N. What’s wrong?” he stood, walking towards her. She reached for the refrigerator door to get a drink, which he quickly shut and stared her down. She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Come on Buck, I just need a drink,” she complained as she tried to open the door again, reaching for the handle. Bucky grabbed her wrist firmly and leaned in towards her.

“What’s wrong Y/N? You ran away earlier and now you smell…off,” he said, searching her eyes as his nose flared at the scent she was radiating. His frown deepened and his eyes looked worried. “Why are you afraid? Was it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Oh no, Bucky, it’s not you,” she said, her eyes widening. “It’s me, it’s just…” her eyes welled up with tears again, spilling onto her cheeks as she sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s me,” she sobbed, leaning forward til her forehead rested against his chest.

“Oh honey,” Bucky sighed. He put his hands under her armpits and lifted her onto the counter so she was eye level with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face in his shoulder, crying harder as he enveloped her, his hands rubbing up and down her back as he whispered reassuring words to her. They sat holding each other for a while, Bucky letting her cry it out and Y/N relishing the comfort. As her cries died down and her grip loosened around his neck he pulled back.

“Tell me what’s wrong, please? You’re breaking an old man’s heart,” he pleaded, hating to see her hurting so much.

Y/N chuckled at him calling himself an old man as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. Bucky held her face in his hands and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. She let herself enjoy his touch before she sniffled and finally looked up at him.

“When I was talking to you earlier, I felt this weird pain,” she explained quietly. Bucky nodded, listening intently as he held her face still. “That’s why I ran out. I went to Bruce’s lab to test me because it felt like…like a heat,” she sniffled again, looking down at her lap. Bucky nodded again, his hands releasing her face and reaching for her hands to hold. “I haven’t had one in years.” This surprised him. He knew there were new ways of birth control for Omegas now, giving them a lot more options than to just mate and reproduce and take care of their Alphas and pups like the old days, which he thought was great. He just didn’t realize it could be for so long. “And now, apparently, the hormone blockers aren’t working anymore,” she gripped his fingers tightly. “My body is rejecting them, weaning off of them and reverting back to normal hormone levels. My heat is coming,” she sucked in another sharp breath. “I don’t know when, but he said it’s going to be brutal since I’ve been avoiding them for so long. He said I’ll need help and…and I don’t know what to do.” Her voice shook as she looked up at him again. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Bucky could feel her panic and gave off what he hoped was a calming scent. It seemed to help as her eyes fluttered shut and her shoulders visibly relaxed. The Alpha in him hummed in satisfaction as he swept his thumbs over her knuckles. “You don’t need to be scared, Y/N. It’s going to be okay,” he tried to placate her. “Listen, I know earlier you said you wanted a choice, and now your body’s not giving you one.” She nodded, a few more tears slipping out the sides of her eyes. “I…I can help you,” he said, gulping back the lump in his throat. Her eyes snapped up to him, a look of shock on her face. “I know that I’m offering something kinda crazy. But I promise you I won’t hurt you, I won’t make you court me if you don’t want to, and I won’t forcibly mate with you.” He looked her deep in her eyes to try to get her to understand. “But I’d be honored to help you.”

Y/N couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. She had wanted to ask him and now he was offering himself for her to get through this first heat. She licked her lips and contemplated it. “I just don’t want it to ruin our friendship,” she sniffed again, her eyes searching his face for hesitation.

“It won’t,” he said earnestly.

“...Okay,” she agreed.

Bucky smiled as he squeezed her fingers. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Bucky. You’re a good Alpha,” she thanked him, lifting his hands up and kissing his knuckles.

His eyes fluttered shut and he cleared his throat. “You should probably not call me that, at least not right now.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay, honey, it’s fine,” he chuckled. “Whenever it hits you, just call me, and I’ll be there.”

She gave him a warm smile in appreciation. They were playing with fire, and they both knew it deep down, but were denying it heavily.

***

Y/N could feel her hormones changing her body and mind. Bruce had advised against wearing scent blockers as well to help her body fully adjust and hopefully not cause as much pain during her upcoming heat, and that was the first thing she noticed. The Alphas around her, who would normally just give her a friendly greeting or a smile, now watched her hungrily through narrow eyes, giving tight smiles as their noses flared as she passed by. It made her self-conscious enough to ask Bucky one day, “Do I smell bad?”

Bucky looked away from the book he was reading as she plopped next to him on the couch in the common room again, lifting her feet up to rest on his lap. She was touching him a lot more lately. “What do you mean?”

“Do I smell bad? Omegas can’t really smell themselves very well, and since I took off the scent blockers I’ve been…watched,” she looked around the room warily. Bucky’s eyes swept across the other Alphas in the room, noting how they were all giving off territorial scents as they tracked her. He sat up straight, facing each one until they caught his eye and gave off a warning rumble deep in his chest, his eyes flashing dangerously. They each quickly retreated, shamefully turning back towards their previous tasks. The air around Y/N seemed to lift and she felt like she could breathe again. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He sat back on the couch, grabbing his book with one hand and mindlessly rubbing her feet with the other. “No need to thank me, honey. And no, you don’t smell bad. You smell like chai.”

“Chai?” Y/N scoffed.

“Yeah, chai with…” he reached a hand out and grabbed her wrist, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. Her eyes widened comically at his brashness in scenting her so publicly. “Pumpkin. Chai and pumpkin. Like Autumn,” he concluded, setting her wrist down and then rubbing her feet again. He said it so casually that she just stared at him dumbfounded.

It got worse as the weeks went on. Her emotions were haywire, one minute she was calm and cool and the next she was agitated and easily crying at anything. She was nesting anxiously, rearranging her room and her desk in her office, constantly carrying around a large fuzzy cardigan or blanket with her. Her joints were sore, especially in her hips. She found herself eating all the time. Bruce had her come down to the lab each week to check her levels, each time warning her it could happen any day now.

A month and a half later on a Friday night the team got together for a movie night. They decided on watching the first Avatar, a movie Bucky hadn’t yet seen. As it played Y/N kept fidgeting next to him, adjusting her sitting position, wringing her hands in her lap, taking deep breaths periodically. A scene began of two of the characters connecting in a tree garden and Sam yelled out, “Alien tree sex!” Everyone laughed but Y/N bolted out of the room. Bucky watched her run down to her room and shut her door.

He quietly got up and followed her. He could tell just by her scent changing these last few weeks and how it was getting stronger, the chai smell getting spicier, that her heat was fast approaching. She had been very touchy with him, following him around and staying close whenever they were in the same room. He had no claim to her, but it was evident to everyone to stay away from her, otherwise they’d get a growl from him. He was growing more excited by the day, trying to remind himself that he was just helping out a friend, not staking any claim or bond.

When he reached her door he pressed his ear against it, listening for her. He heard her heart rate picking up and her breathing became labored. He could also smell her, more potent, spicy, the scent of unmated Omega making his hormones sing and call out for her. A deep rumble emitted from his chest as he felt his cock hardening. He knocked on her door.

“Y/N,” he called out, just loud enough for her to hear. A soft moan came from the other side. His eyelids shut tight at the sound. It was time. “I’m coming in,” he warned before opening the door. He stepped inside and was hit with the scent full force, making his eyes and mouth water simultaneously. Y/N was laying in the nest she built on her bed in the fetal position, one hand on her stomach and the other in between her legs, not yet touching herself but keeping pressure against her core. “Honey…” he groaned as he locked the door behind himself and walked towards the bed.

“Alpha,” she breathed, her brow furrowed and eyes shut tight. A cramp wracked through her whole body and she yelped in pain. “It’s starting. It hurts…hurts so bad,” she cried as she could feel a small gush of slick pour from her pussy as her body recognized the Alpha in the room.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey, I’m here,” he cooed at her, reaching his hand out and running his fingers along her leg from her ankle to her thigh. “Let’s get you out of these, huh?” he said while lifting the hem of her shorts up slightly. She nodded and blindly started pulling at her clothes. Bucky helped her strip out of her layers then undressed himself, giving her naked body an appreciative glance. He lay behind her on the bed, cocooning her in his arms and leaning his head into the crook of her neck and scenting her. He could feel himself getting drunk off of her heat. She was sending him into an early rut as his hips rocked against her ass slowly. Y/N keened at that, her back arching and pushing her ass into his crotch further. He moaned at the sensation, his arms tightening around her. “Shh, Omega. I got you,” he said as his voice dropped further, the Alpha coming through more prominently now.

“Bucky…” she sighed, her hands gripping his arms around her. “Please…Alpha please,” she begged, her legs shaking as another cramp hit her.

Bucky moaned at the sound of his name said that way coming from her lips. He started to lick and suck and kiss at the scent gland on her throat, making her gasp loudly. His scent mixed with hers, and they quickly got lost in each other. His hands found her breasts and massaged them firmly, his fingers tweaking her nipples and making her hips buck back into him again. He twisted her body around to face him. She quickly molded herself back to him, hiking her leg up and over his hip, her hands scratching down his chest. He tried to remind himself one last time that this was just a friend helping a friend. Then she kissed him.

The kiss broke the dam of hesitancy he was holding to desperately. He quickly responded, his mouth opening and their tongues tangling as they tasted each other. Bucky climbed on top of her, his knees forcing hers apart. His fingers probed her lower lips, finding her clit and giving it all his attention. Y/N’s hips writhed as he riled her up. She watched his fingers dip into her, making her breath stutter. She was already dripping for him so he plunged two fingers into her, thrusting them in and out while his thumb rubbed and flicked her clit.

“Fuck Alpha,” she groaned. “Just like that, shit!”

Bucky smiled as she cursed, her legs shaking against his. She reached down and took his cock in her hand, giving him lazy pumps as he got her closer to her release. He huffed a sharp breath. “Damn, honey, oooh that’s good,” he said lowly. “Give it to me, love, come on, you can do it. Be such a good Omega for me,” he encouraged her as he curled his fingers as deep as he could reach.

The tension in her core finally snapped, her first orgasm ripping through her at lightning speed, squirting slick all over his hand and his hips. She let out a guttural moan, the sound reverberating through the air, making the Alpha inside of him scream to claim her. He had to physically restrain himself as he pulled his fingers out of her. She smiled as she watched him with hooded eyes. He put his wet fingers in his mouth and licked them clean of her slick, his eyes rolling back at the taste.

“Alpha please, I need you. Bucky, I want your big cock inside me…please!” Y/N begged again. Normally it would embarrass her to be acting like this, she would have never dreamed of speaking to Bucky this way. But they were beyond the point of no return.

“Condom first, Omega,” he reminded her in his authoritative voice. “As much as I’d love to fill you up, I don’t think that’s what you want just yet.”

Y/N pouted, but the first orgasm had helped clear her brain a little bit, and pointed to the nightstand next to the bed. Bucky quickly reached over and pulled open the top drawer, finding the box and pulling a few of them out. He unwrapped one and slipped it on himself before settling back between her legs, backing up a little bit. “Present, please, Omega.”

Y/N twisted herself onto her stomach, lifting her hips high and pressing the side of her face into the bed. Bucky almost whimpered at the sight of her sweet pussy, seeing the way he had made her drip with slick, the skin softly puckering in anticipation. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen Y/N, goddamn,” he whispered huskily. She preened at his praise, her ass raising a little higher. He gave her ass a quick slap, making her yelp and shiver. “You ready?” he asked, making sure she was still wanting this.

“Yes, please Alpha, Bucky…please!”

“You’re so sexy when you beg,” he slapped her ass again, then grabbed her hips and aimed himself at her entrance. He slowly pushed in the tip of his cock, the fat head catching just past her lower lips, making them both groan. He kept pushing until he was fully seated inside her, letting her adjust to his size. Y/N was keening again, a high pitched tone ringing through the air. After a moment she wriggled her hips, silently asking him to thrust. A deep growl emanated from Bucky’s throat and he pulled back until it was just the tip inside, then snapped his hips back into her hard.

Y/N was making the sweetest noises he’d ever heard as he pummeled his cock into her. She whimpered and moaned, making him hook an arm around her hips and lay his stomach across her back, quick huffs of his breath warming her shoulder. He could feel her walls fluttering around him, making the rhythm of his hips stutter. “Fuck, honey, you gonna cum?” She nodded as her moans got louder. He flipped her back over onto her back so he could watch her release, leaving barely any room between them as he hovered over her. Her hands wound around the back of his neck, scratching his scalp with her nails. “Goddammit, do that again,” he heard himself whimpering this time. She scratched from the top of his head down to his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

He reached between their bodies and started flicking her clit as he chased his own high. “Bucky, oh my God,” she squealed against his lips as her back arched and her legs clung to his hips. “Yes, yes, yes, shit…mark me.”

Bucky didn’t stop thrusting but tensed at her words. “No, Y/N, you don’t want that.”

“Yes, I do, with you, Bucky,” she gasped.

“Omega,” he warned her, his eyes flashing. “We can talk about that when I’m not balls deep inside you.”

Y/N tensed at his Alpha command, her legs loosening around him. “I want you to be my Alpha, my mate.”

“God fucking dammit,” Bucky stopped thrusting and leaned on his elbows above her. “Y/N, listen to me, you don’t want that. You said you wanted a clear choice, remember?” Y/N was silent and wide eyed as she watched him, slightly nodding her head. “This isn’t a clear choice. Your first heat in how many years? It’s your hormones talking, honey. And believe me, I’d love to mark you, claim you, bond and mate with you. Stuff you full of me,” he thrust again, making her eyes roll back, “and breed you with my pups. But we can talk about all that later. Right now, I’m here to help you through this, because you’re my best friend, and…I’m ridiculously in love with you.” He finally said it. “I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. But when it’s both of us with clear heads and a clear choice. Okay?”

Y/N’s eyes were watery as she listened to him. “You’re in love with me?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, “Is that all you got out of that?”

She shook her head, “No, but it’s the most important thing. I’m in love with you.”

He smiled wide and leaned down to give a quick kiss to her nose. “Can I continue now?”

She nodded again, and he gave her another thrust to get her going again. Her slick started to make squelching noises as he picked up the pace again, his knot starting to catch at her entrance, his hand reaching to her clit again and trailing kisses down her throat to her scent gland, licking and sucking at it again.

“One day, if you’ll have me, I’ll bite this pretty neck,” he moaned in her ear as her fingers dug into his back. “Make you mine.”

“Yours, all yours, Bucky…Alpha,” Y/N groaned, leaning her head up and scenting him back. Her soft lips and her tongue against his gland had his eyes rolling in his head again and his fingers gripping her hips harshly. “That’s right. Mine. Mine…mine,” he thrusted harder and faster, angling her hips up to hit deeper.

Y/N screamed his name as she finally came, her hands digging into the flesh between his neck and shoulder, scratching his scent gland and making him see stars as he came with a yell, his knot fully inflating and latching him to her as she nearly squeezed the dear life out of him. He fell on top of her, and she held him as he calmed down, both of them panting and sweaty.

A heady scent filled the air, a smell that screamed satisfied mates. Bucky pulled himself to his side, holding her close so it wouldn’t hurt her to move with him, and covered them with the blankets from her nest. Y/N was delirious after this first round of her heat, her head lolling with exhaustion. “Rest, Omega. We’ve still got a few days, and forever after that.”

She smiled sleepily, “Hmmm, my Alpha.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #smut #marvel #abo #alpha!bucky #alpha!bucky barnes #omega!reader #alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader #bucky barnes oneshot

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fireya-x · 17 days

Text

family dinner

AO3 Link (for the full tag list) || masterlist

John asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, to save himself from annoying questions from his family. Turns out, you're actually who he really wants.

[9k+ words]

cw: smut, piv sex, cowgirl, handjobs, come eating

Embossed golden script on cream white card paper - it was an invitation to his grandmothers' birthday party, alright. A subtle attempt at elegance from a woman who thought tea and a tin of biscuits solved most problems. John sighed.

He already knew the drill; his mother, every aunt and uncle, cousins and second cousins twice removed would be there, armed to the teeth with baby pictures and probing questions to make him wish he’d stayed in another country in some godforsaken warzone.

The phone ringing cut through John’s meager dinner of takeout curry, one of his favorites, when he was back in his flat for a short time leave. He picked it up and answered before checking, as he usually did, expecting it to be Laswell – but that voice wasn't Kate.

“Jonathan, my dear boy, did you receive the invitation?” His grandmother’s voice was a robust cackle for her age, a force of nature that kept her so fit at ninety.

“Just held it in my hands seconds ago, Nan.”

“Ninety years young, can you believe it?”

“Never a dull moment,” he answered, picking at the takeaway container lid.

She laughed lightly, then cleared her throat. “Listen, dear. The caterer is extra fussy. Your opinion is special to me, you know that. It’s not like I get to plan this every day”

Here it comes.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m asking you what you want, John. I have everything else planned.” Of course she did.

“It’s your birthday, Nan. I’ll eat anything,” he sighed. “Toffee pudding can’t be missing from any birthday, though.”

“Of course, that’s a must! Especially with you visiting! You’ve always loved it as a little boy. Now tell me, is your girl more a partial to fish or chicken?”

The fork clattered onto the styrofoam. John almost choked.

“You’ll be bringing someone, aren’t you?”

He should have said no. He should have clarified, for the thousandth time, that his occupation left no room for romantic walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Maintaining relationships wasn’t something John did, especially when his job included more explosions than birthday candles on her birthday cake. And apparently, eliminating terrorists and global threats was not a suitable substitute for great-grandchildren.

But there was something in her voice. Hope? Excitement to finally see her grandson with a woman at his side? It was her 90th birthday, after all. Who knew how long John would have her still? Seeing him happy was the greatest gift he could give her, and he knew that.

John sighed. “Yes, I will bring someone.”

That she didn't squeal was unexpected, but he knew his mother was right there with her, listening to everything.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? Try Tinder, maybe? How hard could it be to find a woman who’d go on a date with him? But John hated every single aspect of using his phone for anything other than texting and calling — and he gave up when the app asked him too many questions about himself.

That’s when he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He remembered that beautiful, chatty neighbor of his. You'd watched his flat and watered his plants a few times when he was deployed. You’d only met briefly, but given John’s sparsely decorated way of living, he wasn’t worried you would steal anything. But his grandmother's plants were something holy to him, and you kept them alive, and that made you a trustworthy person in his book.

And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd stolen a glance at you here and there, always hidden in a hoodie or a way-too-big raincoat that obscured your figure, and something about it intrigued him.

Before his brain could even process what his feet were doing, he stumbled to the front door and opened it, revealing you, arms full of groceries, struggling to get the key into the door.

“Need help with that?” A low, grumbling voice startled you, and you almost dropped the bag full of fruits and veggies.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

John chuckled, then took the bag from you as if it was something he'd casually do all the time. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, putting the key in the lock. You took the bag from him and wanted to escape this awkward situation with your way-too-good-looking neighbor as fast as possible. But before you could close the door, he intervened.

“Hey, uh, I have a question.” John’s hand ran through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrayed his usual confidence.

“Yes?”

“I – I kinda promised my grandma that I’d bring a girlfriend to her 90th birthday party, and, well –”

“You don’t have one?” The question came out sounding more shocked than you intended. You were certain he had women lining up for him.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t.” His gaze dropped to the floor for a fleeting moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the admission. You tilted your head, looking at him expectantly.

“So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? What’s in it for me?”

“Free fancy food?” He smiled crookedly, and you were done for. How could you say no to that smile? The same smile that had been haunting your thoughts ever since he’d given you his keys to his apartment? Your heart was pounding.

“It’s a date,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink it. The relief that flooded his eyes made something inside you flutter.

“Thank you, I owe you one. Six p.m. on Friday, alright?”

“What should I wear?”

John wasn’t prepared for that question. And he didn’t mean to check you out – but he did. His eyes wandered from your boots, over your hips, up to your breasts – where his gaze lingered a second too long— and then to your face.

“It’s a garden dinner. I’m sure you’ll look nice in anything,” he said, the words feeling ridiculously inadequate the moment they left his lips.

“Very helpful, thanks.” He braced himself for a sarcastic retort, but you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’ll figure it out. Have a nice evening.”

You retreated to your apartment, leaning back against the closed door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was still pounding. Did John, your neighbor, ask you out? The same John who seemed so unapproachable, wrapped in that aura of intensity he always wore, who disappeared for weeks on end to go on “business trips” and returned with a deep shadow under those blue eyes?

What did he even do when he disappeared? You'd never asked. Even when he'd given you his keys so you could look after his flat while he was gone, there was nothing that gave away what exactly he did or where he went.

The small conversations you’d shared had always been just that— small nothings, polite exchanges with your friendly neighbor. Still, those infrequent encounters always sent your stomach into a nervous frenzy.

You rummaged through your closet, trying to find something that screamed “I'm a cool, collected woman who casually dates mysteriously handsome men ” without looking like you’d overdone it. A garden party could literally mean anything, especially since you knew nothing about his family. Were you supposed to pick a nice, flowing dress or stick with casual jeans and a shirt? You had no idea.

You stopped your mind from spiralling further. It wasn’t a real date. It was a fake date .

What were you thinking, agreeing to this? You were doubting your own sanity — but then you remembered the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled, the warmth that radiated from him when he’d helped you with your groceries – saying “no” to him wasn’t even an option. There was something about him that drew you in, a gravitational pull you couldn’t resist, even if it meant playing pretend.

The sundress you wore – he couldn’t even pinpoint the colour, something soft and warm, summery, like the sky just before dusk – hugged your curves in all the right ways, the delicate straps showcasing the elegant line of your neck and collarbone. His gaze traced the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric, the way the skirt flowed over your hips, his mind already picturing how it would look bunched up around your waist when –

Fuck.

A wave of heat - he knew it so well, yet hadn’t felt it in what seemed like forever - crashed over him, settled deep in his gut, tightening his muscles, making his cock twitch.

He shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his pants suddenly felt about two sizes too small.

He’d usually never been one for flowery dresses and delicate gold jewellery like the earrings that decorated your ears. They clashed with the brutal reality of his world. But on you, it was devastating. You were an innocent, oblivious creature walking straight into his hardened, cynical world without even knowing it. And somehow, against all logic and years of self-preservation, he wanted to corrupt every part of you.

His gaze snapped to the flesh of your delicate thighs that left little to his imagination, those toned legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you closer and –

Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip.

He forced himself to look away, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he’d pull a muscle.

This was his neighbour. You , who’d watered his plants, borrowed his toolbox, offered a smile whenever you met in the hallway. The one who’d agreed to this incredibly stupid idea. You were doing him a favour, for God’s sake.

“Ready?” He shoved the word out harsher than he’d intended, the sound completely alien to even his own ears. But before you could answer, he shut his door and ushered you towards the exit. He needed air. He’d preferred an ice bath, preferably yesterday.

You didn’t mind adapting to roles and play pretend at all, but as soon as you arrived at the estate, your confidence got humbled. The house was huge, and the driveway alone was already filled with floral arrangements and all sorts of birthday wishes – an enormous ninety made out of entirely blush pink roses and lavender decorated the front yard.

The garden party was in full swing already when you two arrived. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and chatter, clinking glasses and the distant beat of a live band. John seemed oddly out of place in between the flowers and the brightly dressed guests, like a lone wolf who had been dragged to a tea party.

But as soon as you stepped further into the event, the warm air surrounding you, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus, the smiling faces all around you, your anxiety about the whole thing lessened.

“Don’t worry too much," John's arm brushed against yours as you navigated through the clusters of guests. He reached out to grab two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “The worst they could do is show you my childhood photos.”

He offered you a drink, and you took it from him, smiling. “Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” You earned yourself a deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest and did decidedly inappropriate things to your equilibrium.

When John took your free hand into his like it was the most normal thing in the world, you felt like this was going to be the easiest task. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget you were living a lie.

Until dinner.

The seating arrangements were strategically orchestrated, it seemed, to maximize family bonding - or torture, you hadn’t decided which. You found yourself sitting between John, radiating a mix of polite restraint and his usual natural intensity that set your pulse racing, and a woman with the same kind eyes as him.

“This is my mother, Eleanor,” John had introduced her earlier, her smile so warm and welcoming you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be playing a role. She seemed almost too impressed when you'd introduced yourself, as if she couldn't quite believe he was telling the truth about having a girlfriend.

You'd prove them wrong, not for their sake, but for your own growing satisfaction at seeing John surprised.

You were no stranger to the barrage of questions about your single status and lack of a partner from your own family, so you knew how tiresome it could get. You braced yourself for a similar interrogation.

Across the table, John's grandma beamed at you with a delight that melted your heart. You understood then what this was all about for him — fulfilling his grandmother's wish to see him happy, settled.

On impulse, you reached out to grab John’s hand beside yours, your fingers threading through his, offering him a reassuring smile, pretending to bring out your best I-am-so-in-love look you could muster.

He seemed taken aback, his entire body stiffening for a split second as if your touch were an electric shock. But then he recovered quickly, his fingers tightening around yours with a gentle pressure that sent goosebumps dancing up your arm. He raised your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles that lingered a heartbeat too long.

Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze fixated on the curve of his lips, the way his beard scraped against your skin. Your stomach did a somersault, your senses flooded with a rush of longing that was as unexpected as it was undeniably thrilling.

“So,” John's aunt leaned across the table, her voice a bit too loud, as if intended to break the spell you’d fallen under. “What do you do?”

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your gaze reluctantly leaving John’s hand and focusing on the plate of food a server had just placed before you. Shepherd's pie. But not just any shepherd’s pie. This looked like a culinary masterpiece compared to the frozen meals you were used to eating all the time.

“I work in healthcare,” you answered, your mouth already watering at the sight of the culinary heaven before you. “I’m an ER nurse.”

“Oh, wow,” his grandma chirped from across the table, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest. Her comment, however, was quickly drowned out by his aunt's next, slightly more probing, question.

“I'm amazed you two met with such busy schedules. To be fair,” she added with a sly smile directed at John, “I'm shocked Jonathan managed to find someone at all with his occupation .”

Your fork, laden with a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned mince, froze halfway to your mouth. Your earlier questions about the nature of John’s job came rushing back. What exactly did he do? You knew he was often away for extended periods, you even kept his plants from dying a slow death from time to time, but his reasons had always been vague. “Business trips,” he’d called them, with a shrug and that infuriatingly handsome smile.

“Right,” you managed, forcing a light laugh as you carefully set your fork back down, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “We make it work. We talk a lot on the phone."

“You do?” His mother, ever the perceptive one, turned to John, her brows raised in what you could only describe as disbelief. “How come you always tell us you can’t contact us?”

John cleared his throat and his hand reached for his beer, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. “Kate makes some exceptions,” he explained, his gaze fixed on the drink.

Kate? Your mind scrambled for context, your internal “John’s-Life” file coming up short. “Kate” let him make exceptions? Who was Kate, and more importantly, what kind of job required someone to ask permission to make personal phone calls? And why did you feel jealous - you had absolutely no business to feel this way.

“Who’s Kate?” You asked, reaching for your champagne flute, unable to hide the accusatory edge creeping into your voice.

“My boss . Sort of.” The golden liquid got caught halfway in your throat. First name basis with his boss? His family knew his boss? So many questions came up, and you were slowly starting to panic. You were supposed to be a believable girlfriend, but you were scared the mask was slipping away by the second.

“Oh, right, Kate. Sorry, darling. You know how my weeks have been lately. It's a wonder I can remember my own name half the time.”

“She must be happy for you, too,” his mother commented, delicately spearing a piece of fish with a precision that made you suspect years of etiquette training lay beneath her impeccably polite facade. “Finding someone special, I mean. Might even spare her some of your, shall we say, moods .” She glanced at John, her eyebrows arched as if she was sharing a private joke with the entire table, except you.

Moods? You’d always found John to be quiet, reserved, perhaps a tad intimidating at times, but never moody.

You glanced at John, who was pointedly studying his plate, the faintest hint of a flush creeping up his neck. You wouldn't have thought the man capable of embarrassment. It made him seem unexpectedly human, and somehow even more attractive.

You were about to ask for clarification when Nan seized the conversational reins. “So, darlings,” she asked, her gaze moving back and forth between you and John, her smile widening expectantly, “How long have you two known each other?”

“I think six months?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips.

At the exact same moment, John declared, “Almost a year now,” his voice deep and steady, completely contradicting your rushed estimation.

You froze. The silence that descended upon the table was deafening.

“Has it already been that long?” you exclaimed quickly, forcing a bright smile and injecting as much wonder and mock surprise into your voice as you could muster. You prayed that your sudden rush of amnesia would be enough to distract them from the giant, elephant-sized hole you’d just blown in your story. You reached over to slightly squeeze his hand. “I suppose time flies when you’re in love.”

You snuck a peek at John, expecting to see panic, maybe even annoyance, but what you found in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He was watching you intensely. And that smile playing at the corner of his lips? It made something dangerous and delicious twist low in your belly.

“I believe that,” John’s grandma chimed in, her voice warm with the wisdom of nine decades lived. “You two are very lovely together.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement. “She’s good for you, Jonathan. Maybe having someone special to come home to will make those long missions away a little easier.”

"Speaking of which, how’s that new posting treating you, lad? Heard it’s a bit of a hot zone, eh?” John's uncle boomed across the table.

“It has its challenges,” John replied, taking a long sip of his beer as if to fortify himself for the inevitable round of inquiries. “But it’s good to be back in the field.”

You frowned. Field? Posting? What kind of job involved working in a “field”? And what exactly made it a “hot zone?” You felt more and more confused by the conversation, it was as if they spoke an entirely different language, a language riddled with code words and shared experiences you weren’t privy to.

“That I believe,” his uncle answered, also reaching for his beer as if to toast to a shared understanding. “Bet your rank will get you far, though.”

You felt John tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours, not letting go. His family's casual acceptance of his frequent — and apparently lengthy — disappearances made you increasingly curious. You knew by now he often travelled for work, but something about the way they spoke, the underlying thread of concern laced with pride, hinted at a world you were only just starting to glimpse.

“I imagine those long stretches apart must be difficult, darling,” John's aunt commented, her gaze fixed on you with a sympathy that only deepened your bewilderment. “But I’m sure you’re used to it by now, working in a hospital and all. Those long shifts must be a challenge, too.”

You smiled, still confused about what was going on—but you also saw an opportunity. It was time to take control of the narrative, to steer this conversation into a territory you could navigate — even if it meant bending the truth further than it had already been twisted.

“Speaking of long stretches,” you interjected, shooting John a look that was equal parts challenge and playful invitation. You’d gone from wanting to bolt to wanting to play this game, see how far you could push him, how convincingly you could both lie. “Remember that road trip we took last fall? The one where we got hopelessly lost in the Scottish Highlands and ended up sleeping in the car?”

As you spoke, you noticed that everyone else at the table had dived into their food, the initial round of introductions and polite inquiries fading into a comfortable murmur of conversation. Nan beamed at you both, her fork hovering over a generous slice of shepherd’s pie, her eyes twinkling with the quiet pleasure of seeing her grandson – even a pretend version of him – happy.

Beside you, John stiffened, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and what you could only interpret as wary amusement. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like velvet draped over steel. “Scotland. Beautiful, isn’t it, love?”

“Beautiful?” you countered, tilting your head and letting out a soft laugh that you were fairly certain sounded far more genuine than it should have. You couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking, the way he effortlessly picked up on your cue and played along. “Those winding Highland roads. They were more treacherous than romantic, if I’m being honest. I was certain you were going to drive us straight off a cliff at least a dozen times.”

His smile widened, revealing a flash of teeth that made something deep inside you melt a little. “I assure you, love, my driving is impeccable. You were simply distracted.” His gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long.

A delicious warmth flooded your cheeks. “Distracted? I seem to recall you being the one with wandering eyes," you countered, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you met his gaze head-on. You weren’t sure if the heightened awareness you felt buzzing between you was a product of the lies you were weaving or something more.

“That’s because you are quite the sight to behold, love,” he said, his voice husky, the words brushing against your senses like a caress.

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to process his words, their unexpected sincerity throwing you off balance. Had he just complemented you?

“You are—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on your chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. You held your breath, waiting, as the air thrummed with a sudden, unexpected intimacy.

“Breathtaking.”

What was he doing? you thought, your heart pounding. Was he still playing the part, or was there something more simmering beneath the surface? And why did the possibility excite you?

The air thickened, the sound of his family’s conversation fading into the background as the world seemed to shrink, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. You weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or lean across the table and kiss him senseless.

Just as you felt yourself leaning into that dangerous impulse, Eleanor cleared her throat delicately.

You both startled, like students caught whispering in the back of the classroom. John's cheeks, you noticed with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, were flushed a faint shade of pink. Even a man like John wasn't immune to a mother's watchful gaze.

“Those rolls are delicious, dear,” Eleanor commented, and turned to you, her tone light but her eyes sharp with amusement. “Why don't you have one?”

You reached for a roll, suddenly starving, the earlier tension dissolving into a relieved chuckle as you caught John's eyes. He winked at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. You winked back, feeling a warmth spread through you caused by the man sitting beside you, a man who, despite your best efforts to resist, was quickly becoming more than just a convenient prop in this game of play pretend.

You'd managed to escape the clutches of the dinner table without completely blowing your cover, even when, at some points, you weren’t so sure how nobody saw right through you. But then came the real challenge — mingling. The party had moved inside the house, and you were separated from John.

You silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this whole fabricated scenario. What if you told completely different stories to his relatives? What if someone asked you about his work, for God’s sake?

Glasses of port in hand, John’s extended family seemed very determined to catch up on months’ worth of news in one evening. You did your best to smile politely at every occasion, your inner monologue continuously reminding you to simply not say anything stupid.

Suddenly, a very chipper and well-dressed woman intruded on your personal space, waving her phone in front of your face. “You must be John’s girl!” she exclaimed, and before you could even answer, she swiped through numerous photos. “Look at her – isn't she adorable!”

You leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with the child in the photos while subtly taking a step back, her perfume a bit overwhelming. “Absolutely adorable,” you agreed, putting on a wide grin, and the woman beamed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what children you and John will bring into this world. Aren’t they the greatest thing?”

Children? Your smile faltered. You opened your mouth to respond, to stammer out some vague response about “one step at a time”, but before you could even get a word out, the woman had moved on, already excitedly showing off her offspring to the next unsuspecting relative.

Note to self: Avoid eye contact with anyone holding a baby photo, you thought, your internal panic rising. This whole “fake girlfriend” thing was rapidly becoming a high-stakes obstacle course, and you weren’t sure you were agile enough to navigate it without falling flat on your face.

You were trying to reach John, a plate of sticky toffee pudding on your plate, wanting to show off that you were going to try his favorite dessert – when a booming voice cut through the chatter, catching your attention. “There he is!” A tall, older man with curly hair approached John and shook his hand with a force that could crush granite. “That last mission you pulled off? Absolute textbook. A captain leading his own task force? The old man would be bloody proud.”

John’s posture stiffened ever so slightly. “Cheers, uncle,” he responded, raising his glass, his gaze darting towards you for the briefest of moments.

Mission? Captain? Task force?

The people around you, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued chatting, casually dropping words like “deployment,” “classified,” “weapons,” and all other sorts of military jargon as if they were discussing the weather.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

All those late-night departures, when you heard heavy footsteps echo through your shared hallway; the vague explanations about “work trips” when you met him outside your apartment; those calls he received at odd hours, his voice tight, his tone clipped, echoing through your shared walls; those calls that always seemed to coincide with a breaking news report or some global crisis. John, your sweet, infuriatingly attractive, seemingly normal neighbor – was leading a deadly task force.

Not that it was any of your business what he did. He owed you nothing.

Then why did this feel like such a blow? That he didn’t tell you beforehand, throwing you into the midst of his family who were clearly all about that life, and leaving you in the dark, making a complete idiot of yourself?

You had been looking forward to trying the famous dessert all evening, but suddenly, your appetite completely vanished. The plate that you held suddenly felt as appealing as cold porridge.

“Everything alright, love?” John approached, noticing the shift in your mood.

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Peachy,” you replied. “Just, fascinating, hearing everyone’s stories.” You stabbed the pudding with your spoon, not sure where the feelings of anger came from.

You shoved the plate into his chest, forcing him to take it from you. “I just need some air.” You turned and made your way towards his Nan’s beautiful rose garden.

He’d lied to you.

Well, maybe not lied, exactly. Maybe it was the sudden awareness of the danger that shadowed his every move, who he really was, who he was compared to you.

You had every right to feel foolish, to even agree to such a stupid idea. But betrayal? You had no idea where it came from, it seemed like an overreach for a situation that had been, from the beginning, just a constructed lie.

Stepping out into the cool of the garden, you breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of flowers seemed to calm your racing mind a little, a welcome contrast to all the voices you just escaped. You found your way to a small bench underneath an old oak tree, sinking onto the cool wood, straightening your dress doing so.

You didn’t hear John approach, but then again, stealth was probably part of his many talents. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, stopping right next to you, an arm leaning on the backrest of the bench.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by all these emotions you were feeling. “Well, the food is excellent, your grandma is adorable, and I haven’t witnessed any international incidents first-hand - yet. So that’s a win, I guess?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, a welcome contrast to the tension that had been knotting your stomach ever since you’d pieced together the things about his life. You’d grown accustomed to that sound, to the way it rumbled deep in his chest, unexpectedly gentle for a man who, apparently, spent his days navigating a world far removed from yours.

He shifted slightly, settling beside you on the bench. You felt the heat radiating off him in the cool air of the evening, an awareness that lingered even though he wasn’t touching you.

“Look,” he began, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, a gesture that was strangely endearing on a man who usually was so confident. “My life –” He gestured vaguely towards the party, the house. The unspoken explanation – “ my life is a full-blown, military-grade soap opera ” – hung in the air between you.

“You know,” you interrupted him, turning to face him. “A little heads-up about what you do would have been nice. Especially that it’s such an important thing in your family.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to throw you into that without a warning. I guess because it’s so normal to me, I just completely forgot about it.”

“I’m a nurse, I don’t really specialize in disarming bombs or whatever it is your uncles like to do for fun.”

He laughed then, a full, hearty laugh, that made your heart flutter faster in your chest.

“It’s not funny.” You said, looking away. “And I know I have absolutely no right to feel – ” you struggled to find the right word.

“To feel –?” he prompted, leaning a little closer.

“Disappointed,” you breathed. “It’s silly, I just felt like I was left out of inside jokes during dinner. I tried so hard to not let this lie slip, but it could have been so much easier if I had known.” You took a deep breath. “So, while I was keeping your plants alive," you added, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, "You were out there doing what exactly? Neutralizing threats? Saving the world? I missed that chapter in the ‘Good Neighbor Handbook.’”

You couldn’t help the edge that crept into your voice. At first, it had just been a fun little game, a chance to play dress-up and enjoy delicious food. But now, now it felt different. You were, suddenly, uncomfortably aware of just how much you didn’t know about the man sitting beside you.

The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. John stared at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You probably think I am a complete idiot,” you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, a jumble of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. “I'm sorry, I'm being absolutely dramatic –”

The words died on your lips as his hands shot out, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that was both possessive and unexpectedly tender. His gaze held yours captive, those blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. And then, without a word, without warning, his mouth crashed down on yours.

His lips were hard, demanding, hungry, devouring yours as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, unyielding dance.

It was primal, raw, untamed. It was the kind of kiss that stripped away the pretence, obliterated the boundaries, and left you gasping for air, your mind reeling, your body aching for something you couldn’t name but craved with every fibre of your being.

Time seemed to stand still — the garden, the party, the lie — it all faded away. There was only the feel of his lips on yours, the light scrape of his beard against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves.

Eventually, he pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the night air. His hands lingered, resting on your face, slightly tracing the lines of your jawline. His gaze was wild, eyes dark and burning into you with an intensity that made you want to melt into a puddle.

You stared back, your mind racing. This was the moment the lines blurred. There had been something there — you felt it. It was more than pretend, more than just playing a game. Desire. Interest. Even though you felt like you no longer knew this man at all, you wanted to get to know him all over again. Taste him, touch him — you blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.

“Would you prefer to leave?” John's hand, still warm from its possessive grip on your face, gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture both intimate and oddly reassuring.

You shook your head. “It’s your grandma's birthday. You can’t just leave because I feel uncomfortable.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of the party for one night,” he murmured, a quick smile flashing across his face. “I’m going to let her know you aren’t feeling too well. Alright?”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your cheek, then, with a low rumble, he whispered in your ear, “Wait here.”

In front of both your apartment doors, the silence was an awkwardly long stretch. It felt like you were both trying to understand what had just happened, unsure where to begin.

“So, um,” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you found strangely endearing. “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded and smiled, “Of course. It was nice to get the dust off this dress again.”

He leaned towards you slowly, and your breath hitched. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you again – would he? Was what happened in the garden just an impulsive decision?

But he hesitated, the moment frozen, and there was something indecisive happening between you. But you didn’t mean to push, neither did he.

He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Good night,” he said, his words careful, as if he were holding back from saying something else.

“Good night,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. The small hope that you'd taste him one more time evaporated.

You turned, your hand reaching for your door, keys almost to the lock, when strong hands grabbed you, spinning you around in a dizzying motion. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours again — silencing all those unspoken doubts and hesitations.

This was real. You felt it; your heart screamed it; the way his mouth was devouring yours, displaying a hunger and desire that shouted it from the rooftops.

Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth as he backed you against your apartment door, his body moulding against yours as if he was starving for the feel of you. You were breathless, lost in the heat of his touch, the way his hands roamed your back and finally settled on the curve of your ass.

You realized then that you had always dreamed of kissing this man, silently, secretly, whenever his eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long right there in the hallway. You’d always dismissed those fantasies as wishful thinking, but clearly, he’d been wanting the same.

You heard a click as the lock on your door was turned, and you felt as his hand fumbled with the doorknob behind your back – all while his lips were still on yours, occasionally wandering to kiss your jaw and giving you an opportunity to breathe. He cursed under his breath, and before you even processed what was happening, he shouldered the door open and pushed both of you back into the darkness of your apartment.

The familiar space of your home was suddenly transformed, and John's touch was the compass guiding you. He didn't release you, keeping you close to his body as if you might slip away. With a smooth movement, he shoved the door shut, tossing your keys somewhere onto the floor.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you up flush against him, the gasp that escaped your lips quickly swallowed by his next kiss. He carried you, your legs wrapped around his waist, until he reached your couch, where he gently laid you down, his body hovering over yours, his eyes devouring you, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

The sofa dipped as he planted his knees left and right next to your legs, and he leaned to hover over you. You were both breathing hard, the only sound in the silent room. The only light illuminating you was the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window above.

“Is this still pretend?” you managed to whisper, your voice a shaky breath.

His eyes locked onto yours, the slight smirk on his face sending a thrill to your core. His hands moved to your hips, deliberately grinding them against his groin. You gasped as you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you, hyperaware of the thin fabric separating your most intimate parts.

“Fuck, no,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He moved his hips again, his hands slowly but intentionally pushing up your dress.

Your skin felt like it was on fire; your head was spinning.

One of his hands moved up to the line of your dress, and with a rumble in his throat, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry gaze.

His pupils dilated, his eyes dark and intense, as he stared at you like a starving man presented with a banquet. You'd never been so incredibly turned on, no man had ever made you feel this way— John’s simple gesture of delicately tracing the skin around your nipples made you moan so loudly you immediately threw a hand over your mouth, slightly embarrassed.

“No, let me hear it all. You sing so beautifully, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently moving yours away, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and unexpected tenderness.

"John,” you breathed, your voice a shaky sigh.

“This bloody dress,” he groaned. “Wanted to rip it off you the second I saw you standing at my door.” His voice was raw, unfiltered – gone was the nice, gentle neighbor; this was the Captain coming through, the darker, more commanding side of him that should have scared you, but only served to intensify the desire swirling inside you. You wanted to know all about the man he left behind as soon as he stepped into this building.

“Every fuckin' time I saw you in the hallway, those quick hellos were never enough,” he confessed, one hand tightening on your hip, the other slowly trailing down your skin beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that made you lose your mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His words were so honest, it caught you off guard completely. It must have shown on your face right then, because he smiled in return. “Never thought I’d stand a chance," he admitted. "You always seemed out of reach.”

You frowned. “Out of reach?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Figured I’d never stand a chance against the queue of blokes lining up at your door.”

“John, what? A queue, for me?” You laughed, your disbelief genuine, gesturing towards yourself.

He sighed, sitting up, his fingers playing with the lace trim of your panties as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’re beautiful, and tonight, I learned it’s inside and out. You're you, and that's fuckin’ wonderful."

You shook your head in disbelief. His words made your entire body tremble. He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you. And it felt extraordinary.

He watched you intently, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored your own. “I kept thinking about what you were hiding underneath those baggy clothes,” he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, his fingers slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He felt you shy away from him a little, a smirk on his face stole your breath, as he pushed your legs apart with his calloused hands. “Like I said, so beautiful.” He whispered, his voice so rough with what you could only describe as lust. It made you shiver.

“You know,” you whispered, “The funny thing is, I thought exactly the same.”

“What do you mean?” You watched as he slowly ran a hand along your thighs. A ragged breath escaped your lungs, and you struggled to continue speaking.

“You’re incredible – there’s no way you didn’t have someone to –”

“To what?” he asked, suddenly stopping his movements, his gaze intense. “Willing to take a chance on a bloke who doesn’t know a thing about flowers or romantic dinners? Who spends more time on planes than in his own flat? Whose idea of a good time involves dodging bullets and disarming explosives?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

He was being so completely honest with you, so vulnerable, it sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was seeing you – the real you, hidden beneath the baggy clothes and carefully constructed walls – and for the first time that night, you were truly seeing him . John, who looked like he could bench-press a small car, who radiated an aura of danger as naturally as he breathed.

He wasn’t some playboy who brought women home every other night, like you’d assumed. He could have any woman he wanted – and yet, here he was, his gaze tracing every inch of your naked body.

He liked you. He’d thought about you.

It felt surreal.

“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Asking you, I mean. Thinking I could never have you, and now –”

You held your breath, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Now what?” you whispered.

“You’re mine.” He growled, and before your brain could even process what happened, his mouth was on your clit, kissing and sucking like he finally got to taste that delicious meal he was promised.

“Oh god–!” you moaned, your hands instinctively gripping his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. He moaned, and the vibration of it against your skin made your legs twitch uncontrollably.

John’s touch was relentless, his tongue swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you that were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. You arched against him, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more of the delicious friction that was driving you to the edge of madness.

He seemed to sense your desperation, the way your body was begging for something more. He pulled back, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you. His hand replaced his tongue, fingers gently caressing your sensitive clit. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“John,” you breathed, you were speaking without any control over it.

“What do you need, love?” he asked, his voice thick with lust, his hand never ceasing its tormenting, exquisite torture against your aching core.

“I – I need –” You couldn't form the words. Your mind was blank, and your body was trembling with need that eclipsed all rational thought.

He seemed to understand, his gaze softening, a knowing smile curving his lips. He rose slightly, his hands moving towards the belt buckle, groaning as he released himself from the confines of his trousers.

He stepped out of his pants, the sound of fabric hitting the floor echoing in the sudden silence. His shirt followed shortly after, and you were captivated. His body was hard, sculpted muscle, his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers, proof of the desire you'd awakened within him.

You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly peeled off his boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached down, fisting himself, and your breath hitched at the sight.

“Still think you’re not attractive to me, love? Look what you’re doing to me,” he let his thumb slowly run over the head of his length, spreading the drop of pre-come that formed there, and he must have known it was teasing you, driving you mad. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded.

You opened your mouth to speak, to voice the desire that was burning through you with the force of a supernova, but the words caught in your throat. All you could manage was a whimper as your fingers were digging into the cushions, hips arching upwards, instinctively seeking out friction you craved.

You felt like if you couldn't have him, you might die.

“Uh-uh.” His hand reached forward to grab the soft flesh of your tits, one after the other, and his thumb brushed a teasing circle around your nipples, the pressure increasing just enough to make you gasp. "I said, tell me what you want.”

“You,” you confessed, the words torn from your very soul. “For God's sake, I fucking need you.”

John's gaze intensified, his eyes dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He loomed over you like a predator about to claim his prey. With a growl, he leaned down, pressing his mouth on yours, and you could feel his erection pressing between your folds.

One of his hands shot out, cupping the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you captive.

“You’re going to get everything you need, love,” he breathed, and followed by his promise, he entered you in a deliberately slow movement, almost torturous. He moaned, so raw and primal, it made you clench around him, and your entire body ignited as he filled you completely. His size, his heat, the intensity of the sensation – it sent your senses into overdrive, causing you to dig your nails into his back.

“Ohhh fuck,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, lost in a world of sensation he'd created with his touch.

He paused, holding himself perfectly still within you, savoring the feel of your body clenching around him and the soft moans escaping your lips.

You whimpered, arching your hips up instinctively, desperate for more, aching for him to erase every thought, every doubt, every worry, with the overwhelming pleasure that throbbed between you.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and then he moved. Slowly at first, deliberately drawing out the sensation, his hips rocking against yours, each thrust a slow, agonizingly delicious torture that had you clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving trails of fire on his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice tight with need as he buried himself deeper. “You're so fucking tight – so fucking wet.”

But even in the haze of pleasure, a primal instinct took over. He needed more. He rolled you both over, shifting his weight so that you were straddling his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your core aligned perfectly with his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers working quickly, impatiently, to free you from the loosely hanging fabric.

“Now,” his hands found your hips, guiding you closer, his thumbs stroking the sensitive flesh. “Ride me, love.”

You looked down at him, at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a surge of confidence, of pure, unadulterated lust, washed over you. You began to move, supporting your weight against him by running your hands through the light fur that dusted his chest.

His hands dug deeper into your skin as you increased the pace, moving faster, harder, riding his cock wildly, completely lost in the pleasure.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you. He watched you, his gaze never leaving your face, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as if he were hanging onto your every move.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Like that, love. Ride me hard.”

His words were a primal command, a challenge that sent a thrill through you, making you even bolder, even more daring. You leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lip, drawing a groan from him that resonated deep in your core.

He tasted of salt and desire, the scent of his arousal filling your senses, making you wild. His hands were guiding your movements, matching your intensity, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge of release.

With each thrust, you felt the coil of pleasure tighten inside you, building towards a crescendo that threatened to shatter you both. You moved faster, harder, your body driven by an instinct as old as time itself. His touch was a brand, marking you as his, and the possessive hunger in his eyes as you rode him, almost send you over the edge alone.

He was groaning now, his words a jumble of incoherent pleas and praises, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggled to maintain control. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs and arms bunching beneath your touch, and you knew the storm was about to break.

“Don’t stop,” his voice was raw with need, his gaze burning into you as if he wanted to sear this moment into his soul. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter."

And with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you did.

A shudder ripped through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath away. Your walls clenched around him, a thousand tiny sparks of sensation exploding behind your eyelids. Your name tumbled from his lips, a breathless groan, as he held you tighter. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth as he captured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over you, leaving you trembling, weak, utterly undone.

After you came down from your high, you watched him intently as he was also struggling on the edge of release. Driven by need and desire, you slowly let his cock slip out of you. He made a sound that sounded animalistic, a groan, low and deep in his chest, an expression of frustration. Your hand moved instantly, your fingers finding his length, circling him, stroking him with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. Your fingertips traced a feather-light path up the underside of his shaft, lingering at the sensitive ridge just below the head before gliding back down to the base, your thumb brushing teasingly against the swollen vein that pulsed with his arousal.

His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed, a ragged breath escaping his lips as you continued to tease him, your touch the only cure for his aching need. You watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath your hand, the raw power he embodied even at that moment of vulnerability.

“I can't –” His fingers dug into the cushions, his body tensing as if fighting against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

You smiled. The power thrumming between you was intoxicating, addictive. “Can’t what, John?” you whispered, leaning in, your lips trailing a teasing path along the hard planes of his stomach. “Can’t hold back anymore?”

His answer was a strangled groan. His body went rigid, and the wave of pleasure that followed was written all over his face. His hand shot out, not to stop you, but to grip your wrist. His fingers tightened around it, his control started slipping, shattering, as his release washed over him.

You whispered small praises, and watched, fascinated, as his release spurted over your hand in hot, pulsing bursts. His hips were stuttering, his cock, hard, thick in your grasp, throbbed, and the remnants of his release felt warm against your skin. He was completely at your mercy.

You’d never felt this bold, this empowered, this reckless. Before you could overthink it, you raised your hand to your mouth and licked his come off of your fingers.

Your wish to taste him, it couldn’t get any more him than this. Salt, sweat, and something so uniquely his. It made your walls clench around nothing, sending a new wave of excitement through you.

John’s gaze snapped to yours, his eyes wide, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring in their depths as he watched you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and reached out, his hand resting on your neck, his thumb slowly stroking along your pulse. “You’re something else, you know that, love?”

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. The sudden awareness of your actions, the intimacy of the moment, sent a wave of shyness washing over you. “I, uh,” you trailed off, averting your gaze, unable to meet the intensity burning in his eyes. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to hide.

John’s hand shifted, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don't shy away from me now, sweetheart,” he murmured and softly ran his thumbs over your lips. “Not after that.”

“That was –” You struggled to find the words, your thoughts were a mess. “I've never –”

“Never?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, the scent of him filling your senses, making you dizzy.

“Never been that bold,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to his lips, their fullness suddenly a source of endless fascination. “Or wanted someone so intensely.”

A dark smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with triumph and something that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Good,” he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Because you're mine now, love. And I'm not about to let you forget it.”

And then, before you could protest – not that you had any intention of doing so – his lips crashed down on yours. It wasn’t gentle. This kiss was a possession, a claiming, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. His hand shot out to grab your neck, holding you close to him.

This really wasn't pretend anymore.

#cod fanfic #ao3 fanfic #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #call of duty #fanfiction #captain price x reader #john price #captain price #captain john price x oc #x female reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #captain john price smut #18+ mdni

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delightfultheoristfox · 1 month

Text

Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I have no clue how this works the thought process was like: since I'm stuck in the worst writing block of my life why don't I start crossposting on Tumblr so it kind of feels like I've accomplished something while the truth is that I haven't been able to complete a WIP in two months? 🫠 I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun.

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his.

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin.

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him). His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required. Wanted. Needed.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this.

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday.

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking.

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream.

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere.

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight.

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him – must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole.

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #jealous simon riley #ghost x reader

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honeipie · 17 days

Note

can i request kuroo x reader? they get ready for bed together in the bathroom and then have a little make out session in bed. nothing smutty just some kisses maybe a few hickies if you want 🥰🥰🥰

routine

kuroo x reader

synopsis: you and kuroo take in the domestic feel of getting ready for bed together

w/c: 651

authors note: thank you for the request!

“ugh, i hate that you take longer in the bathroom than i do. you’re such a girl” you groaned leaning on the door.

“well you could always come inside. couples usually do that”

“yeah but you’re peeing. i don’t wanna watch you pee”

“you know, some girls would pay to watch me pee” he flushed the toilet moving over to wash his hands “you’re telling me you get this whole show for free and you don’t even want a peek?”

you opened the door face scrunched up in disgust “i will look down there any other time. but if we’re in a bathroom i’m not” making your way over you grabbed your toothbrush hands brushing as he grabbed his.

“you’ve already broken that. remember that one time on our honeymoon. they had this rain shower that hit just-“

“okay! yes! thank you i remember that. i remember it very well..” he grabbed the toothpaste putting it not only on his toothbrush, but yours as well. this was when he finally noticed your choice of pajamas.

“the hell are you wearing?”

you were dressed in a dark blue hoodie, an all too familiar one to him. on the back it had hinata’s name and jersey number on it.

“.. a hoodie?”

“yeah but it’s not the right teams hoodie”

you rolled your eyes with a smile “tetsu you work for the volleyball association. aren’t you supposed to be rooting for all teams?”

“nope! i work for the japan volleyball association. that’s brazil. plus i don’t like having another guys name on you”

“it’s your hoodie!”

he mocked your words before placing the toothbrush in his mouth. you scoffed giving him a light shove.

“don’t be like that!”

“jush brush your teef” he jumbled out his words through the foam. you started to brush your teeth contently beside him. it didn’t take long before his hand was lazily resting on your waist.

it felt nice. the two of you doing these types of things together. being honest, kuroo never knew if he wanted a life like this. stuck in some routine with a person when he could be out partying in some VIP lounge with his friends. though now that he was actually here with you, the person he loved more than anything, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

the two of you finished up in the bathroom moving into the bedroom. you immediately got under the covers while kuroo shed his shirt throwing it to the floor.

"damn you couldn't even wait for me?" he mumbled climbing right on top of you.

"nope, bed was too comfy to ignore"

"i'm comfy too y'know"

"says the guy laying on me instead of the other way around"

you raised an eyebrow at him making him roll his eyes "shut up" you giggled at his sass. he moved his head up so he was face to face with you "i love you"

"i love you more"

he leaned into your smiling face, catching it in a kiss. it started off slow but he quickly got impatient. you could feel the coolness of his hands running up your sweatshirt. he moved his mouth from yours to your neck.

everything was going smoothly, just tiny kisses being peppered across your neck until-

"tetsu!" you yelped pulling him away "did you just bite me?"

kuroo scoffed trying to fight your grasp "no!.. i nipped you" he took his thumb rubbing the slightly red spot "sorry about that, but at least that one kid from your job will stop hitting on you now"

your body relaxed again feeling him rubbing the spot "he's not a kid, he's just an intern with a lot of questions"

"yeah, a lot of personal questions"

"oh my gosh i forgot to tell you. he asked what i was doing tomorrow and-"

"that's it i'm biting you again"

"but you didn't let me finish!?"

#anime #honeipie #x reader #drabble #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x you #kuroo fluff #writing #haikyuu #haikyu fluff #haikyū!!

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mrskokushibo · 27 days

Text

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, Smut, Sex, 18+.

Plot: Your friends take you out for a girls' night to watch an MMA fight, where one of the fighters, Ryomen Sukuna, is a notorious hottie. Will this be the night you finally meet the man who will truly rock the foundations of your world?

Cover artwork by the amazing @innaillus 🙏❤️

Masterlist

The sound in the arena was getting louder as more people were streaming in, filling up the stands. You were looking around curious, taking in all the impressions. It was your very first time attending a fight of any kind, let alone an MMA one. You knew what it was all about as you saw it on TV, but being at the venue in person was an entirely different experience. The booming base of peppy rock music was blending with the chatter of people and an occasional announcement from the conferencier.

Your seats were in the VIP section just next to the ring. Your bestie, Bec, organised this for you all as a treat, a girls’ night out, away from your crappy love lives and mundane jobs. She slept around a lot and seemed to have connections anywhere and everywhere. You often joked, that somehow, she would be the one to land some rich dude eventually. You wished you were this open, but you always seemed to attract assholes, so you almost gave up on dating actively.

You were also the quieter one in your friend group and, just like now, you sat on the edge of the action, taking in all the impression in silence. You enjoyed being around people as long, as they let you be you. And that is why you were so close to your friends. They accepted you exactly the way you were.

Your drinks arrived and you were now sitting and sipping on a beer and snacking on some hot chips. You were facing the ring and were studying it closely. You have seen boxing rings before, but this one was different. It had a cage around it. This made you think a little as to how violent was the fighting if the fighters needed to be caged in like this.

‘Excited?’

You were interrupted by Bec, who was now leaning over the others to be able to make herself heard over the surrounding commotion.

You nodded with your mouth full of chips and beer.

‘You know…’ She leaned in a little closer to you.

‘One of the fighters is supposedly an official hottie. I saw pictures of him and damn, girl. I would fuck him even if I was on my deathbed.’

Well, you could easily imagine Bec doing something like that and you chuckled. A dirty mind in such a kind and smart person. She was the most accomplished of your friend group. A corporate lawyer, spending a lot of time working pro bono helping underprivileged clients. She, on the other hand, always called you a superhero. That is what she thought nurses were. And you did work in a huge, busy, public hospital, trying to make the stay more bearable for your patients. Who, by the way, always got very attached to you, probably due to your kind and caring nature?

‘We will see if I think the same as you. He might not be my type.’

You grinned and winked at Bec, who immediately shook her head while swallowing her drink.

‘Oh, but no, my dear. Trust me on this one. Since you have a pussy, you will get attracted to him. Instant squirt. I’m telling ya.’

She grinned in her typical mischievous manner while you were shaking your head at her over-sexualized tirade.

She was just about to say something more, but the lights went out for a moment and the conferencier began to welcome the audience, announcing the imminent start of the fight.

‘First out. The king of knockouts, the one and only, Ryomen Sukuna.’

As the name was announced the crowd went wild, lights turned blood red and music went from upbeat rock to very loud heavy metal. In the corner of your eye, you could make out the contour of Bec making the ‘thumbs up’ gesture in your direction.

When he entered the ring, you automatically realised what Bec was talking about. This man was … perfect. Everything about him screamed ‘sex’. A strong, perfectly toned body, spiked pink-dyed hair with a natural black undercut. His eyes were those of a large predator, slightly narrow and with a confident and playful look. His face was handsome and masculine and had a friendly look to it. And then there were the tattoos. Black, symmetrical markings on his face and chest and black bands on his wrists, biceps, thighs, and ankles. He reminded you of a powerful and wild tiger. You were in a state of awe and yes, Bec was right, you were getting a little aroused.

He was strutting around the ring, exuding pure confidence, and blowing sweet kisses, waving, and winking to the audience. All smiles and joy, this was someone obviously not to mess with in a ring.

The conferencier announced the entry of the second fighter, but you barely paid attention to him, being so focused on Sukuna. Very soon, the lights in the arena were switched to full power again and the match began with the ring of a bell.

It was like watching a brutal dance, the fighters moving swiftly and with amazing agility. You could only imagine the force behind the blows they were dealing each other as you were watching their powerful muscles flex and bodies break out in a sweat, which made their skin glisten in the strong arena lights.

The game paused for a moment after Sukuna dealt a scary-sounding blow to his opponent. You could almost hear the creaking of bones and tendons as the man’s back hit the cage right in front of you. The man was not knocked out, but his team was tending to his bloodied face, cleaning him up for continued fighting.

And that is when it happened. Sukuna was leaning leisurely in his corner of the ring, rolling his head in a stretch, and looking around at the audience as if he was sitting in a bar doing some people-watching instead of being in the middle of a fight. His eyes were moving around the perimeter and when they reached you, his head stopped and he smiled and winked in your direction. You froze but also felt a few butterflies rise to flight inside your belly, causing the waterworks between your legs to go into a state of high flow. Bec saw what happened and was now doing a double ‘thumbs up’ in your direction.

Soon, the ring rang again and the fight continued. But not for long, as Sukuna’s now completely exhausted opponent was slammed into the cage once again, but this time, he remained laying down on the floor of the ring. The audience was in absolute uproar, chanting ‘Ry-o-men, Ry-o-men’ and ‘Hail Thy King’ almost in unison. The referee began the count over the fallen fighter, but he did not get up. A clean knockout. The ref walked up to Sukuna, grabbed his hand, and raising it in a sign of victory, screaming out into the microphone: ‘Ryomen Sukuna wins by knockout.’ The crowd went even louder and the noise was now almost deafening. But as the fighters left the ring, the crowd settled down and it was all finished just as quickly as it began.

You felt a little tricked by the speed of it all. It would have been great to watch the sexy Ryomen for a while longer. But, oh well, all good things come to an end.

The crowd began its exodus out of the arena and soon enough, the city air hit you in the face with its’ smog and smells. Your group headed off to the nearby nightclub, Bec holding you under your arm, discussing the match and the very sexy Mr Sukuna.

The line to the club moved quickly and a few minutes later you and your friends were occupying a booth in the immediate vicinity of the dance floor. The music was already too loud to have a decent conversation, but you all were so used to losing your voices after a night out that the conversation flowed easily despite the high decibels emitted from the speakers.

The evening went on as usual, with drinks, and complaining about existing, ex-, and potential boyfriends. You danced, drank some more and very soon Bec was being dragged away to the dance floor by some hunk she chatted up at the bar.

It was your turn to get more drinks and honestly, you were promising yourself that this was the last round and then it was straight home for you. But as you were standing in front of the bar, waiting your turn, something caught your attention and changed the course of your evening.

"Well, well, well. Whom do we have here?" The sexy, husky, and playful masculine voice, whose owner you couldn't yet see, momentarily drowned out all other noises, including the deep pumping base of the club.

When you turned around to see who the voice belonged to, you must have really looked startled as the tall guy right in front of you now, smiled and ran his hand through his hair with an apologetic look on his face.

‘Sorry, I did not mean to scare you… Are you alright?’ He touched your shoulder lightly and leaned down to you. ‘I will leave you be if I annoy you.’

Quickly, you regained your composure. The owner of the voice was no one else but the sexy fighter from a couple of hours ago, Ryomen Sukuna. You felt like slapping your own cheek partly to check that you are not dreaming and partly for your stupid and awkward reaction.

‘Yes, yes, of course, I am all right. And…you are anything but annoying.’ You smiled and stretched out your hand to him to make up for the previous lack of social skills.

‘I am (y/n), and you are Ryomen, right?’

‘Yes, that is right. You have a good memory.’ * So…he did notice you at the match…How interesting…*

‘I was just about to grab a drink. Anything you would like?’ You asked him unassumingly. He smiled and shook his head.

‘Shit, I’m the one who should be buying YOU a drink. But ok, go ahead. Whiskey on the rocks for me.’

He followed you to the bar and you both sat down as they were vacant seats right in front of you and might just as well not stand while waiting.

‘With the risk of sounding like a creep. Are you here alone?’

He looked almost a bit embarrassed at having posed such a question, but you quickly eased his mood by telling him all about your girls’ night out. When you pointed and waved to your friends, Bec was not there, but when you scanned the place, you could see her making out with some tall, dark-haired dude at the far end of the dancefloor. Right. God old Bec…

The drinks were put in front of you and you chose to stay where you were. He leaned on his elbow, swirling his drink, his narrowed eyes studying you in silence for a moment. His lips twitched in a small, fluttering smile. His eyes were moving across your figure and you began to feel heat spread in your underbelly.

‘So…is this like the place to relax after your fights?’ You chose to break the silence. ‘And by the way…are you here alone? Asking with the risk of sounding like a creep.’ You chuckled a little.

‘As a matter of fact, I am. Here alone. Well, now at least. My team usually goes out here to celebrate, but everyone needed to get home early. I was also about to leave, but then I spotted you.’

He took a sip and kept on swirling his drink while making small talk about the venue and his training routines. You told him about your work and hobbies. But when you both finished your drinks, he suddenly stood up and stretched out his hand.

‘Come, let’s dance, hm?’

You followed him sheepishly, the music slow enough for a very close-up dance, so obviously in no time at all, you were gently swayed in his embrace. He was wearing tight, black jeans and an equally tight white t-shirt, the expensive type. No jewelry, no watch, the only thing adorning him being the stylish tats and of course his meticulously styled hair. He was very tall, much taller than you and you could rest your head on his chest with ease. You could feel the muscles, he was so warm too, like a furnace. He smelled of bergamot, sandalwood, and myrrh. With your eyes closed you found yourself hugging him tighter and your hips instinctively grinding against his.

You continued like this into the next song, and then to the next, slowly losing track of time, his hands wandering down to your waist and his nose nudging your forehead, to get your mouth’s attention, which very soon led to your lips connecting into a slow kiss. The surge of lust rushing through you pushed you even deeper into his embrace, you wanted to drown in him. And you also wanted him to ask you to go to his place, or your place, or just drag you to a back alley and fuck you senseless. But instead, he pulled away from the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes.

‘It is getting late… You know, as much as I would like to offer you more tonight, I am a bit old-fashioned, so this is as far as we go. But…why don’t you join me for dinner tomorrow?’

You could not say you weren’t disappointed, but whether intentional or not, his move made him essentially irresistible in an instant. Before he walked you over to your friend group, you exchanged numbers and he promised to be in touch in the morning.

Your friends kept quiet when you were saying your goodbyes, but as soon as he left, they all high-fived you. Their booze-fuelled questioning and cheering of your dating success kept on going all the way until the taxi stopped outside of your apartment building and you were finally free to take in what happened earlier tonight. You could barely sleep that night, luckily for you the next day was your day off, so you weren’t all too worried about the perspective of looking like a zombie for your date. If there was to be a date, that is. But as far as sleep went, you would catch up with a nap or two during the day anyway.

You dozed off at around 4 am only to be woken up again by the message ping of your phone at exactly 10 am. With shaking hands, you picked up the heavy rectangular device, and to your surprise and excitement it was from him. There was no hesitation with opening the message, your fingers quickly pressing on the bold unread text. And there it was:

‘Dinner at 6 pm? Just to give you heads up, we are going to (name of one of the best restaurants in town) I will pick you up. Can you give me your address, please?. xoxo / Ryomen’

*Shit, shit, shit.* You had nothing that elegant to wear. The urge to go shopping suddenly became overwhelming and you decided to skip breakfast and instead grab a takeaway coffee on the way, and eat something in town instead, after you shopped. You texted him your address and ventured out.

You hated shopping in panic and of course, just because you were looking, you didn’t find anything to buy. *Nice. So now what?*

You got home disappointed and began rummaging through your closet. Eventually, you settled for your favourite little black dress, heels, and a classic simple Swarovsky-crystal choker. A classic look, even though to you, it was how you saw yourself on nearly every date for the last year. It was too late to do anything about it now. You decided to take a nap and when you woke up, after a quick snack and another coffee, you got ready in your usual not-too-overdone manner. *Alright, this will have to do.*

Before you managed to put your shoes on, your phone pinged again.

‘I’m outside.’

You looked out your window and you could not help but stare at the gorgeous sportscar parked just outside of your gate. Almost running through the hall, you put your heels on and rushed down to meet him. At a closer look, the car was a brilliant black Acura NSX. A rather rare car, but what else would you expect of someone like Sukuna.

As you walked up to the vehicle, the door opened and there he was, nimbly jumping out of the car, walking up to you and embracing you into a kiss.

‘You look amazing.’ He whispered in your ear.

But in your eyes, it was him that looked…amazing. He was wearing a black suit styled casually with an expensive black t-shirt and stylish all-black-leather Vans slip-ons. His hair was immaculately spiked and today he was wearing a whole bunch of piercings in his ears.

When you were done with your greetings, he opened the passenger door for you and as you got seated, he closed the door behind you and then jumped into his seat. He smiled at you before starting the engine. The roar was guttural and the vibrations were hitting your core just as much as the presence of the very charming man next to you. You did not notice your surroundings as all the way to the restaurant you were too focused on his presence and your conversation.

At last, the car slowed down and you arrived at the restaurant located in the middle of the business district. He parked the car just outside of the entrance and gave the keys to the concierge. As he led you in, you were almost taken aback by the interior of the luxurious eatery. It was a Japanese/Western fusion restaurant, with none less than two Michelin stars on its resume. The walls were graphite grey, illuminated by dim lanterns cleverly placed, creating a pattern of shadows cast by the intricate pottery standing on tall, oriental side tables. The kitchen was completely open and located in the middle of the dining room, covered by the branches of a large, heavily pruned Sakura tree.

The tables were placed around the kitchen, allowing the guests a full view of the spectacle the chefs were putting on.

A waiter in traditional Japanese attire led you both to your table and very soon you were enjoying a meal like no other you have ever experienced. Dish after dish, one more exotic than the other was brought out to you, accompanied by vintage wines and sake.

The whole time, the two of you were talking almost non-stop, you were amazed at how well-versed and educated he was. Not what you expected out of someone who essentially beats people up for a living. Beneath the friendly and civilised conversation, the sexual tension was steadily building up for nearly every bite you took.

When the main meal was finished and you wiped your mouth with the thick, linen napkin and cleaned off your hands with a warm, wet towel provided by the waiter, he took your hand and held it gently, massaging the inside of your palm with his thumb. His eyes were narrowed and a delicate smile lit up his sharp features. A heavy blush was spreading underneath your make-up. Your mouth was getting dry and you felt warmth spread inside you.

‘Do you have room for dessert? They make this amazing matcha mochi here… You should try it.’

He was speaking slowly, and it was almost as if he was beginning the seduction ritual, because his movements followed the slower speech and the pink of his eyes was growing darker by the minute, with what you only could read as pure, unadulterated lust.

You bit your bottom lip and shuffled in your seat. You were getting wet. But going home was not an option yet. It is now that the game was just beginning. The foreplay before foreplay. Teasing and small touches drove you to the brink of what your body could endure without literally throwing yourself at him.

‘Yes, I would like to try it. And maybe some coffee to go with it?’

You cocked your head and smiled knowing very well you needed a lot of coffee for what was coming.

The sweets and coffee arrived soon after you placed the order.

You speared some of the mochi with your fork and deliberately slowly put it in your mouth, sliding the fork out with a painfully delayed motion, that made your lips pout out. You licked them discretely in a seductive manner and gave him a small smile while looking him deep in the eye.

He bit his bottom lip and his eyes narrowed again.

‘I see that you are enjoying your dessert.’

He took a sip of his coffee and smiled at you.

‘It is good to stock up on extra energy sometimes.’

You both smiled at each other and kept eating in silence while exchanging hungry looks.

As soon as you finished dessert, he called in the waiter, paid and you both left almost in a hurry. The air outside was cold already and you huddled with him while waiting for the concierge to bring out the car.

You couldn’t get into it fast enough, and once you were buckled up, the engine roared again, pushing your arousal into an even higher gear.

He placed his hand on your thigh and began rubbing the soft flesh just above where your stocking ended and garter straps took over. He did not move the hand an inch, just stayed like this, teasing you and glancing your way with that charming smile that by now had you go instantly wet.

A moment later and the car was driving into an underground garage. He finally let go of your thigh, jumped out of the car, and walked over to your side to open the door for you. As you were getting out, he caught you in his embrace, closed the car door, and began kissing you. He pushed you against the car and had his hand stroke your cheeks and neck, for now still clothed breasts and hips.

You had your hands on his neck, running them through the coarse black hair of the undercut, making him moan quietly.

‘I guess I am not very old-fashioned tonight.’

He spoke in between kisses, his husky voice going straight into your core.

‘Let’s go upstairs, hm? Or would you like me to be old-fashioned and take you home?’

He was teasing you, knowing that going home was the last thing on your mind at this point.

You only shook your head in reply and smiled biting your lower lip. Without a word, he took you by the hand and you began walking toward the elevator, that was already on the garage level. He pressed the highest number on the panel and soon you were pressed against something again, this time the elevator wall while being kissed by your excruciatingly hot lover-to-be.

Out of the elevator, into the apartment, the two of you simply kept kissing, both his and your hands exploring the other in an increasingly adventurous manner. He was starting to breathe a bit heavier and his tongue was swirling frenetically in your mouth, having a little wrestle with yours.

You didn’t have much of a chance to have a look at his place, you were too preoccupied with him to notice your surroundings. He was gently pushing you toward a large black sofa in the middle of the open-plan space. As he reached it, he removed his suit jacket tossing it to the side, then spun you around slowly, sitting down and taking you with him onto his lap. You were now straddling him and pressing your chest to his.

‘Mmm, I didn’t think we would end up like this so quickly.’

‘Are you telling me you have a hard time getting girls to come home with you?’ Your voice hitching through the heavy breathing and kissing.

‘Maybe… maybe not. But you didn’t seem like the easy type.’

‘Because I am not, but you made it easy for me to not be as restrained as I normally am.’ You nibbled at his lip.

‘Is that so? I am flattered…’

He kissed your neck and began to move his hands onto your ass, squeezing the softness with his solid wrestler's hands, sliding them up to your waist, and then repeating the lewd massage while continuing the kiss. You were literally ready to have him take you on the sofa, but he obviously enjoyed the foreplay quite a bit. You could feel his hardness and he must have been surely very aware of how wet you were with only a thin layer of black lace separating your seeping pussy from him. Grinding yourself on him in encouragement was your next instinctive move toward what you really wanted to happen, but he just kept roaming his hands all over you as if he could not get enough of the anticipation.

You shifted your focus to his face to distract yourself, tracing the outlines of his tattoos, forehead, down to his cheeks and then chin, and then all the way up the other side of his face. His eyes were closed in pleasure and he reminded you of a wild cat all over again, just as he did the day before in the ring.

‘This feels nice. You have such a soft touch. Don’t stop…please.’

So, you kept tracing and now also kissing the black lines on his face, making him purr and moan. But you wanted more, to see the marks on his torso, arms, and thighs…maybe there were more in other, intimate places? The thrill of being so close to someone that only yesterday was a distant figure in the spotlight of fame was consuming you and fuelling your arousal.

You pulled off his t-shirt, exposing the long-awaited sight to your starved eyes. The marks started at the base of his neck, spanning from down his back and onto his chest, and down again toward his abs. These tattoos were wider and less intricate than the ones on his face, making him look quite tough, if you were to be asked. You kissed his toned chest and run your fingers across his biceps and down his long, strong arms. Your hands were moving as if with a mind of their own, trying to touch all of his upper body all at once. The need to have him much closer to you than this was growing stronger with every touch.

When you were about to lose your patience, he put his hands at the hem of your dress and began pulling it up. You lifted yourself up on your knees to help him get it off and once the dress was off, his hands latched on to your breasts, massaging until you were nearly out of breath from pleasure and moaning. You kept grinding against him harder.

‘So eager…’ He kissed your breasts while removing your bra and once freed, your breasts were now supported by his cupped hands with the right nipple rolled between his lips. You moaned loudly and made him intensify the action to see how much more noise he could get out of you.

When you began tugging at his belt, he stopped.

‘I think we will be more comfortable in the bedroom.’

You got off him quickly and he followed suit, taking your hand and leading you out of the lounge area and into a smaller room next to the kitchen part of the open-plan living space. The bedroom was dimly lit by warm wall lights and all you could make out was a double bed in the middle of the room and a large TV hanging on the wall opposite the bed. There were, what looked like a couple of Bonzai trees here and there, but that was about all you had time to spot before your attention was stolen once again by Ryomen.

He was now kissing you and unbuckling his belt, you looked down while he was unzipping his pants and sliding them off, uncovering a pair of tight, black boxershorts, stretched snug on top of the hardness of his erection. You swallowed and looked up at his face again and putting both thumbs under the hem of his underwear, you were taking them off quickly.

His cock popped out and it was perfect. Not too big and not too small, the kind of girth and length, that your experience already told you would make you a very satisfied woman.

‘You like what you see?’ Your hungry look was so apparent to him now.

‘Mmm, in fact, I do…’ You dragged your fingers gently on the top of his shaft, kicked off your heels, and climbed onto the bed, supported on your elbows, slowly spreading your legs for him. All you were wearing now were your stockings, garter belt, and a minuscule lace g-string.

He jumped onto the bed with the agility of a leopard and crawled the rest of the short distance dividing you both.

‘Glad to have the King of Knockouts all to yourself?’ He chuckled and smiled in a cocky manner.

‘Yes, very glad.’ You placed your arms around his neck as he was now on top of you, making nearly full body contact.

‘You know, I didn’t expect such a good girl to get this naughty this quickly.’

‘Oh, but even angels need to fall sometimes.’ Your voice was muffled by the kisses he was landing on you while his hands were busy exploring your body.

He pulled away and looked down at the remainder of your garment.

‘You don’t need these, do you now?’ He followed his rhetorical question by rolling the whole lot of you and tossing it aside.

‘Where were we…’ He was now back on top of you, grinding into your folds with his delicious dick.

‘Ah, I think you seem to want me inside you, right? You are very wet…’ His hand was rubbing you roughly between your legs.

‘Yes...please.’

He chuckled and moved his hand from your pussy to his dick, positioning himself at your entrance. He moved his arm back to your side and once in the position to move, he entered your aching and clenching core without any more hesitation.

You were now in full moaning mode, not caring anymore about trying to sound half switched on, the words coming out of your mouth were blabber as you could feel his dick pry its way into you. Your bodies were slowly connecting and synchronising to the rhythm of sex. The feel of his naked body on yours, the softness of close skin-on-skin contact, so sensual, so intimate, so…lascivious. For every thrust of his hips, you were carried away further and further from reality, and yet this was one of the most real, primeval activities a human could engage in. The duality of sex always puzzled you, made for procreation, but executed to fulfill lustful desires.

His love-making was slow in its action, but intense in feel. The heat of his breath when he kissed you was as if he was branding you as his, the gentle, but firm touch of his knotty fingers was sending nerve impulses that traveled not only to your deepest and most aroused core but were slowly but surely opening the doors to your soul.

Every inch of your skin, every muscle and nerve was seeking him, trying to get closer than the physicality of flesh would allow, his strained breath was now your breath. You practiced your ritual in silence, only accompanied by the wet squelching of your sexes joined in their communion and the slapping of flesh. Lewd and holy at the same time. You were near the limit of what you could take before releasing all the pent-up tension your core gathered up over the past two days. As your climax washed over you, the scream that came out of your mouth was almost that of someone else, a primal woman, unleashed and free, reveling in the glory of the pleasure one human could gift to another.

You were still shaking from your orgasm, almost half-conscious from the discharge of impulses. The squelching was louder, as your climax opened your floodgates, drenching you both. Wet and sloppy, he kept on thrusting, but much harder and faster now, chasing his own high, his toned, magnificent body beginning to flex its muscles.

‘Can I come inside you?’

‘Yes, of course, I took precaution…’

And a few moments later, his abdomen was contracting pushing his hips further into you in a few deep thrusts, granting him a full release, painting your insides with his warm seed.

Breathing heavily, he rolled over onto his back, taking you with him in a tight hug. Your sexes stayed connected, your thinner cum blended with his thick, creamy semen, running out onto both your thighs and the sheets beneath you. He was rubbing your back gently, kissing the top of your head as you were this much shorter than him. Your head was snuggled comfortably into his wide, strong chest, you could feel the flexing of his muscles as his arms moved across your back and his heartbeat was lulling you almost into a slumber.

‘Please stay the night. I did not get enough of you yet.’

You lifted your head up to look at him with your now slightly hazy eyes.

‘So, you are not kicking me out? I thought you had a lineup of girls waiting for you?’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Such prejudice… Being famous doesn’t make me a pig, you know. Besides, most chicks are only after my stage persona, not me.’

He kissed your head again, his eyes closed now and a peaceful smile gracing his face.

‘You know…I must thank your friends for taking you out to see my fight. Without them dragging you along, I would have never met you.’

Most likely, he did not realize, how much his words meant to you right now. Was he the one you were waiting for so long? You were willing to take that chance and run with it.

You pulled yourself up to his face and began kissing him again, your tongue hungrily making its way straight through his thin lips into the warmth of his mouth. His dick slid out of you, letting the rest of the aftermath of your fucking run out freely onto his legs.

‘Let’s take a shower. We made a bit of a mess.’

He led you into the spacious bathroom. It was probably the most lavish bathroom you have ever seen, with walls, and floor tiled with black slate, elegant Japanese-style bath standing at the far end, together with all the traditional equipment needed for a bath ritual. The shower was to the right of the tub, large enough for two people to easily move around inside the glass and stone walls.

Well in the shower, you closed your eyes and tilted your head upwards letting the warm waterfall wash your makeup off you, you rubbed it all off quickly before he could see your smudged face and then let the water rinse the residue of the sex off your lower body. He came into the shower and stood pressed to your back, letting his hands wander all over your chest and belly. Your arousal was already at its peak again and you moved your left hand back to grab his now completely hard cock, while his right hand was playing with your nipple and the left began rubbing your clit.

He pressed you toward the nearest wall, water flowing down on you in unison with the lewd massage he was giving you. You let go of his cock to support yourself with both arms on the wall. He spread your soft ass cheeks to reach your pussy again and bent his knees to compensate for the difference in height, shoving himself into you once more. This time the sex was faster and sloppier. You were barely holding on to the wall while his thrusts were getting stronger, his hands holding your belly and breasts for stability and closeness.

He moved one hand to draw circles around your completely swollen clit. You were drowning in your lust once again. The heat between your legs increased as your nerves were sending more and more pleasure impulses to your brain. You no longer knew if it was water or your slick that was running down your legs, you were this aroused. His sexy lips were kissing and nibbling at your neck and all that was left for you to do was to moan, and moan, and moan.

As his fingers moved faster, rubbing directly on your little pleasure trigger, you gave out one loud moan and then came, shaking in overstimulation as he kept rubbing your nub for a while after your climax passed. He moved his hands onto your hips, stabilising you properly, and increased his pace into a relentless race toward an orgasm. The wet thwacking of his hips into the softness of your ass kept you just barely awake. Luckily, his arousal was just as strong as yours and he came with a quiet growl, almost pushing you flat into the wall.

Panting and almost slouching the two of you got out of the shower drying each other in a drawn-out ritual. You were enjoying touching every part of his body through the cotton of the fresh warm towel, just as much as reveling in the sensation of his hands doing the same to you. Once dry he lifted you off the ground and carried bridal style to the bed, covering you up with a soft, thick but light duvet of pure goose down. He ran over to the kitchen and came back with water for you both and some snacks. While you were both enjoying the well-earned refreshments, you started to feel like sleep was now not far away. Once you were done, he put the tray on the side table and crawled in under the duvet, snuggling up closely to you.

‘I am so glad you chose to stay here with me. In the morning, I will be able to impress you with the best goddamn breakfast you ever had.’

You smiled and nodded in response while kissing him softly, and a moment later, you were both falling asleep, drifting off to, what hopefully, was a future together.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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strang3lov3 · 1 year

Text

Lookalike

Soft Dom!Joel x Fem Reader

Summary: Joel stumbles upon your dirty mag, noticing your favorite pages bear a striking resemblance to himself! Takes place in Jackson sometime after TLOU

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI SMUT!!! This is not fluffy even a little bit, kind of pervy joel, kind of sleazy too, smut, female masturbation, cunnilingus, soft dom!joel, shy reader, consensual PIV sex, humiliation kinda, joel loves a full bush, begging, joel is dominant but not like, aggressive?? let me know if I missed any

A/N: Y’all, I am very very very proud of this one! Please enjoy this depravity. And have a lovely holiday weekend <3 I am just a few shy of 1k followers, but consider this my thank you for all of your support 😸💗

Edit: we’re at 1k!!! Thank you so much holy shit!!

If you really like this story, please leave me a comment! Check out my masterlist

Javier Peña is Joel’s pornstar doppelgänger. I don’t make the rules.

After a long day, Joel was ready to relax and enjoy a bonfire with you. It’s how you spent a lot of summer nights in Jackson, you and Joel and sometimes Ellie just sitting around the fire, sharing stories and shooting the shit.

Tonight Ellie was at Dina’s having a sleepover, leaving just you and Joel together. It was nice to spend nights alone with Joel. Sometimes you’d talk about anything and everything and other nights you’d just share a comfortable silence. After everything you went through on your way to Jackson, it was nice to enjoy some peaceful nights with Joel.

Upstairs, Joel changed into some plaid pajama pants and a slim fitting t-shirt and made his way through the hall and to the top of the staircase, his heavy footsteps alerting you of his presence.

“Joel?” you shouted to him from the kitchen. You were preparing a snack in preparation for the bonfire. “Can you grab me a hair tie please?”

You were peeling apples and slicing bread to make pudgy pies for you and Joel to share. It’s one of the campfire snacks he introduced to you and Ellie. Back before the outbreak, he said, people would use canned pie filling or peanut butter and Nutella as filling for the toasted sandwiches. Now you had to get more creative, so you opted for spiced and sugared apple slices. You preferred berries, but apples were Joel’s favorite filling for dessert. You didn’t mind. He used to make these for his daughter.

“Where can I find one?” he called back.

“On my bedside table, right by the lamp,” you stepped closer to the staircase so you didn’t have to raise your voice as much. “It should just be a plain black one.”

Joel nodded and walked to your room. At your bedside table, he didn’t see any hair ties. Just some jewelry and a comic book Ellie lent you that she wanted you to read. Perhaps it was in the drawer?

Joel opened the drawer and rummaged around your belongings. There was a bottle of your favorite almond scented lotion from the local soap maker, your journal and some pencils, but no hair tie. He should have called out to you to ask if there was another spot your hair tie might be at, but curiosity got the better of him. He knew it was wrong to snoop through your personal belongings, but he couldn’t help himself.

Joel pulled the drawer out a little further and lifted your journal up. His eyes widened at what he saw. It wasn’t your hair tie, that was for damn sure.

Under your journal was an ancient porno magazine, probably from the 70s or 80s. Joel didn’t bother checking for a date. He had to know what the hell was in this old ass magazine that you were using to get yourself off. He remembered these kinds of magazines from when he was a teenager. They were often tacky and somewhat over the top compared to the explicit videos he’d watched on the internet before the outbreak, but they did the job. Who was he to judge?

Joel sat on your bed and flipped through the pages of the magazine. There were women in frilly chiffon lingerie with bushy and unkempt pussies, just the way he liked them. That was one nice thing about the outbreak, a lot of women ditched the beauty standards of the 90s and 2000s and went au naturale. Joel loved it as a young man then and he still loves it now, decades later.

The magazine nearly flipped itself open to one particular centerfold. It was a man fucking a woman from behind, her back arched and hair covering her face. They were at the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the retro floral duvet cover. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t her who captured Joel’s attention. It was the man.

He was tall, dark, and handsome with a thick downturned mustache, not unlike Joel’s. He had dark hair and dark eyes as well. Even his nose was similar to Joels, strong and sharp with a curve. Joel couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. The pages were worn and the corners were dog eared, leading Joel to believe that these must be your favorite pages. His ego soared, as if it needed to be any bigger. He always had a feeling that you had a thing for him.

Downstairs, you were growing irritated. “What is taking so long?” you muttered to yourself. Joel was taking forever to find the hair tie you had so neatly placed next to the lamp on your bedside table. After turning off the burner of the stove, you paced through the kitchen and up the stairs.

“You are such a man, you know? You guys are terrible at looking for things. If it was a snake it would have bit you,” you grumbled out, half talking to yourself and half talking to Joel. You opened your mouth to continue speaking as you walked into your room but froze when you saw Joel on the bed, thumbing through the pages of your dirty secret.

“I found your spank bank,” Joel taunted with sarcasm, not yet looking at you. He flipped through a couple more pages before turning to face you, his intense stare meeting your flustered expression.

You were frozen in embarrassment, completely unable to speak, unable to move. Your face felt like it was on fire and you could hear your heart pound in your ears.

Joel’s low and gravelly voice filled the silence. “Didn’t mean to embarrass ya, baby. It’s okay. Human nature,” he winked at you with a crooked smile.

You quickly stepped over to him and tried tugging the magazine out of his hands, but he held on tightly. “Joel,” you pleaded as your sweaty fingers slipped off of the paper.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided you. “This dude here kinda looks familiar, doesn’t he?” Joel looked at you with a knowing expression as humiliation filled your chest. Yeah, he looks just fucking like you. Leave me alone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joel,” you muttered angrily. You were about to burst into flames, whether from embarrassment or anger you didn’t know. You didn’t care. How dare your body put your shame and embarrassment on display? You were giving Joel exactly the kind of sick satisfaction he absolutely did not deserve.

“Oh, baby. I think you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Look at how you’ve dog-eared these pages,” he used his pointer finger to trace the bent triangles at the corners of the pages. “Guy looks just like me, doesn’t he? Is that what you like so much about these pages?” his southern drawl had your stomach doing flips. “I know they’re your favorite, magazine practically opened right up to them.”

You ignored his question. “The pages were like that when I found the magazine,” you tried lying, but it was a futile attempt. This was bullshit. Joel was the one who was caught red handed, and yet you were bearing the brunt of the humiliating situation. Only Joel Miller could spin this situation to work out in his favor.

“Sure, sweetheart,” you reached for the magazine again, but Joel pulled it out of your reach. “You know baby, you didn’t have to fantasize with a dirty old magazine if you wanted to fuck me. All you had to do was ask.”

You said nothing, just glared at him. Joel wore a loathsome smirk as he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Wish I knew this is what you were usin’ to get yourself off at night. All those pretty noises, all this time. They were all for me, weren’t they?”

Any words you could think of got caught in your throat, it felt like dry swallowing a pill. You just looked at Joel with pleading eyes, begging him to stop making you feel like a fool. If you weren’t so embarrassed, you’d be yelling at him for rifling through your private belongings and calling him presumptuous asshole for insinuating you fantasized about him. Of course, he was entirely correct in his assumption. You were completely and utterly infatuated with him. Even when you weren’t using his doppelgänger to get yourself off, you were thinking of him all day long.

“Please,” you finally choked out, feeling tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t take any more of this torture. “Just stop.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he spoke with a soothing tone. Joel placed a hand on your thigh and twiddled his fingers along the fabric of your pajamas. “You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me what I want to hear.” Joel looked at you with his sparkling brown eyes, darkened with lust. “So what do you like about these pages, baby?”

Turning your face towards your lap, you whispered your response to his prodding question. “I like the way he’s fucking her,” If that’s all it’d take to make him stop, might as well spill your guts.

“Yeah, I do too. It’s sexy, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, glancing at the familiar image. Joel was 100% right. Those were certainly your favorite pages. You didn’t even need them anymore, the picture was tattooed on your brain. “I like how the man looks.” you admitted with bravery.

“I bet you do. Because he looks like me, right?”

You nodded your head shyly. You couldn’t believe yourself, giving up and letting Joel win. He’d never let you live this down. But maybe if you butter him up a little he’ll let you off easier. “You’re more handsome, though,”

“Oh, baby. Gonna make me blush,” Joel replied to you with a saccharine smile. He really did seem genuinely flattered by your comment. “This is really what you look at when you’re playing with your pussy?”

“Yeah, kind of,” you say, feeling some confidence fill your chest. “I pretend it’s you fucking me like that.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm,”

“You’re such a good girl for me, baby. I like knowin’ you think of me like that,” he praises you for finally letting go of your embarrassment. He doesn’t only want to tease you. If this is what you fantasized about, he was gonna make your dreams come true.

Joel takes one of your hands in his own and moves it to your center, pressing your fingers against your core. You gasp at the feeling of your wetness on your pajama pants. “Think you can do somethin’ for me?”

“What?” you murmur.

“I want you to give me a show, baby. Show me how you touch yourself when you’re lookin’ at that magazine,” Apprehension fills your bones once again at his words. “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. I just wanna see how pretty you look when you come. And after you do that, I’ll fuck you just like how he’s doin’. What do you say?”

“Just like, touch myself?” you laugh awkwardly at his request. This cannot be happening. Right?

Joel sets the magazine down and helps you to the top of the bed. He leans you against the pillows and kisses your lips for a second, and every time his tongue mingles with your own your anxiety melts away, little by little. This is all so surprising, maybe he does really want to make you feel good.

He kisses you gently and with care, using his lips to encourage you to let go again. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, your neck, and down your body before lifting up your pants and looking at you expectedly, asking permission to remove your clothing. You nod and he helps you out of your pajamas. It’s all so sudden and you feel exposed, all naked and laid out for Joel.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel says earnestly as he takes one of your wrists and guides your hand to your needy pussy, encouraging you to show him what you look like when you’re whimpering at the thought of him in the middle of the night. You don’t touch yourself yet, though. You cover your center with your hand, slightly embarrassed by the thick tuft of hair surrounding your vulva.

“I haven’t shaved in forever,” you say sheepishly. It’s kind of silly, worrying about body hair at the end of the world. But you can’t help it.

“That’s alright, sweetheart” Joel says as he reaches for the magazine and flips to one of the first pages he saw, a woman spread eagle with her full bush on display. She’s smiling and radiates confidence. “See? It’s a beautiful thing. It’s how they’re meant to be.”

You’re skeptical. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do. I love your pussy, it’s beautiful just how it is,” Joel grips your thighs and parts your legs, and your fingers gently drop to touch your dripping center. Joel reaches forward and places his hand over yours, helping you circle your clit with your middle finger. It’s slow at first and you squeeze your eyes shut, still feeling slightly awkward. Masturbating for someone else to watch is completely different from sex. You feel vulnerable, like you’re being studied under a microscope. You don’t feel that way for long, though.

Joel continues to help you circle your clit until he senses you becoming more confident, then removes his hand to watch you do your thing. Your fingers swirl around your hole as you gather your slick, then travel up again to rub your clit in those same circles he helped you create. You let out little gasps and whimpers, and it’s music to Joel’s ears. Finally, he has an image to match with the moans and other noises he hears from your room.

Usually you can get yourself off fairly quickly but with Joel in front of you, it takes a little longer. You open your eyes and peek at him. His dark and hungry eyes are focused on your center, but they flick up to your own. He smirks devilishly at you for a half second then goes back to watching your actions, almost obsessively. He is obsessed.

The sight of him pushes you closer to the edge, and he watches your pussy twitch as you finger your clit even faster. His expression changes then. He’s no longer looking at you with adoration and lust. Joel looks angry and jealous, with a furrowed brow and a scowling frown. You tilt your head slightly in confusion but before you can think Joel lunges forward and rips your hand away from your cunt, pinning it next to your torso.

“Let me taste you?” he whispers. You nod hurriedly in response. Lick me, touch me, do anything.

He presses a kiss to your clit and you gasp in surprise. “This is my pussy now,” he growls. Now that he knows what you look like touching yourself for him, he can’t just sit there and watch you anymore. Joel’s desperate, he needs to make you come. “From now on, you’re only gonna come when I say so. Do you understand?”

You mumble incoherently and Joel swats your thigh, not satisfied with your answer. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice dark and serious.

“Yes, Joel,”

“Good girl. You just relax now, let me take care of you,” he instructs you. Your head falls to the pillow, and you let out a soft exhale as Joel wraps his strong arms around your thighs and pulls your pussy to his face. Joel inhales your scent deeply, enjoying your aroma.

He licks a long stripe from your slick hole all the way to your clit, flattening his tongue against you. He licks every inch of you, memorizing your folds with his deft tongue. When he’s satisfied with the way he’s worked you up, he focuses on your clit, flicking it with his tongue before inserting two fingers inside of you.

“Joel,” you gasp out, hands reaching for his salt and pepper curls. Your thighs clamp around his head and he removes his hands from your body to spread them out again.

“You stay open for me now,” he commands. He plunges his fingers back inside you and curls them upward, hitting that spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes see stars. You moan loudly when Joel’s lips attach to your clit once more, this time gently sucking on the sensitive bud. He’s drunk on your taste, completely addicted to your flavor. His tongue continues dancing on your center and you pull him close to you, rutting your hips into his face. Every once in awhile you swipe his nose and he uses the opportunity to dip and twirl his tongue inside of you.

This is the best way to eat pussy, Joel’s learned. Find out what makes her tick and keep doing that, let her grind on his lips and nose. Right now, your wish is his command.

You reach down and grab his not working arm to bring it towards your breasts. Joel picks up what you’re putting down immediately and trails his hand over your breasts, pinching and twisting your pebbled nipples. That’s all it takes to have you coming in his mouth.

You cry out his name as you buck your hips into him, fighting the urge to push him away when the feeling becomes too intense.

Joel doesn’t allow you to catch your breath. He flips you on your tummy and drags you down the bed, his fingernails pressing into your skin. “You did so good for me, baby. You gonna let me fuck you now? Just like you pretend, right?” He pulls his shirt over his head and steps out of his pajama pants behind you.

“Yes, Joel, please,” you whine.

“I like hearin’ that. Keep beggin’ for me,” Joel demands as nudges your thighs apart with his knee. He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, painting his precum on your skin. He pushes the tip inside, not yet dipping all the way inside you.

“I need you,” you sob with desperation.

“Need me to what?” He knows what you need, but Joel’s gonna make you spell it out to him.

You let out a groan of frustration and back your ass into his hips. Joel chuckles at your annoyance. “Come on now. Tell me what I want to hear,” he repeats his words from earlier. “Put that pretty mouth to use.”

“I need you to fuck me,”

“There you go. Was that so hard?”

Joel wraps his hands around your hips, his fingers digging into your lower stomach and his thumbs pressed firmly into your lower back and slams his hips into you. His fingernails leave dents in your skin.

You yelp at the sudden contact, not expecting him to go so hard and fast. His thick cock stretches you out and you can feel the tip hitting you deep inside.

“Always knew this pussy would feel good,” he mumbled behind you, beginning his firm pace.

You arch your back into him, using your body to tell him what you need. You love the way he feels, so strong and holding you so tight. It really is a fantasy come to life. “Don’t stop, please,” you cry for him.

“Mmmm,” he hums. “You love this cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, Joel,”

“That’s right. It’s all for you, baby,” he continues pounding into you.

Joel stops for a second and flips you over on your back. He apologizes, “Sorry, sweetheart. I know I said I’d fuck you like them in the magazine but fuck, I gotta see you,” he says. “Can’t let you hide those tits from me anymore.”

Joel pulls your legs up and places them over his shoulders, opening you up even deeper for him. He lets out a moan at the change in position.

He admires the way you look, all of it just for him. Your half lidded eyes, mouth open and spilling out moans and obscenities with every snap of his hips. You’re completely fucked out.

You reach down to thumb your clit and he smacks your hand away. “What’d I say earlier? You come when I say. I didn’t say, did I?” he scolded you.

“N-no,” you stutter out.

Joel takes your wrists into his hand and pins them above your head. “Can’t trust you, sweetheart. Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” He snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you with what could be and never giving you more.

The wet squelching noises of your pussy and the slapping sound of skin hitting skin have your head spinning. Joel fucks you at a merciless pace, frenzied and desperate. He’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows it’s agonizing, almost painful the way you’re aching for release. But he’s determined to teach you a lesson.

“Please,” you choke out. “Just make me come,”

“I don’t know that you deserve it, baby, Touchin’ yourself to that picture of my lookalike? That’s awful selfish of you,” he chided you. “Depriving me of this?”

“Joel,” you whined. You’d do whatever it took to get some release.

“Tell me how long you were needing me,” Joel panted. “Weeks? Months?”

“I don’t know. Forever,” you admitted. “I need to come now, please.”

“Forever? I wish you said somethin’ earlier, baby. You wouldn’t be in this mess,”

You didn’t know how much more you could take. Tears of frustration were streaming down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides. You were right there, you just needed permission to let go.

Joel was right there with you, also struggling to hold on. He wanted nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, but he’d never seen something so erotic and sexy. Your body, tangled in his own, your twitching thighs and furrowed brow. And he was responsible for all of it, responsible for turning into this wreck.

“You’re takin’ me so good, sweet girl. Beggin’ and askin’ me so nice,” he whispered. “You do one last thing for me, and I’ll let you come.”

“Anything,” you gasp. Now his wish is your command.

“You focus right here. Look at me, and don’t close your eyes. Keep makin’ those pretty noises for me, just like you always do,” You’re not even consciously trying to follow his orders, you just do. You can’t break your stare from his dark and hungry gaze, his lip curled in a nefarious smirk. Breathy moans and high pitched squeals escape your mouth.

“Always knew you’d be my good girl. Alright now. Let go for me,”

That’s all you needed to reach your peak. The warm, coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach erupts, shooting electricity through your veins. Your vision goes blurry and you hear staticky ringing as you cry out for Joel. It’s all you can feel as wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body.

Joel’s thrusts are sloppy now as he chases his own orgasm. Your fluttering walls and the way you whisper his name like a prayer are all he needed to reach his peak. His hips are stuttering and his muscles jerk and tremble as he pulses inside you, painting your insides with his seed. Joel hovers above you, placing wet kisses and tonguing your salty skin. He’s addicted to the way you taste.

It only hits you now how surreal this entire evening is. Joel’s above you, collecting himself and catching his breath and you’re still pinned beneath him. Of course, you imagined fucking him many times prior to this but it was never this way. You couldn’t complain, though.

Joel interrupts your thoughts with a kiss, sweet and gentle and loving. A stark contrast to the way he fucked your body just moments before. “So apple pudgy pies, right?”

You giggle. Joel is such a typical man, wanting a snack right after sex. At least he’s not already passed out on top of you, the way other men often do. “Yes Joel, just like you asked for,”

Joel backs away from you then with a cute little fist pump, as if he’s winning a prize. “Fuck yeah,” he whispers, walking to the bathroom completely nude. He’s got such a nice and plump ass, you notice.

He comes back and wipes you off with affectionate care, being extra conscious not to irritate your sensitive skin after the rigorous fucking. He helps you into your pajamas then and kisses you on the top of the head. “I’m gonna get the fire goin’, meet me out there?”

“Sure, Joel,” you respond with a smile. “I have to finish up with the apples first, though.”

“Take your time. I’ll be out there,”

You sit up and kiss Joel one last time, the way his lips slide against yours gives you butterflies. It’s a little late to feel that way after what you just did. You go to the bathroom then go downstairs and finish prepping the apples, stirring them over the stove. Once they’re finished, you prepare the sandwiches and make your way outside to sit next to Joel.

The warm glow of the fire illuminates his skin and he looks so handsome, his features look so defined by the light and shadows. He helps you put the sandwiches in the pie irons and then places them on the grill above the fire, careful to make sure they’re not getting too much heat too quickly.

The fire begins to shrink, flames not reaching quite as high as the sandwiches need. You turn your head around you looking for some more firewood, but the sound of ripping paper interrupts your search.

It’s Joel, tearing out pages of a magazine. Your magazine, from before. You look at him with confusion.

“I told you, sweetheart. You won’t be needin’ this anymore. You come to me,” he explains with a low voice, flipping the cast iron pans. “I took good care of you, right?”

You smile shyly. “You did,”

“And I intend to keep takin’ care of your needs,” he promises.

You nod wordlessly, still smiling. A few more moments pass before Joel removes the irons from the fire and removes your pies to cool off, then slices them in half. They’re golden brown and the spicy, sweet, warm smell is sinfully delicious. The gooey apples spill from the bread slightly. Your tummy grumbles at the sight.

The dessert has cooled enough, you decide. Taking a half of one of the sandwiches in your hand, you bring it to your mouth and take a small bite, the cooked apples are like lava in your mouth. You hiss at the burn on your tongue and lips.

Joel looks at you with disapproving concern. “Tsk,” he mumbles with displeasure. “You’re terribly impatient, aren’t you?” his tone from the bedroom is back. Reaching forward to take your chin between your fingers, he swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, collecting some of the apple filling. Your eyes widen, you’re startled by his touch.

“I’ll fix you, though. Teach you some self control,” he sucks his digit into his mouth and pulls it out with a pop, humming at the sweet flavor. “Lord knows you need it.”

All you can think about is sucking his cock the same way he sucked his thumb. You wonder how the soft skin of his dick would feel on your tongue. How he would taste, how he’d look as you take him deep down your throat.

God, how you need it.

tag list: @swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoldglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers @angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @kyloispunk

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #strang3lov3

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sunshine-on-marz · 4 months

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The brightest

Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Reader

In which Hotch’s grumpy reputation may be on the line

Dedicated to my pookie bestie boo @st4rgzer

The Aaron Hotchner had smiled 6 times in 2 days. Spencer counted. It also just so happened that you joined the BAU 2 days ago. You’d transferred from a different unit, where you only worked for a few weeks before they suggested you move to the behavioral analyst unit, namely because you kept profiling, very accurately, and completely on accident. Well it wasn’t exactly an accident, but you had no clue you could make reading people a job, it was always just something you did. It was honestly insanely impressive. What might be more impressive is just how much you lit up the bureau from the moment you walked in. Your smile far brighter than the painfully fluorescent lights, and from the moment Hotch greeted you he knew he was in trouble

Something about your everything has him absolutely enthralled. The way you absentmindedly fidgeted with your shirt, your smile, your laugh, the small comments and jokes you make during conversations, all the small favors you do for the team, all of it had him head over heels.

The rest of the team was starting to get weirded out. In this very moment Emily was trying her best to explain to you that no, Hotch isn’t ‘nice’. He’s caring and fatherly but he’s not ‘nice’. “Honestly it’s really really insane that you’re calling him nice and it’s even more insane that you’re not wrong, I’ve literally never seen him be this nice for this long” she explains, Derek walking up behind her “we talkin about Hotch’s crush on the new kid?” He asks, leaning on the back of Emily’s chair before looking up at you “hey sugar” he says, you wave at him through your laughter. “Guys I highly doubt he has a crush on me” you explain “maybe he just likes me.. as a person” you explain. “Y/n he practically has heart eyes when he talks to you” JJ butts in, Spencer lifting his hand with a thumbs up. Just then Rossi walks in “are any of you working?” He asks, Emily answers “we’re working on convincing y/n that Hotch is in love with them”, Rossi just laughs. Which says a lot more then his words ever could. “See?!” Derek shouts, gesturing to Rossi who’s still laughing to himself.

“See what?” Hotch’s voice rang through the bullpen from where he stood at the balcony infront of his office. “Nothing!” Everyone said in unison, other than you, you just sat with a confused, but amused look on your face. “Y/N, my office” Hotch said, Emily and Derek having to cover their mouths to keep from laughing. You, albeit nervously, walk upstairs and to Hotch’s office. “Sir” you say softly as you walk into his office, he follows behind you. “You’re not in trouble” he says, chuckling softly as he watches your shoulders relax. “That’s good- no actually that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day” you say, exasperated and relieved. “I wanted to make sure you were settling in well” he says, you smile “oh yea it’s been great!” you smile “everyone’s been absolutely lovely! You weren’t lying when you said it’s a family here”, he smiles softly “it’s good to know you’re feeling included” he says, he slides you over a peice of paper. “The higher ups want us to start getting written statements from the new hires, to make sure everything’s running smoothly, would you mind filling this out for me?” He asks, you nod, he starts again “well excuse me for a second” he says as he walks out of his office, closing the door behind him and starring at his team who were all standing as close to the wall as possible without being in the window. “Will you all mind your own business?” He says, a sea of small agreement and apologizing spilling from the team as they walk off, only Rossi staying behind. “Yes?” Hotch says, raising an eyebrow as he waits for Rossi’s inevitable, and probably sarcastic, remark. “Let them get through the first week before you ask them out” Rossi says, laughing to himself as he walks away, Hotch just smiles, once again reminded of the downside of working with profilers.

I genuinely didn’t know how to end this sorrrrrrryyyyyyyyyy!!!!

I love you guys so so so much!

Remember to reblog and tell me what you thought of the fic!! Reblogs and feedback make the world keep spinning!!

#criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner

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feninina · 1 year

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𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

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