#I mean we will see in chapter five but yeah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barnesonly · 19 days ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 7609

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, sa (mentioned), brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.

Chapter Five | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It feels different today — the absence of the red light in the corner — the one you’ve trained yourself to ignore.

It’s not glowing. You counted the day, counted the sessions. Held your breath. Waited.

Ten minutes.

You don’t let your eyes flick toward it. You don’t move from the cot. You stay perfectly still, perfectly calm — like nothing has changed.

One of the guards open the door and James steps into the room like a shadow softening — quieter now, less mechanical in every motion. But his gaze still sweeps the corners like muscle memory, and this time, it snags.

“…Camera’s off,” he says, voice low.

You blink up at him from where you sit, folding your arms over your knees like it means nothing.

You play dumb. “I don’t know,” you lie, gently.

“That thing hasn’t been off since—” He stops. His jaw ticks. “Since I woke up in this place.”

“Probably just broken,” you murmur with a shrug of your shoulders. “The lights flickered earlier.”

James doesn’t respond right away. His eyes stay on the dead red bulb a second too long.

Then, like someone shrugging off a memory too heavy to carry, he breathes out through his nose and walks toward you.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Probably.”

He sinks down beside you, the cot creaking under his weight. His shoulder brushes yours. You don’t pull away.

Silence stretches.

He doesn’t ask again.

And you don’t offer anything more.

Because you made this moment — carved it out from the rot and blood and static. And if you told him the price, he’d try to pay it himself.

He leans forward, elbows to knees, hands clasped loosely together.

You glance sideways at him.

“Long day?” you say, teasing gently.

James doesn’t smile.

He sits down slowly, like the weight of his body isn’t the problem — it’s the weight of what he’s carrying.

Silence swells for a moment.

Then—

“They sent me out again,” he says, staring straight ahead. His voice is flat, but his jaw twitches. “Last night. Late.”

You nod slowly. Careful not to interrupt. Careful not to breathe too loud.

He doesn’t look at you.

“I didn’t even remember getting in the van,” he says. “Didn’t know where we were going until I was already inside. They do that on purpose. Keep it… foggy.”

His fingers clench loosely in his lap. Not a fist. But close.

“They handed me a photo. Told me it was a target. Gave me a name I already forgot. Said it was for the cause.”

Your throat tightens.

He finally turns toward you. Something in his eyes — not regret exactly. Not horror. Just… exhaustion. That quiet ache of someone trapped inside his own skin.

“She begged,” he says.

You flinch, but don’t look away.

“She thought if she said the right words, I’d stop. That maybe I had a choice.” His voice stays calm, cold. But the tremor under it betrays him. “And I almost did. I almost didn’t pull the trigger.”

Your hand shifts closer to his.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, softly.

He exhales. A broken sound.

“Because my hands moved before my mind did.”

You close the space between you — gently, slowly — and slide your fingers over his.

“You’re remembering more,” you whisper.

James nods, but it looks like it hurts him to admit it.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” you say.

Even if it’s brutal. Even if it rips him open. Even if remembering means watching himself bleed all over again.

You squeeze his hand.

“Every time you remember, they lose. And you come back to me.”

He doesn’t speak again but he leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him human. His thumb brushes against yours once — tentative — then again, firmer. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your skin.

And then—

He glances up.

To the corner of the room. To the camera.

Still no red light.

“Lucky us,” you murmur, your voice light, careful.

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push. Maybe he doesn’t want to question something that feels like mercy. His eyes drop to your lips. Then return to your gaze like he’s afraid of what he might do — or afraid of what he won’t do.

The world tilts on a heartbeat and then he moves. Not fast. Not hungry. Not like the weapon they made him be.

But like a man who hasn’t been touched in years without it hurting and who’s finally able to kiss you without being punished for it.

He cups your jaw in his warm hand, the metal one still wrapped in yours. His thumb slides along your cheekbone.

And he kisses you.

Softly.

Like the memory he’s been chasing since the static began to crack. Like maybe this time, if he’s gentle enough, it won’t be taken from him.

You sink into it — slow, deliberate — and let your hands drift up to hold his face. Your ribs scream when you stretch — still not fully healed — but you don’t care. This pain makes sense. This one has a name.

James.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. And when he pulls back, it’s not with shame or panic. He rests his forehead against yours and exhales in relief.

You stay close.

Still chest to chest, still breathing the same thin air. His arms don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten — just a little — like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You let yourself lean into it.

Into him.

Your cheek presses against the curve of his bare shoulder, where his skin is warm and damp with the aftershocks of a mission Hydra didn’t give him time to recover from. He smells like metal and sweat and something faintly earthy beneath it all — something human.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shift. Just breathes, slow and heavy, one hand curling around your waist, the other rising to cradle the back of your head as you press closer. His skin hums with tension, but not the kind you’ve seen in the field — this is something else. Something quieter. Like your body, curved into his, is the first peace he’s known in days.

You shut your eyes.

Your fingers splay across the plane of his chest — scarred and strong and so alive beneath your palm. He exhales, and you feel the heat of it bloom against your temple. His nose brushes your hair. The metal of his arm rests carefully at your side, as if he’s learned — finally — that you aren’t something to hurt.

Neither of you says anything.

There’s nothing to say that wouldn’t feel too big.

Instead, you listen.

To the way his breath steadies. To the way his heart, slow and deep beneath your palm, beats in time with yours.

Like you’re syncing. Like this—this—was always supposed to happen.

And for once, Hydra isn’t watching. For once, the red light isn’t blinking.

———

Everything went well.

Too well.

Session after session, they let you see him. Kern kept his side of the deal — five sessions, ten minutes without surveillance — and you kept yours: no more rebellion, no more shattering their control. You stayed quiet. Steady. Careful.

And James… obeyed.

He completed every mission. Came back silent and bloodied, but compliant. Exactly the way they liked him. Whatever they saw on the tapes — whatever softness bloomed between you in stolen minutes — it didn’t matter. Not to them.

Because the weapon still worked.

And Kern was pleased.

You could see it in the way the guards grew less hostile, in the way the sedatives stopped showing up in your food. You’d earned a sliver of mercy. Just enough to breathe.

But in your gut, you knew it couldn’t last.

Too much calm always meant a storm was coming.

You sit beside him on the floor, legs folded beneath you, the quiet hum of the walls like static under your skin.

The session had been… calm. No commands barked through the speaker. No tests from Kern. Just you and him, breathing in the same silence.

James had taken your hand earlier without saying anything, metal fingers curling loosely around yours like it was instinct. Now, he’s tracing idle shapes on the inside of your wrist with his thumb — a habit he’s picked up lately. Something grounding. Something real.

You tilt your head, studying his face.

There are still shadows under his eyes. Faint bruises along his temple from a mission they won’t let him talk about. He hasn’t said much, but you feel it anyway — the guilt clinging to him like ash.

“I wish I could take it from you,” you whisper. “The pain. The memories they forced on you.”

James shakes his head, slow.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “I deserve them.”

“No,” you say firmly, shifting to face him. “You don’t.”

You reach up, fingertips brushing just beneath his eye — and then you reach in.

It’s never clean. Never easy. The first wave hits you like vertigo — static, grief, blood on metal — but you go deeper. You push through the sludge of commands and trauma, letting your power tether to that flicker of him that’s always burning, just beneath the noise.

James stiffens slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.

You hear something.

Not words — impressions.

A field in spring. A child’s laughter.

You grimace, nose wrinkling, and press harder.

Too hard.

The pain hits suddenly — sharp and white behind your eyes. Your body seizes with it, and your breath stutters. Warmth blooms beneath your nose.

James notices it instantly.

“Dove?”

You sway. “Wait— I just— I almost—”

Blood drips down your lip.

“Dove.”

The world tips sideways. Your powers are burning, spilling out like wildfire — but your body is too drained to hold it.

James catches you before you hit the floor.

“Shit. No— no, no, no—”

He pulls you into his lap, voice trembling. His human hand cups your face, and he’s terrified. You’ve never seen him like this. Not even when he remembered his name.

“Why’d you— why would you do that?” he whispers. “You were hurting.”

You blink, dazed. “I almost… I almost saw your mother.”

James stiffens.

But he doesn’t ask how you know that.

Instead, he presses his forehead to yours, hand steadying your jaw as you tremble in his hold.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs. “Not like that. Don’t burn yourself out for me.”

“I just wanted you to remember the good parts,” you croak. “Not just the missions. Not just the orders.”

His eyes close.

A beat of silence.

Then—his arms wrap around you, tight and warm.

He rocks you gently, like that motion alone could hold you together.

The door slams open with a hiss of hydraulics.

Heavy boots. Clipped orders. The metallic scent of adrenaline.

You flinch instinctively — but James doesn’t move.

His body tenses beneath you, still crouched on the floor, arms wrapped tight around your limp form. His eyes snap to the intrusion with razor focus, jaw clenched like he’s seconds from violence.

Voss storms in.

Not just Voss — three guards behind him, armed and twitchy, like they expected carnage. But it’s Voss who matters. Voss, whose eyes flick across the room with laser-sharp control. Voss, who’s always watching through the red-lit cameras — it’s been on today.

But all Voss sees is you. Slumped in the Soldier’s lap. Pale. Bleeding from the nose.

“The fuck is going on?” he barks, stepping forward. “What happened to her?”

No one answers.

James shifts slightly, putting himself between you and the door — a shield, even now.

Voss’s eyes narrow. “Soldier. Stand down.”

James doesn’t respond. Not until your hand brushes his arm.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “Let me talk.”

He doesn’t like it — you can feel it in the set of his shoulders — but he leans back just enough to let you sit up. Your head is swimming, vision flickering at the edges, but you meet Voss’s eyes anyway.

“I pushed too hard,” you murmur. “It was my fault.”

Voss doesn’t buy it.

“You don’t just collapse from holding hands,” he snaps. “You lit up like a fucking power surge. Kern said you were stabilizing — said this arrangement was working — and now you’re bleeding out in his arms?”

You don’t flinch.

“Kern doesn’t know everything,” you say coolly.

Voss takes a step closer and looks at James. “I should pull you out of here right now.”

James bristles at that — subtly, but enough for one of the guards to raise his gun. You glare at the barrel, then back at Voss.

“You won’t.”

He stares at you.

Because you’re right. They need you.

And now he knows it’s getting riskier.

“I’ll tell Kern,” Voss says, after a long beat. “He won’t be happy.”

“Neither am I.”

You reach for James again, grounding yourself against the warmth of his chest.

“You think I want to bleed in here?” you whisper. “You think I enjoy burning myself down so your asset can remember he’s human?”

Voss doesn’t answer.

He just stares at the two of you like you’re a crack in the foundation. A problem Hydra can’t afford — and one they can’t quite eliminate. His eyes narrow.

“I’ve let this little arrangement run long enough,” he snaps. “And I’ve got hours of footage telling me exactly how far off-script you’ve both gone.”

You blink. “You said we were making progress.”

“I said he was,” Voss bites. “But you—? You’ve gotten too comfortable.”

His gaze shifts to James. Voss’s jaw clenches. “This isn’t the arrangement I signed off on.”

You meet his eyes. “He’s stable. You’ve seen the data—”

“And now he’s wandering into your cell like a fucking stray dog,” Voss snaps. “Clinging to you. Prioritizing you.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.

Then — calm, sharp, final:

“Soldier. Out.”

James doesn’t move right away. His arm stays around you, protective even now, metal fingers flexed like he’s fighting instinct. His eyes find yours — and for a moment, there’s something soft there. Regret. A promise he can’t speak.

Then he stands. Silent. Straight-backed. A soldier again.

He doesn’t look at Voss. Doesn’t look at the camera. Just leaves.

The door shuts behind him.

And Voss is still watching you.

Like he’s just proven something. Like he knows exactly how much it hurt — and how much more it’s going to.

———

The monitor wall glows dim blue. Feed after feed of locked doors, cold cells, black-and-white outlines of test subjects sleeping or pacing or trembling in corners.

Voss stands alone at the console. A half-drained coffee on the desk beside him. His fingers twitch against the back of his neck, the only sign of discomfort.

Behind him, the door hisses open.

Kern steps in. He doesn’t ask for a summary. Doesn’t need to.

He’s already seen it.

“I take it the soldier didn’t respond well to separation,” Kern says mildly, moving toward the monitors.

“He didn’t resist,” Voss mutters. “But he didn’t like it.”

“Of course he didn’t. You interrupted something.”

Kern taps a few keys, pulling up the most recent footage — frozen on the moment James cradled her in his lap. Her face pale. Blood at her nose. His hand braced around her skull like she might break if he let go.

Voss watches him.

“She burned herself out,” he says. “Nearly passed out. He caught her.”

Kern hums. Not pleased. Not surprised either. “I told you this would happen.”

“You said the deal would help,” Voss says. “You didn’t say she would almost pass out trying to reach him and he would become so protective of her.”

“He’s adapting. The subject is reactive — like an exposed nerve. You stimulate one end and the rest of him remembers how to feel.”

“Dangerous feelings.”

“Productive ones.”

Voss’s jaw ticks. “You still think this is working?”

Kern turns to face him.

“I think,” he says, “that your little panic move tonight gave us the best data spike in weeks. So yes — I think it’s working. He did follow the orders.”

Voss doesn’t respond.

Kern crosses his arms, eyes narrowing on the paused image of the two captives curled together on the screen.

“But I’ll talk to her. Schedule an interview, tomorrow morning.”

———

Your head still aches — not like before, not searing — but the kind of ache that hums behind your eyes. The aftermath of trying too hard.

Kern enters without announcement.

No clipboard. No false warmth. Just him, pristine and unreadable, settling into the seat across from you like this is any ordinary session.

“Good morning.”

You don’t answer.

Kern folds his hands on the table, eyes scanning your face. “I hear yesterday was… eventful.”

You say nothing. Let him talk.

“I saw the footage, of course,” he continues lightly. “You collapsing in the subject’s lap. Him shielding you from Voss. Very touching.”

You look away.

He leans in just slightly. “You understand why we had to separate you.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” you say. “I burned myself out. That was me.”

Kern doesn’t blink. Doesn’t soften. Just studies you for a long, cool moment.

“And yet,” he says, “he cradled you like you were glass. Like we’d broken something precious.”

You flinch. Just barely.

Kern notices.

“But you’re here now,” he continues. “Sitting up. Speaking clearly. Taking responsibility. That tells me something important.”

You don’t respond.

“It tells me you’ve remembered your role. That you understand the value of what we’ve built.” He tilts his head. “Our arrangement works — when you keep your priorities in order.”

You lift your gaze slowly. “And what priorities are those?”

Kern smiles thinly. “Stability. Results. Survival.”

His fingers drum once against the table.

“I’m pleased,” he says, voice deceptively soft. “You’ve made the right choice. You’re protecting him the only way you can — by playing your part. You give him comfort, he gives us compliance. Simple. Clean.”

He pauses, letting the silence stretch just enough to make it sting.

Then his tone shifts — colder, weightier.

“It’s important you remember what you are,” he murmurs. “You may have become stronger. More powerful. But doves…” He tilts his head. “They’re fragile. Small. Pretty things built for cooing, not clawing.”

You lift your chin.

“They also symbolize freedom,” you say, tone clipped.

Kern’s lips twitch into a grin. Not kind. Not amused. Just sharp — a flash of teeth in a shark’s smile.

“Freedom,” he repeats, like the word is foreign on his tongue. He rolls it out slowly, savoring the syllables, tasting them like wine. “It’s a lovely idea. Romantic, even.”

Then his smile fades. “But there’s no such thing in this world.”

“You’re not free. He’s not free. Even I, for all my authority — I serve something bigger. We all do. The difference is, I don’t waste energy pretending otherwise.”

You glare at him.

“I’m not pretending.”

“No,” he says, almost kindly. “You’re hoping. That’s worse.”

You don’t answer.

“Be ready tomorrow,” he says, voice crisp now. All business. “We’re resuming full sessions. The Soldier will return to standard conditioning tonight.”

He lets that hang between you — deliberate.

Then he steps back from the table. The door hisses open behind him.

And just before he leaves, without looking:

“Don’t disappoint me.”

The door slides shut.

Interview over.

———

You knew they would bring him back. Kern said as much — resuming full sessions. Like nothing ever happened. Like you didn’t nearly burn yourself hollow trying to reach him. Like he didn’t cradle you in front of a room full of monsters.

The cot creaks slightly as you shift your weight. The ache in your skull has dulled to a background hum, but your limbs still feel heavy — as if the power you pulled days ago hasn’t quite returned.

James hasn’t moved since they brought him in. He sits across from you, like he always used to. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to study you.

You pretend not to notice the way he watches — eyes narrowed, fingers tapping absently against the floor, like he’s counting something invisible. Tracing a pattern. Marking time.

You sit quietly on the cot, hands clasped, spine straight. You haven’t said anything yet. You don’t know how.

“You look fine,” he murmurs then glances at the camera with blinking red light.

You know where this is going. After last time — after the fallout — there should’ve been consequences. But here you are, whole and calm like nothing happened. You let him continue.

“No new bandages. No bruising. Voss was mad. I thought they were about to punish you.”

Your mouth is dry. “They didn’t… do much.”

He tilts his head. Still watching. “They always do much. And they haven’t punished me either.”

Silence coils between you.

He leans forward now, elbows braced on his knees, gaze locked on yours. Less guarded. More dangerous. “What did you give them?”

You inhale sharply. “Nothing.”

His voice is low, bitter. “I should’ve been restrained. Reprocessed. That’s what they do. You know that.”

You look down at your hands. “They wanted results.”

“Something’s wrong...” He looks at the camera again.

“I told them it was my fault. That you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But you can feel it — that flicker of something beneath the surface. Wariness. Confusion.

Distrust.

He watches you like you’ve changed shape since the last time he saw you — like he’s recalibrating. Not the man he was the last time, curling himself around your body like instinct. He’s holding back now.

He doesn’t trust this version of you.

“Why am I here?” he asks after a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

You take a deep breath and look down.

“They need me. That’s all. Kern said I’m more valuable now.”

James stares at you. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Just watches.

You feel it — the sharp edge of his gaze. Like he’s trying to see through your skin. Through the quiet.

“That’s not an answer,” he says finally.

“It’s the only one I can give,” you reply, voice softer than you mean it to be.

He leans back again, spine stiff. Something in his jaw tightens.

You can feel the shift in him — the way he starts to close in on himself, retreating inward. Slipping behind the armor they built into him. The distance is returning, slow and heavy.

And it hurts more than it should.

“They don’t give things away,” he says, almost to himself. “If they didn’t punish you, and they didn’t punish me… it means they got something better.”

You press your lips together.

He shakes his head. “And you’re not telling me what it is.”

You look up at him then. Really look.

There’s no anger in his face. Just that strange, quiet ache. Like you’ve disappointed him without meaning to. Like a wall’s been built where something else used to be.

“Are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.”

You look away. He doesn’t press. Doesn’t soften. You hear the tap of his metal fingers against the floor again — steady, like a metronome. Like he’s keeping himself anchored with the rhythm.

You want to tell him the truth. You want to explain — the deal, the manipulation, the trade you made in whispers and silence. But you also want to protect him from it. From them.

“Kern said my last fallout was unnecessary and I shouldn’t have done that but he’s pleased with overall results, so there’s no need in making fuss out of it,” you murmur eventually. “There’s nothing more to it, James.”

James nods once, slow. He finally closes the distance between you and sits next to you.

“When you nearly passed out… Voss said something about… arrangement.” He looks at you, confusion written all over his face.

“Maybe it’s something between him and Kern,” you shrug your shoulders. “I’ve got no idea.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his face.

“They’re planning something.”

“Maybe,” you answer, still playing dumb. “They always plan something.”

———

A few days pass. You don’t talk more about it — not really.

Then they send him to your cell again.

The doors open with that same mechanical hiss, and the first thing James does is glance up at the camera — the one mounted high in the corner, always watching.

No red light.

“It’s off again,” he says, his voice low. He tilts his head, confusion flickering across his features. “Why would they turn it off?”

You glance up at it, too. “That’s weird.”

You hate lying to him.

He sits beside you, slow and cautious, but his eyes stay fixed on the camera — tense, searching. Like he expects it to blink awake at any second. Like he doesn’t trust the silence.

“Maybe it’s just the light that’s broken and the camera works,” you offer quietly.

“It’s not.” He still doesn’t look at you. “We kissed last time it was off. Normally they would’ve rushed in… but they didn’t.”

Your brow creases. You reach out, resting your hand lightly on his arm, trying to ground him — to pull his gaze back to you.

“Hey,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

Finally, he turns to face you.

The worry in his eyes guts you. It’s not fear — not of them, not even of you — it’s deeper than that. It’s the sharp-edged suspicion of a man who knows how this place works and doesn’t understand why it isn’t working the way it should.

And you know why.

But you can’t tell him. Not yet.

The deal keeps you close — lets you protect him, in small ways — but it doesn’t change what they do to him outside these walls. It doesn’t stop the missions. The blood. The programming. He’s still their weapon. Still a blade sharpened at both ends.

So you shift the weight. You change the subject.

“Was your mother’s name Rebecca?”

It hits like a needle — delicate, sudden, piercing.

He freezes. “What?”

“I heard that name,” you say softly, “the last time I tried to reach you. It came through like… like a whisper.”

You smile — faint, unsure. “Was that her name?”

He goes still. Really still.

“No,” he murmurs, slowly. “That… that’s my sister’s name.” His voice sounds different now. Fragile, like he’s speaking around something heavy in his throat.

“I think,” he adds, brows furrowing. “I think that’s right.”

He looks down, like he’s trying to catch the memory before it slips away again — hold it in his hands, keep it from drowning in everything they’ve done to him.

He rubs at his forehead like it aches. “It’s just pieces. Nothing whole. I don’t remember what she looked like. Or if I ever said goodbye.”

Your heart twists.

“Do the pieces hurt?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Then— “Not the way they should.” He glances at the camera again — still no red light. Then back at you.

“They’re giving us too much space,” he mutters.

You don’t respond. You don’t have to.

He already knows something’s wrong.

And worse — you think he knows you’re hiding it.

But for now, he doesn’t push.

And neither do you.

———

Five sessions later.

The door hisses open.

He steps inside after coming back from a mission — shirtless, as he always is when they’ve just finished with him. Sweat clings to the dip of his collarbone, to the line of muscle along his ribs. There’s a fresh wound across his chest, jagged and red against already-mottled skin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just walks to you and sits.

No red light again.

You notice it. So does he.

But neither of you mentions it.

Not anymore.

He’s quieter than usual. Shoulders tense, breath shallow — and it takes you a second to realize why.

The injury.

Your eyes drop to the long gash just beneath his shoulder. Not deep, but raw. Angrily pink. Unstitched.

“Did they patch you up at all?” you ask gently.

He glances down like he’d forgotten it was there. “Didn’t need to.”

“That’s not true.”

He shrugs — winces — and you reach out before he can pull away, your fingers brushing the edge of the wound.

His eyes flutter shut for just a second.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “They shouldn’t have sent you here like this.”

“It’s okay,” he says — but it sounds more like habit than truth. “I’m here now.”

And then he leans forward.

Not like before. Not curious. Not testing.

His mouth meets yours, warm and open, and this time he lingers. The kiss is tired, aching, a little desperate. Less like hunger and more like relief. Like he’s not sure when he’ll get to do this again.

You kiss him back, one hand on his jaw, the other pressed lightly against the uninjured part of his chest. You feel the heat of his skin under your palm — too warm, too human — and it breaks something open in you.

His hand slides to your thigh. Gentle. Grounding.

The kiss deepens, slow and quiet. Still careful. Still aware of the cameras, the walls, the unspoken rules. But there’s no red light blinking above. No voices barking commands. No doors flying open.

You shift closer. Just a breath at first. But it’s enough.

His hand drifts up your thigh, slow and uncertain. The heat between you is unmistakable — humming under your skin, thick in the air — but neither of you moves further. Not yet.

You lean in and kiss him again. Slower this time. Deeper. It starts soft, mouths barely brushing, then opens into something more desperate. Not rough. Not frantic. Just… aching. His lips part like he’s trying to drink in the sound of you, the taste of you. Like he doesn’t know when — if — he’ll get this again.

You kiss him back, one hand on his cheek, the other pressed gently to the side of his chest, over the bruised and wounded skin. You feel the heat of him beneath your palm — too warm, too human — and something in your throat catches.

He lets you touch him. Lets you move your fingers up his neck, into his hair. But he’s tense beneath you — not from pain. From restraint. From awareness.

Your leg shifts across his, straddling him lightly, and his breath hitches.

Still, he doesn’t pull away.

But he doesn’t go further, either.

You feel the hesitation in his hands. The way they hover at your waist, then fall still. Not gripping. Not moving. Like he’s waiting for something — permission, maybe. Or a sign.

He breaks the kiss first. Your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the small, stolen space between you. His eyes stay closed.

He doesn’t speak. But you feel the way his hand moves — slowly, gently — brushing your arm, your side, then pausing just beneath your ribs.

And then… it stills completely.

“Did they hurt you?” he murmurs.

It’s barely a whisper. Like it’s physically painful for him to ask.

You don’t answer right away.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. His gaze is sharp now — not cold, but focused. On you. On your face.

He’s looking for truth.

His jaw tightens.

“I wouldn’t—” he starts, but stops himself. His voice is low. Rough. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You reach for him again, fingertips brushing his face.

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I trust you.”

Something breaks in his expression. Not visibly — not loud. Just a subtle crack, right beneath the surface.

He pulls you into his chest. One arm around your waist, the other resting at your back, palm splayed between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything more.

But he holds you like he needs to. Like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You stay in his lap, pressed to the warmth of his bare skin, your head tucked beneath his chin. You feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the heat of his breath in your hair. And for a long time, that’s enough.

Not touching.

Not fucking.

Just being.

Wanted — not as a weapon. Not as a tool.

But as a person.

———

Some time has passed.

Not much — just enough for your pulse to slow, for the haze between you to soften into something quieter. You’re still sitting in his lap, curled sideways with your legs draped over his thigh. His arms remain loosely around your waist, the heat of his skin grounding, the silence between you no longer awkward — just full.

James hasn’t said anything since the kiss ended. Since he pulled you close and rested his chin on your shoulder like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his own.

He hasn’t let go, either.

Your fingers trace aimless patterns against his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound.

You don’t know what makes you say it. Maybe the way he hasn’t looked at you the same since the kiss ended. Maybe the way he kissed you like he was afraid it would be the last time.

Or maybe you just need to say it out loud. For both of you.

“They didn’t hurt me.”

James blinks. His arms around you don’t shift. But you feel the way his breath stutters in his chest.

He doesn’t say anything.

You press your cheek to the curve of his neck, let the silence linger for a beat before adding, quieter still, “One guard tried, but… I scared him off. My powers. He got too close and I—I think I broke something in his head. He never came back.”

James’s fingers twitch where they rest on your spine.

“Then Voss said I wasn’t his type,” you continue, a bitter smile in your voice. “Said he wouldn’t touch me with a stick.”

You said it almost like a joke, cruel one — your way of coping maybe — or maybe just something lighter than the quiet you’ve both been sitting in. But James doesn’t laugh.

He still doesn’t speak.

Just breathes. Just holds you.

You glance up, and his jaw is locked. Eyes dark. Distant.

“James.”

His gaze flickers to yours.

“I told you. I’m okay.”

He exhales through his nose — slow, hard. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“I know.”

He hesitates, then brushes your hair back from your face with gentle fingers. “You shouldn’t have had to fight them off.”

“I did what I had to.”

There’s a long pause. His thumb rests just beneath your jaw now, tracing absent shapes into your skin. Like he’s thinking about something. Like he’s somewhere else.

Then—

“What would you have done?” he asks suddenly. “If I… if I had hurt you. Back then. When I didn’t recognize you… When Kern ordered me to hurt you… What If I beat you up completely or— or killed you.”

You blink, surprised by the question.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I think part of me would’ve understood. Not forgiven, maybe. But… understood. After all I knew it wasn’t you.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nods once. And something about the motion feels final — not resigned, exactly, but buried. Like he’s filing that thought away where it can’t reach you. Where it won’t hurt you.

He draws you in closer again, tucks you tighter against him.

You let him.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

And when you speak next, it’s quieter. Closer to a secret.

“You didn’t hurt me, James.”

He breathes in. Shaky. Barely there.

You nestle further into the circle of his arms, hands resting lightly over the still-fresh wound on his chest. It pulses with heat beneath your palms — a reminder of what they keep doing to him. What they still expect from him. But here, in this moment, he’s still. Warm. Human.

And yours.

“I wouldn’t let you,” you add, almost smiling.

This time, his mouth does twitch.

Just a little.

Just enough.

———

Some time has passed.

The sessions have softened around the edges — less about control, more about contact. No blinking red light every five sessions. No threats. Just the two of you, in this strange, fragile rhythm that almost feels like safety.

You’ve learned his silences by now. The way he pulls in on himself after missions. The way he paces before sitting down. The way he touches your wrist — not for reassurance, but to remind himself you’re real.

Today is one of those days.

He comes in, A gash near his temple from the last mission, half-healed. But he doesn’t look at you right away.

He sits. Elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, staring at the floor like it’s about to split open.

You don’t speak. You wait.

Finally — quietly — he says, “There was a man. On the bridge.”

Your chest tightens.

“I was chasing him,” James continues. “Orders were to kill. I had him pinned.” A beat. “And he looked at me like I was already dead.”

You inch closer. “What happened?”

James swallows, jaw tight. “He said a name...“

Your heart stops. “What name?”

“Bucky.”

The word hangs in the air like ash.

“I think he called me that.” He frowns.

You whisper, “Do you… remember him?”

“No,” James says, voice low. “But my body did. I hesitated. I didn’t shoot.” He looks up at you for the first time. “I don’t know why.”

Something trembles in his voice, just beneath the surface — not fear, exactly. Not confusion. Something deeper. Grief, maybe. Or the ghost of something he lost before he knew he had it.

You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his hand. “That’s good,” you say. “It means something inside you still knows.”

He looks down at your touch. Doesn’t pull away.

“It felt like drowning,” he admits. “Like I was two people at once.”

You nod, eyes burning, your fingers curling around his. “That’s what it feels like to remember.”

James doesn’t speak for a long moment. His hand stays in yours, tense but unmoving — like he doesn’t know what to do with comfort, only that he doesn’t want to lose it.

You soften your voice. “You’ve heard that name before, haven’t you? Bucky.”

His brow furrows, eyes distant. “It’s like an echo. I don’t know where it starts. Just… pieces. Feelings. A shape I can’t get my hands around.” He glances at you. “It felt… familiar. I just don’t know why.”

You study his face — the cracks forming around the edges. The pressure building where his memory and pain intersect. This isn’t like the sessions, where touch softens everything. This is deeper. Raw.

“You don’t have to force anything,” you say gently. “If it comes back, it’ll come on its own.”

James stares at your entwined hands. “That man… the one on the bridge. He didn’t fight me. He looked at me like—” His voice falters. “Like I used to be someone else.”

“You did,” you say. “You were.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t deny it. Just sits in the quiet, breathing through it.

Then, barely above a whisper: “Do you think I was a good person?”

You blink, heart breaking.

“I don’t know everything about who you were,” you say honestly. “But from what I’ve seen… from what still lives in you now?” You pause. “Yes. You were good.”

His eyes close like he’s holding back something sharp and tired and ancient. He doesn’t cry — he never cries — but there’s a tightness in his throat, in his chest, that says enough.

You scoot closer until your knees touch. The floor is cold, but the warmth of him, even in his silence, draws you in like gravity.

You look at him carefully. “What did he look like? The man on the bridge.”

James hesitates. His eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, like he’s sorting pieces that don’t quite fit.

“Tall,” he says finally. “Blonde. He had… blue eyes, I think. Looked at me like he knew me.” James glances down at your fingers. “He didn’t raise his weapon. Didn’t even flinch when I aimed at him.”

Your thumb brushes his knuckles. “We’ll figure it out.”

He finally lifts his gaze again, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes almost boyish. “Why do you believe in me so much?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhale. “Because every time they send you back to me, there’s more of you than there was before.”

He doesn’t look away. Not this time.

And that should feel like enough.

But somewhere in your chest — buried beneath all the warmth, all the moments, all the careful rebuilding — something tightens.

He remembered someone else.

Not just anyone.

Someone before you.

Not your voice. Not your name. Not the way your hands trembled when you reached for him in the dark, begging him to come back to himself.

Not the way you screamed when they dragged you away, and he stayed still like a statue.

Someone else broke through.

Someone with no powers. No desperate reach. No pain laced into the bond.

Someone who didn’t have to earn it.

You hate the thought before it fully forms.

But it forms anyway.

Not because you’re jealous. Not because he owes you anything. But because… you thought you were the only one. You thought it was you.

That something about you was strong enough, loud enough, real enough to shatter the programming no one else could touch.

You look down at your hands, still barely brushing. You haven’t let go.

Of course you haven’t.

Because everything you told him — that you’d stay, that he wasn’t alone, that you weren’t afraid of who he was — it was all true.

Even if someone else reached him. Even if part of him will always belong to a world you weren’t in.

Even if it turns out you were never the miracle.

He watches you, quiet. Brow drawn like he knows. Like he can feel the storm you’re trying not to show him.

His thumb strokes your knuckles once.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.

You smile — barely. “Just thinking.”

He doesn’t push. He just shifts his hand and laces his fingers through yours like it means something.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?”

James blinks. Then nods. “I think so.”

And something inside you folds — not from bitterness, but fear.

———

The chair scrapes against the floor as you sit. Kern walks in like he’s never left. Same clipboard. Same posture.

Kern sits across from you and flips through a page.

“He recognized a man on his mission,” he says without preamble.

You keep your gaze on the table. “I know. He told me.”

“And?”

You hesitate.

There’s no point in lying. Not here. Not with Kern.

“It wasn’t me, who made him recognize him.” you say finally. Quiet. Controlled. “I never reached him that far.”

Kern leans forward slightly. He doesn’t speak. Just watches.

“I never…” Your throat tightens, but you push through. “I never saw the man he described in his head. I’ve never been that deep.”

He hums. Taps his pen once against the clipboard.

“That must sting,” he says casually. “All that effort. All that closeness. And someone else — someone from the outside — gets there like it’s nothing.”

You flinch, barely. But he sees it.

“That man called him Bucky,” Kern goes on. “And he responded. Tell me, did you even know that name?”

You shake your head. “He never told me. I never found it in his memories.”

Kern nods, lips tight in mock sympathy. He lets the silence stretch.

“You thought you were different,” he says eventually. “That you were the key. But all it took was a face he used to know. One word.”

Your stomach knots.

You don’t reply. You won’t give him that.

But you can feel it in your chest — the doubt curling inward, the ache you’ve tried so hard to swallow.

“You’re not useless,” Kern adds, too calmly. “You still have value. He still likes you. You still make him softer. He’s calm with you. Obedient. Attentive. That’s something.”

It’s meant to soothe. It doesn’t.

“Pierce was informed,” Kern says at last, flipping a page on his clipboard without looking up. “He will be here soon, and he wants to brainwash him again. The man he recognized is a threat. We need to wipe him out of his memory. It’s his target, not a friend.”

You don’t move.

The words hit like ice poured down your spine — slow, shivering, paralyzing. You knew it was coming. Recognition is dangerous. James remembering anything is dangerous.

But still, hearing it aloud—

You don’t want this, of course you don’t. You know what kind of pain comes with it.

But you’re scared.

You’re scared there is someone else.

So you nod. Tears begin to stream down your face but you nod.

You can’t lose him. You can’t. Not him. He’s the only thing you have — he needs to forget that man, you think — it’s selfish. You know it is. But you cannot afford losing him.

Not to someone else. Someone who hasn’t even tried.

Kern grins and raises from his chair.

“Good girl, I knew you’d come around, 009.”

Interview over.

Chapter Six 🕊️

“Nothing left but a feeling in there somewhere […] Please get me out, out of the depths of hell.”

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @ifuckwithyouanyday @lovinqbella @fanfanfantic @storystorktwo @its-in-the-woods @blv3rd

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natalianovnas · 2 months ago

Text

༄ `. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — 3

summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

genre : country!au, countryside life.

warnings : beefy!nat, top!nat, gp!nat, sub!reader, fluff included but mostly smut — let's say this chapter's just showing how nasty the two are.

words count : 4.7k || masterlist

an : i promise im not as freaky as this shot might be 🙈

𖦹 part one 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three 𖦹 part four 𖦹 part five 𖦹

HORSES & ROMANCE :

— Every Inch Of Dawn

📍 Langford's Estate,

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

You stirred first.

Body aching in pleasant ways. A dull, stretched soreness that reminded you just how intense the night before had been.

Natasha was still asleep, lying on her stomach, one arm under the pillow and the other loosely draped over your waist. The blanket barely covered her, and the sun gave her shoulders a warm glow. Her back moved in slow, steady breaths, muscles relaxed, hair messily tumbling around her face.

She looked peaceful—something you didn’t think she let herself be often.

You let yourself watch her a little longer than you probably should’ve, committing the sight to memory of her here in your bed, your space.

You could still feel her on you—her mouth, her fingers, the way she had whispered your name like it was something sacred.

As you brushed the hair from her face, her lashes fluttered—lips parting into the hint of a smile.

“You watching me sleep?” She mumbled, voice low and scratchy.

“You snore,” You teased.

She opened one eye. “You’re lying.”

“Little bit.”

Natasha stretched, her body warm and heavy against yours. “Gonna put me to work today?”

“Thought about it,” You said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You owe me for eating the last of the pie yesterday at the fair.”

“You said I could have it.”

“You used that voice.”

She grinned lazily, then rolled on top of you, pinning you to the bed with nothing but her weight and that wicked smirk. “What voice?”

“That voice where I know I’m about to let you do whatever the hell you want.”

Cockily, she rose a brow. “You mean the one that gets me pie and laid?”

You huffed a chuckle with an eye roll. Honestly.

She kissed you quiet — slow and affectionate, not leading anywhere this time. Just there. Warm. Real.

Neither of you moved right away. There was no panic, no rush to explain, no awkward reaching for clothes. Just a long moment suspended in the quiet.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said after a while, her fingers brushing lightly along your hip under the sheet.

“I didn’t either,” You replied. “But I’m glad we did.”

Her brow arched faintly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your voice soft. “Yeah.”

Natasha leaned in, brushing her lips over your bare shoulder—a small kiss, nothing demanding. Just acknowledgment, making you smile.

She exhaled, a shaky breath, and tucked her face against your neck, like she needed the anchor. You held her without speaking.

After a few minutes, her stomach let out a quiet growl.

You laughed softly, pulling back just enough to see her face. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” She muttered, eyes closing again.

“You stay here,” you said. “I’ll make coffee. And eggs if the hens liked me enough yesterday.”

She cracked a sleepy grin. “You’re kind of perfect, you know.”

You kissed her once more—light and lingering—before slipping out of bed, wrapping yourself in a worn flannel shirt. She watched you go, propping herself on one elbow, and thought of how lucky she was right in that moment.

. . .

You heard her before you saw her—soft steps on the floorboards, followed by that husky voice that always managed to make you feel seen, even when you weren’t looking.

You made it to the kitchen— barefoot, coffee in hand, standing in there with your hair a mess and your flannel slipping off one shoulder.

“Looks like the hens didn't appreciate you today.” She commented.

“I didn’t come for the coffee.” She murmured.

A soft hum, in agreement, came from your lips. “I was thinking toasts would do the drill instead. Help yourself to the coffee.”

Her hand slid to your hip, the other brushing the hair from your shoulder. She bent down, lips grazing your neck, slow and deliberate. “I came for you.”

You didn’t stop her.

Didn’t want to.

The mug was forgotten somewhere on the counter as she kissed you — not rushed this time, not needy. Just full. Thorough. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you tasted first thing in the morning. Her hands found the hem of your flannel, sliding under it, dragging over bare skin with reverence.

Her picking you up with no warning made you gasp in surprise, then smile right after as she attached her lips back on yours —hands dropped over your sides— then it shifted.

Your smile turned into full giggles as she attacked you with kisses. Your lips, eyes, cheeks, neck, jaw—all while your bodies being glued to the other's.

“You always look like this in the morning?” The Russian asked. “Or is it just for me?”

“Depends. I'd do the honor to say that it's just for you.”

With a low hum while nipping your jaw, she added, “Remind me to never underestimate you again in bed.”

You raised a brow. “You underestimated me?”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming now. “Just a little.”

You laughed softly, but your fingers stayed at her back, moving in slow strokes. “Do you regret it?” The question slipped out quieter than you meant it to.

Natasha stilled. Her eyes searched yours, serious now.

“No,” She said finally. “Not even close.”

You nodded, exhaling. “Good.”

She rested her forehead on yours, the edge of a smile tugging her lips as she pecked your lips repeatedly. “I liked waking up next to you.”

You smiled back, “I liked falling asleep next to you.”

The redhead's hands glided down to your thighs, fingers grazing over them in a soothing motion.

“You're sitting there, hot and all, and I hate to say that I'd have to leave soon.” She sighed. “Got work to do.”

You nodded. “It's alright. I gotta check on Bramble, anyway. But you're not leaving without eating first.”

Of course, she wasn't. One thing she knew about you, your family and the constant time she'd spent with you — was that breakfast is priority here.

“How’s he, by the way?”

“Spooked by the gate slamming a day ago, but calmed down fast. That’s progress.”

“I’ve seen grown men recover slower.”

(Few days later.)

. . .

It had rained the night before, a steady, rhythmic downpour that soaked the soil and cooled the summer air. By morning, the clouds had scattered, leaving the fields glistening under soft light.

The barn on your property stood tall and weathered, its red paint faded by time and sun, and just beyond it, your horse was stuck in the mud. Again.

You stood ankle-deep in it, boots sinking into the thick mess as you muttered curses under your breath.

The rope tugged sharply in your hands as the mare resisted, stubborn as ever. You were halfway to cursing her ancestors when you heard a whistle — low, slow, and unmistakably amused.

Natasha leaned against your fence like she’d been summoned, sleeves rolled up, tank top sticking to her damp skin. She didn’t say anything right away. Just watched you with that crooked grin, arms folded across her chest, muscles flexing as if she wanted to remind you she was built like sin and salvation all at once.

“You look like you’re auditioning for a country song,” The redhead finally spoke up.

You shot her a glare. “Unless you’re offering to help, Romanoff, shut it.”

With deliberate slowness, she climbed over the fence, boots landing in the mud with a satisfying squelch. She came to your side, took the rope without a word, and gave one firm tug.

The mare moved forward with ease. You blinked.

Natasha tossed a smug glance your way. “What? She's got a thing for redheads.”

You snorted, “So does her owner.”

“Well,” She murmured, “Guess we have something in common.”

You looked away, hiding your smile but she saw it anyway.

By the time the two of you got the mare back in the stable, your jeans were a mess, and your hands were streaked with mud. Natasha wiped her palms on her thighs and gave the horse a soft pat before turning to you.

She helped you finish up without being asked — sweeping out the barn, fixing the bent gate hinge, and repairing a broken step on your porch.

The way she worked, methodical and focused, told you she wasn’t new to hard labor. But she never complained. She just moved beside you like it was natural.

Later, while fixing a loose hinge on the chicken coop, you caught her staring again. Not with heat, but with softness. Like she was trying to hold the moment in her palms.

“What?” You asked, hands on your hips.

She stepped closer, slipping behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’re dangerous,” She murmured into your ear.

“How’s that?”

“Because I could stay here,” The redhead whispered. “And forget who I was before.”

You turned in her arms, meeting her gaze. “Maybe that’s the point.”

. . .

The storm had passed, but the air hadn’t cooled.

It was thick, charged with something heavier than just humidity. You could feel it in the way Natasha looked at you across the dinner table — quiet, unreadable, but her eyes told a different story.

You were barefoot, wearing her flannel — nothing underneath. You’d slipped it on after your shower, thinking she wouldn’t notice.

She noticed.

“Stand up,” She said, voice low.

“Why?”

Natasha tilted her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Because I said so. Come on.”

You rose slowly, your heart thudding as her chair scraped back against the floor. The second you reached hsr, she hooked her fingers into the hem of the shirt and lifted it just enough to see your bare skin beneath.

“Fuck,” She muttered, more to herself than to you.

You leaned into her with teasing smile. “Something wrong?”

She chuckled, “Yeah. I’m trying really hard to be a decent woman right now.”

In a swift mouvement, she gripped the back of your thighs and pulled you down on her lap, your bodies slamming together like you’d been craving it all day.

You let out a low gasp as you landed right on her hard cock, her hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, greedy.

“I dreamt about this,” She murmured against your throat. “Woke up hard and aching and mad because I wasn’t inside you.”

Her hand was already sliding beneath the shirt, finding your heated core. “You’re already wet, baby. You waited for me.”

Her fingers slipped inside your cunt with maddening ease, her palm pressing just right. Your body arched into hers as she whispered filth into your ear, every word soaked in desire and dominance.

“You like being ruined in your own kitchen?” She rasped, her fingers moving relentlessly inside of you. “Want me to fuck you on this counter with your legs wide open like you’re mine?”

“Please,” You gasped, barely holding on.

That did it.

She lifted you with ease, set you on the counter, and yanked the shirt wide open — not caring about buttons, not caring about anything except seeing you sprawled, flushed, trembling for her.

She didn’t waste time and dropped to her knees again, tongue dragging a slow, sinful line up your thigh before she reached your dripping heat, devouring you like she’d been starving.

You broke apart in seconds, hips jerking, hands tangled in her hair, voice lost to the walls and fields and the wide-open night outside.

And even after she stood, breathless and wild-eyed, she didn’t stop. She kissed you deep —claiming you— and lifted you off the counter.

“We’re not done,” She growled, carrying you down the hallway like you weighed nothing. “Not even close.”

Moments later sometime after midnight, the room smelled like sweat and skin and summer rain still lingering on the breeze.

Your legs were tangled with Natasha’s, her hand resting low on your stomach, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your bare skin. The sheets were kicked halfway down the bed. Her body was still half on top of you, heavy and warm — grounding.

You could feel the rise and fall of her chest. Steady. Safe.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” She mumbled, lips brushing your temple.

You turned your head, eyes still hazy. “You didn’t like it?”

The redhead huffed a laugh. “I loved it. But I meant… I wasn’t planning on losing my mind the second I saw you in my shirt.”

You smiled. “Then it’s my fault.”

She shifted onto her side, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s your fault I’ve been walking around all week trying to be respectful, meanwhile thinking about bending you over every fence on this damn property.”

Oh.

You laughed softly while she leaned in again, this time slower, her kiss gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just soft.

“I like how quiet it is here,” She whispered. “But I like you more.”

You tucked your face into her neck, smiling against her skin. “You’re gonna make me fall for you.”

Natasha held you tighter. “Too late. Already fallen.”

. . .

The day hadn't even ended and Natasha's mind was running wild with thoughts of you.

It started with the damn shorts.

You’d worn them on purpose — cut-off denim that barely passed for legal and a tied-up flannel that left very little to the imagination.

You knew exactly what you were doing when you bent over in front of the fence (said fence she'd mentioned just last night), pretending to check the wire right across from where Nat worked, arching your back just enough.

The sun was hot. The sky was cloudless. And you could feel Natasha’s gaze sear into you from halfway across the field.

You'd thought it was a great idea to toy with her today, not even bothering to stop when she was in the presence of your dad.

You were always passing around, teasing, all acting innocent.

You didn’t have to look to know she was staring. You felt it like pressure on your skin.

“You’re really testing me, sweetheart,” Her voice came from behind — low, strained, full of warning, making you smirk.

As you straightened, slow, cocky, to face her, you feigned pure innocence. “I’m just working.”

Natasha didn’t buy it for a second.

The second you turned around, she was there, grabbing your hips, walking you backward until your back hit the wood of the fence with a dull thud. Her breath was hot, heavy, and furious against your cheek.

“You think I didn’t notice?” she growled. “Those shorts, that shirt. Bending over like that. What are you trying to do to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Wrong move.

Her hand shot to your throat — not squeezing, just holding. Commanding. The other slipped under the hem of your shorts, fingers pressing into the soft, warm skin of your ass.

“Nat—”

She silenced you with a kiss that left no room for teasing — open-mouthed, tongue, teeth, all hunger and pent-up frustration. She kissed like she was claiming territory, biting at your bottom lip as her fingers pushed past the denim, past your underwear, past your composure.

“You get off on this?” She rasped, voice rough in your ear as you panted, a pleased grin on your lips. “Getting me worked up in the open, where anyone could see?”

“You mentioned taking me over the fence some days ago.” You replied, already breathless, as she fiddled with the zipper of her pants. “I'm just helping your wish to come true.”

She tugged your shorts down just enough, lifting one of your legs to hook around her hip. The fence creaked behind you, the wood rough at your back. But you barely noticed — not with the way she slid her dick inside you in one motion, slow and thick, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise.

“Fuck,” Natasha groaned, thrusting deep. “So wet. Were you waiting for this?”

You clawed at her shoulders, gasping as each roll of her hips sent heat spiraling through your body.

“For what do you think earlier's show was ?”

She was relentless — thrusting hard enough to shake the boards, grounding you with her strength, her body, her voice.

“You tease me like that again,” She hissed as she pounded hard into you , “and I’ll take you right here every time.”

Her pace quickened, the slap of skin against skin muffled only by your moans and the wind. It was messy. Hot. So damn risky.

And you were addicted.

She pulled out of you and before you could even have time to complain, you were turned around, bent over and her cock was back inside of you.

If it weren't for her hands holding your hips tightly, you would've been face down the grass by now due to your knees that'd almost gave up.

“Fuck, yes, j-just like that..”

You moaned, your hands gripping the border of the fence to anchor yourself. Natasha took you, just like you wanted.

You came with a sob, body trembling as she drove you through it, holding you tight, whispering dirty promises into your ear even as she lost herself in you.

When she finally stilled, still inside you, breathing hard against your neck.

“Think the whole damn field heard us,” She muttered, grinning as she kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the underside of your jaw.

“Serves you right,” You whispered back, teasing. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

Her teeth sank lightly into your shoulder, and you yelped.

She laughed. A real, bright, completely unguarded laugh.

But then — a voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder.

“Y/N! You out there, darlin’?”

It was your father.

Natasha’s body locked against yours like stone, her eyes wide. You slapped a hand over your mouth, biting back a curse.

“In the back pasture, fixing the gate!” you shouted, trying to sound casual, like you hadn’t just been railed against a wooden fence by your dad's dangerously hot co-worker.

The Russian, still very much inside you moments ago, looked like she was reconsidering every life decision that had brought her to this exact moment.

Boots crunched in the distance — your father’s. Getting closer.

You shoved at Natasha’s chest. “Go. Go!”

She practically dove into the nearest row of tall grass, tucking herself out of sight behind the shed. You yanked your shorts up in record time, yelping as the zipper caught your sensitive skin.

Your father appeared just over the ridge. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, “Yeah! Gate’s a little stubborn.”

He eyed you. “Your face’s all red.”

“Hot out,” You blurted.

He narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “Well, come on back soon. We’re firing up the grill.”

“Be right there.”

He turned and walked away with a nod.

You waited until his footsteps were gone before the tall grass rustled — Natasha emerging like a gorgeous fox. Her shirt was unbuttoned, face smug.

“That was close,” She murmured.

You glared at her. “I hate you.”

She smirked, pulling you back into her arms. “No, you don’t.”

She kissed you again — sweet, lazy, full of trouble.

And you let her, even as you muttered, “You owe me so bad.”

“Good,” Nat whispered against your lips. “’Cause I was planning on working up an appetite before dinner anyway.”

. . .

The sun was dipping low, casting the ranch in gold as smoke curled lazily up from the grill. Your dad was manning it like it was a battlefield, spatula in hand, cowboy hat slightly askew.

Your grandmother had set out the side dishes on the porch table, chatting with your aunt while your younger cousins chased each other barefoot across the grass.

And then there was Natasha — washed, changed, and acting like she hadn’t just had you gasping against a fence an hour ago. Her hair was damp from a quick shower, slicked back, revealing cheekbones sharp enough to cut. She wore worn jeans and a black tank top that clung just right, and when she smiled politely at your mom, you could almost believe she was innocent.

Almost.

You were standing beside the lemonade table when she sidled up next to you. Her hand brushed yours — deliberately, slow — and she didn’t look at you when she said, “Still sore?”

You choked on your drink.

Natasha chuckled under her breath and took a sip of her sweet tea like she hadn’t just whispered sin. Your aunt, Diane, turned toward the sound and smiled. “Natasha, how do you like ranch life so far?”

Nat didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve never been more… satisfied.”

Your face burned.

Your dad called everyone over for burgers, and Natasha stepped in like she’d always belonged, passing plates, laughing at your uncle Pete’s jokes, helping your little cousin, Ella, tie her shoelaces. But every time she looked at you— that spark in her eye, the ghost of a smirk— it was a silent, unspoken promise : I’m not done with you yet.

Later, after dishes were cleared and the sky turned indigo, she tugged you by the hand toward the barn with a whispered, “Come on.”

The barn was quiet, cloaked in shadows and the warm hush of summer night.

The soft glow of old fairy lights strung above the rafters cast golden patterns over everything — the hay bales, the tools, the dust motes swirling in still air.

You didn’t even get a word out before Natasha pushed you gently against the barn door and kissed you like she hadn’t had her fill — like the entire day had just been foreplay for this.

Her hands were rough with callouses now, weeks on the ranch had seen to that— and they gripped your sides.

Her mouth moved from yours to your neck, then down, lips dragging across your collarbone with intent.

“Slow down, I'm not going anywhere, you know?” You chuckled.

“Thought about this all through dinner,” She murmured, pulling your shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. “You, in that tight little tank top. Acting like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

“And you, pretending to be sweet in front of my family. You’re evil.”

She grinned against your stomach. “You liked it.”

She kissed you then — not gentle, but needy. Desperate. All tongue and teeth and hands that couldn’t stay still. Your shirt was yanked up and over your head, tossed somewhere into the shadows, and her mouth was on your collarbone, your chest, biting just enough to make you shiver.

You moaned as her hand slid past the waistband of your underwear, finding heat and slick with a confident ease that made your knees weak.

“F-fuck…”

“I’ve got you,” she said low, her voice pure gravel, pure promise.

She turned you then, guiding you toward the nearest hay bale, and before you could fully process it, you were bent over it, fingers gripping the edge. Her body was flush against yours, and her other hand was already working open her belt, her breath hot against your neck.

“You sure you can stay quiet, sweetheart?” she whispered.

You nodded, barely.

Then she slid her dick into you — slow, sure, deep.

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled, a sharp cry caught in your throat. Her hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to her, guiding the rhythm. She rocked into you, the angle perfect, dragging pleasure through you in waves.

The sounds were obscene — wet, gasping, skin on skin — muffled only slightly by the barn’s thick walls.

She leaned over you, lips brushing your ear. “Still wanna tease me tomorrow? Wear those little shorts again?”

You whimpered, trembling under her.

She grinned, nipping your earlobe. “Didn’t think so.”

Her pace didn’t falter. She thrust deeper, rougher, but gentle, until you were bracing hard against the hay, your body a mess of sensation, clenching around her.

When you came after she did, it hit fast — a quake that left you breathless and shaking. She held you through it, still moving, coaxing every last wave out of you until you collapsed forward with a groan.

Natasha kissed your shoulder, then your neck, slowing down only after she’d chased her own high with a soft, broken growl against your skin.

You both stayed there for a moment — pressed together, panting, tangled up in sweat and heat and everything unsaid.

“Feel better?” You asked with a dazed smile.

. . .

She chuckled, pulling you close, her voice a velvet rasp. “You’ve got no idea.”

You should’ve moved. You knew you should’ve moved — back to the house, to a bed, to the rest of the world waiting outside that old barn. But Natasha’s hand was drawing lazy circles on your lower back, her bare thigh tangled between yours, and you didn’t want to go anywhere.

Her voice broke the quiet, low and satisfied. “How do you always manage to look this good, even after i’ve wrecked you?”

You smirked, eyes fluttering shut as you nuzzled into her collarbone. “Modest this morning, aren’t we?”

She kissed your temple, lips grazing tenderly across your hairline. “I’m not wrong.”

“No,” you whispered, tracing your fingers along the edge of her ribs, “but if you keep talking like that, I’m never getting off this haystack.”

“That’s the plan.”

Natasha shifted, rolling you onto your back again with that effortless strength of hers. She leaned over you, her body warm and solid, her eyes dark but soft. She looked at you like she’d been starving and had finally been fed — but still wanted another bite.

"Slept nice?"

“I don’t think I've ever really slept,” You murmured, your voice low, teasing. “Someone kept me busy.”

Natasha chuckled, low and smug, her hand sliding over your waist, fingertips brushing a bruise she’d left near your hip. “You kept moaning my name like it was the only word you knew. You think I could sleep through that?”

You blushed, but you didn’t pull away—eyes tracing the mess of red hair, the way the morning sun lit her skin in amber. She looked devastatingly good like this — rumpled, content, still hungry in her gaze.

“You’re not sore?” You asked, quirking a brow.

The Russian smirked, “Baby, I can handle a few rounds in the hay.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, then winced slightly as you moved. “God, we really didn’t stop.”

“Nope.” She stretched a little, groaning, then leaned down and kissed the inside of your thigh. “Not my fault you’re irresistible in denim shorts and mouthy comebacks.”

You tangled your fingers in her hair, tugging her closer. “We should probably go inside before someone finds us out here.”

“I want to see you again,” she said, voice rougher now, “feel you again. Slow this time. We’ve got time now, don’t we?”

Your breath hitched. “I thought you wanted peace and quiet on this farm.”

Her lips ghosted over your throat as she leaned back up. “I’ve got peace. You’re the quiet I like.”

Your heart did something traitorous then — flipped, full, needy. But there wasn’t time to process it, because her mouth was on your chest again, kissing every bruise she left the night before like a silent apology — or maybe a vow.

And then she sank down your body, slow and reverent. No teasing this time. No need. Just the heat of her breath against your thigh, her hands holding you like you were something sacred.

You arched as her tongue found you, already pulsing and tender, but eager for her again. Her name spilled from your mouth like prayer. She licked you slow, deep, thorough — drawing it out, savoring it, like she was determined to memorize every sound you made under her.

“I could die happy right here,” She whispered into your neck.

You came undone again, this time with a whimper and your fingers tugging tight in her hair. And even as you trembled, even as your vision blurred, she didn’t stop — didn’t let go — only kissed her way back up your body, wrapping herself around you again.

“Not yet,” You murmured, dazed. “I’m not done with you.”

She laughed then, low and rough and so turned on. “Then don’t be, baby.”

And the barn stayed quiet — except for the sounds only the two of you made, as the sun climbed higher, and morning became something entirely your own.

➪ next part.

#𓂃 ๋ ࣭ 𔘓 natalianovnas #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha x reader #natasha smut

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blueberrybirdsworld · 2 months ago

Text

The Cat Distribution System 5/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER FIVE :

@landonorris

"She likes ballet and cats, I like girls with pink bows. Seems fair for me to fall in love of you 🤍🎀"

@oscarpiastri: okay FINE you guys are cute or whatever 🙄

@maxfewtrell: glad i don’t have to keep dodging questions anymore

@maxverstappen1: does this mean we can all talk about it now? asking for a friend

@charles_leclerc: finally. no more pretending i don’t recognize your cats 😂

@carlossainz55:

happy for you, mate. and for the cat. looks like he's running the house 🐱

@pietra: i literally screamed

@pierregasly: really glad you two are out in the open now

@arianariverria: glad you came around, glad you waited, I love you to mon coeur 🧡

@catdadconfirmed: for real they are the cutest

@f1slowburn: wait… “glad you waited”? what do you MEAN. was this enemies to lovers?? did he mess it up at first?? i need context

@ballerinaxboosted: ok now i need to know what happened before this. why did he have to wait?? WHO LEFT WHO??

@gridoftenderness: oh this is some “wrong time, right person” energy and i am SOBBING

@softlaunched: “glad you came around ” is gonna haunt me for weeks. they better give us the how we met story soon or i’m writing it myself.

@arianariverria

"And he said he hated cats 🐾"

@pietra: this might be my favorite post, you are perfect for each other ❤️

@alexandrastmleux: the perfect balance of grace and humor. you two make sense in a way that feels effortless 🫶🏻✨

@kikagomes: everything about this is so soft and real. happy for you both 🤍

@pierregasly: very glad you’ve tamed him. no one else could’ve

@maxverstappen1: finally. took you both long enough

@oscarpiastri: i was going to say something sarcastic but honestly this is sweet as hell. glad you posted it

@landonorris: well I like cats now but I love you even more 🧡

@chaoticpirouette: he’s SO GONEEEE 😭

@f1girlsunite: she pulled the man who got beat up by a kitten and turned him into boyfriend material. ICON.

@slowburnf1: "he said he hated cats" girl this is enemies-to-lovers pet edition

@balletxf1squad: i don’t think you guys understand the power of “i love you even more” from a man who used to flinch at commitment and cats 😭

@landoandariaupdates: this is the first time we’ve seen him say that out loud. publicly. fully. not a joke. not a tease. i’m emotional

@mcLarenhearts: this is what happens when you fall for someone who feels like home 🧡

📱@f1sleuths

THREAD : Lando & Ariana — how long has this actually been going on? Because “glad you waited” says a LOT.

1. okay soooo after Lando posted and Ariana replied with that, I went digging. I’m not saying I cracked their relationship timeline but I cracked their relationship timeline.

2. Remember when Ariana randomly gained like 15K followers in December? Now scroll back to Lando’s Brazil trip during winter break, 11 months ago. Guess who was also tagged in background stories ? 👀

3. Also, Pietra and Max started commenting and liking Ariana’s posts exactly 11 months ago. Kika and Alexandra followed her a week later. All the girlfriends followed her right after the Brazil trip that wre organised with some drivers and their girlfriends, where Ariana must have been too.

4. But the wildest part?

There’s an old pic floating around of Lando spotted leaving the Royal Opera House in London last December. It was Nutcracker season. Ariana danced the lead that month.

5. Which means — they’ve possibly been seeing each other before Brazil and then goes on couple holiday together with the group were she met the other drivers and girlfriends

6. But then around day 7 of the trip... Lando disappears from all group pics. No more candid tags.

Other couples still doing beach days, dinners, pool shots. Lando? Gone. And Ariana’s not in the rest of the trip either 👀

7. Which begs the question: what happened? Because right after that: Lando posts a cryptic IG story: "Sometimes space is the kindest thing you can give someone.”

Ariana goes totally radio silent. No ballet pics. No stories. No updates. No public sightings for weeks.

8. So maybe there was a shift. A fight? A misstep? Maybe she got overwhelmed. Maybe he messed something up. Maybe they both did.

But the point is — they separated, then go back together after he waited for her.

@gridromantics: this went from soft launch to literary drama. the slow burn. the waiting. i’m crying.

@f1archivegirl: so it was Nutcracker > Brazil trip with the crew > soft separation> reconciliation > the kitten > hard launch? that’s the arc???

@charliespurrlog: and don’t forget—Lando’s entire vibe changed 11 months ago. man started journaling, reading, wearing calm colors. the girlfriend effect is real.

@danielricciardoteapage: also… HE STARTED LIKING BALLET CONTENT. ON HIS PUBLIC ACCOUNT. WE HAVE SCREENSHOTS.

📱@balletxf1archive

THREAD: so can we talk about how the Brazil photos that just resurfaced basically confirm Ariana and Lando were already a full-on couple 11 months ago??? not “talking,” not “flirting”—a whole relationship.

@catdadconfirmed: they were already gone for each other. we were the ones late to the party 🥲

@mcLarenmutuals: it’s wild how Lando looks exactly like a man in love in all these pics and we STILL missed it for 11 months

@slowburnsofties: "not flirting, not a situationship — a relationship" YUP. and she meant every word when she said "glad you waited"

@gridromantics: people talk about the girlfriend effect like it’s about aesthetics but honestly? he just looked happier in Brazil

@heartonsleeveera: I know they’ve never posted an anniversary date but if they don’t celebrate it in December I’ll riot

The glow from Ariana’s phone screen was the only light in their quiet Monaco apartment. She was curled up on the couch in one of Lando’s hoodies, legs tucked under her, Charlie asleep at her feet. Lando walked out from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, pausing when he noticed the look on her face — soft, distant, maybe a little sad.

He placed the mug next to her. “You okay?”

She blinked, glanced up at him, then tilted the phone so he could see.

“Someone made another thread,” she said quietly. “About us. Brazil. The pictures.”

Lando settled beside her, his arm brushing against hers as he read over the thread. Blurry beach photos. Grainy candid shots. Theories. Timelines. A caption that said:

“They weren’t flirting. They were already each other’s.”

And then:

“Imagine loving someone that much, losing them, and still choosing them again.”

He exhaled slowly. “They’re not wrong.”

Ariana didn’t say anything for a long moment. She set her phone face-down and picked at the sleeve of the hoodie she wore. Her voice came quieter than usual.

“We almost didn’t make it.”

He looked at her, heart tightening at the truth in her words — not as regret, but remembrance. Because they had come so close to walking away.

“I know,” he said softly. “And it was my fault. I was stupid. Too proud. Too used to running when things felt hard.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t just you. I shut down. I pushed you away.”

“You had a reason to,” he said. “I should’ve shown up for you better. But I meant it, Ari — I would’ve done anything to get you back”

That made her let out a soft laugh through her nose, but there were tears in her eyes now — not the heavy kind, just the full kind. Full of everything that had been held back, then let go.

“I hoped you would,” she admitted. Her voice cracked a little. “I hoped you’d fight for me. I told myself I’d be fine either way, but I wasn’t. Not really.”

Lando leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I would’ve followed you to every ballet in Europe if you hadn’t picked up my calls,” he whispered. “I would’ve sat front row until you looked at me again.”

Her breath hitched — part laugh, part sob. She reached up and touched his cheek.

“You’re such a softie now,” she whispered.

He smiled. “You made me soft. And really good at apologizing.”

She kissed him, slow and quiet, like she was still processing the weight of all they’d made it through. When they pulled apart, Lando nudged her nose with his.

“We messed up,” he said, “but we didn’t give up.”

She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her, fingers lacing with hers. Charlie stirred at their feet, mewed softly, then promptly rolled over and continued sleeping.

Ariana looked down at him, then back at Lando.

“You, me, and the catS,” she said with a small smile. “We turned out okay.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We turned out better than okay.”

@landonorris "Pics from our first date. The moment I knew I was falling for you. Happy 1 year, my love 🤍"

@arianariverria: How was I supposed to not fall for the boy who brought me flowers on first date? I love you too 🤍

@oscarpiastri: Okay but this is actually disgustingly sweet, I’m happy for you or whatever 🫠

@maxfewtrell: He went from cat-hater to flower-bringer in 12 months. love really is a personality shift.

@carlossainz55: One year already? Bro… you’re soft now. I like it.

@pietragoncalves: AND THE BOY KEPT SHOWING UP. proud of you two 💛

@landoinlove: who gave him the right to be this soft???? literally a flower boy now 😭

@gridgossipgirl: “the moment I knew I was falling for you”??? yeah I’m crying in the club

@charliesfavhuman: Lando: I hate cats and romance

Also Lando: posts anniversary love letter with a bouquet in frame 🧡

@carbonfiberhearts: oh so we were watching a love story and didn’t know it yet. I feel betrayed and blessed at the same time.

@balletbunfiles: he took her to see Monet on the first date??? meanwhile I’m dating men who think “romantic” is sharing their fries

@F1wagsupreme: this post just proved Ariana wasn’t a rebound or a crush. this man planned a real date with flowers and art 😭

@mclarencore: it’s giving ‘boyfriend of the year’ and I’m not even mad

@w14tears: Happy for them but also deeply unwell

@gridgirlfriendenergy: I love how everyone thought they were just flirty when this man was fully in love on date one

That morning, tucked away from the buzz of the internet, things were quieter. Softer.

Lando stood in the kitchen barefoot, while Ariana leaned against the counter next to him, half-asleep, nursing a mug of tea and wearing his hoodie that swallowed her whole.

Charlie and Aria had claimed the sunny patch of rug by the window, curled into one another like they always did.

Lando looked at Ariana, smirking as he flipped a pancake. "Rate my domestic skills. Be honest."

She blinked up at him, unimpressed. "They’re pancakes. You mixed stuff and didn’t burn them."

He feigned offense. "These are artisan. You’re eating Michelin-starred flour and vibes."

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she muttered, stealing a slice of fruit from the counter.

He grinned, pulling her closer by the hip. "You like me because I adopted a kitten."

"No," she said, teasing, "I like you because the kitten adopted you. Big difference."

They both laughed.

The kettle whistled. The cats yawned. And for a moment, the world felt simple.

"Hey," he murmured, tapping her chin so she’d meet his gaze. "Thanks for being patient. For the waiting. For everything."

She smiled, leaning into his chest. "You’re worth it. Even if Charlie is still my favorite."

He kissed her hair. "I know my place."

Ariana tilted her head up, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. "Still, I guess I could remind you who ranks second."

Lando grinned and leaned in, his lips brushing over hers. It started soft, playful. But soon her mug was set aside on the counter, and he had her perched on the edge, hands gripping his hoodie like it anchored her.

"This is unfair," she mumbled between kisses. "You’re distracting."

"So are you," he murmured, trailing his mouth along her jaw. "Wearing my hoodie like that."

She was halfway into tugging him closer when—

Mew.

They froze.

Mew.

They turned their heads slowly to the left.

Charlie sat by the rug, head tilted, big round eyes fixed on them like he’d caught his parents sneaking candy before dinner.

Lando groaned. "Oh my god. He’s judging us."

Ariana burst into laughter, covering her face. "You said he was clingy, but I didn’t think he was Catholic-school-principal levels of judgy."

Lando carefully scooped her into his arms. "Alright. To the bedroom. My son must never witness this."

She giggled against his chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"I'm respectful," he said, already heading down the hall. "Let the child nap in peace. We’ve earned this."

Charlie let out one last dramatic mew.

Ariana shouted over Lando’s shoulder to the cat, "You’ll understand when you’re older!"

The end

Thank you so much for everyone who have been following this serie Maybe I will post some bonus parts to this if I get inspo, I think it could be interesting to have a prequel story of their meeting and what happened between them in Brazil, let me know if you will like to read it and to give me your review on this story !

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07

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shouyuus · 6 months ago

Text

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FIVE: DON'T HATE THE PLAYERS

violet; 5,460 words; fluff, suggestive content, drama, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, smau-intermissions, miscommunication, fake dating, lesbian situationships rly hit diff, toxic ex!cait, simp!vi, rival!sevika, inappropriate use of locker rooms, vi is down so horrifically bad its kind of sad tbh

summary: in which instagrams are posted, texts are sent, hockey games are played, and you try your best to make it back in time to gie vi her present.

a/n: a lot of things happen here. LOL but i promise they're not all bad! ALSO. the insta post picture IS NOT PERFECT but it was the best i could do. and i didn't have time to commission an artist to draw the exact image that i wanted :( but i hope it at least gives the vibe of the post. and... it starts getting frisky here so... yall have been warned!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "OH SHIT, she said that?”

Vi grunts, rolling her eyes as she drops the deadlift bar with a loud thunk, flicking her belt off with her thumb.

“Yeah. I told her to fuck off.”

“Atta girl!” Jayce says, thumping her on the shoulder. Vi casts him a disgusted look.

“If you value your future offspring, Talis, never call me that again.”

Jayce laughs, reaching down to help Vi put the weights back onto the rack.

“I honestly thought it was gonna take much longer for you to, y’know —”

Vi pauses before straightening to pin him with a look.

“What? You thought I’d super hung up on her or something?”

Jayce shrugs, “Well, yeah. You seemed pretty deep in it when you two were together so…”

Vi sighs, carding a hand through her sweat-slicked hair.

“I mean, I was, but… I dunno… seeing her with that new girlfriend of hers… and just… her reaching out to try and — what… sabotage my…” Vi bites back the word ‘relationship’ so she just makes a vague sort of gesture and continues, “really kinda put things into perspective for me.”

Jayce hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but that Nolen girl’s no joke either. Her whole family’s been in the military — her dad’s some sort of war hero, and her mom’s the daughter of a politician, I think.”

Vi casts him a sidelong glance before scoffing, “Wow. Mel really did her research, huh?”

At this, Jayce jerks up, sputtering, “Well — she just — you know — her family’s also — I —”

Vi laughs, waving him off, “Whatever dude… but I already knew all that — why d’you think Caitlyn even ditched me in the first place?”

Jayce frowns, “Wasn’t it… because her mom didn’t approve of you or something like that?”

“Yep. We had one dinner together, and her mother made it very clear that she didn’t think someone of ‘my elk’ was worthy of being with her daughter. Apparently, having an adoptive father who owns a local watering hole and coaches college hockey isn’t the exact pedigree she’s looking for.”

Jayce lets out a low whistle.

Vi grabs a dumbbell for bicep curls.

“And… it seems like Caitlyn really look her mother’s words to heart. Cause a few weeks later… well, you know the rest.”

Jayce sighs, “That’s… unfortunate. But hey, look on the bright side. Without Cait’s mom, you would’ve never had the chance to date an Olympic athlete, right?”

Vi’s mouth twists into a half-grimace as she puffs out a breath and flexes her arm up, her eyes focused on her form in the mirror.

“Yeah well — not sure what exactly we are right now so… who knows.”

Jayce folds his arms, “Give her time. I haven’t known her as long as Mel has but she’s still a really good friend and…” Jayce allows himself a tiny, slanted grin as Vi pushes through her reps, “Mel wasn’t lying when she told you that we’ve never seen her like this with anyone else before.”

Vi finishes her first set with a loud exhale, glancing up at him.

“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that, pretty boy,” but she’s smiling when Jayce bends down to hand her a bottle of Gatorade, “hasn’t anyone told you it’s not good manners to toy with a girl’s feelings?” she pitches her voice up at the end, wiggling her fingers through the air even as Jayce rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, Jayce frowns as he turns back to Vi.

“You’ve blocked her number, right?”

Vi huffs, still counting beneath her breath, “— twenty-two, twenty-three — who? What? — Twenty-four —”

“Caitlyn’s.”

Vi grunts, straining through a few more reps before stopping to glance up at Jayce.

“No. Why? Should I?”

Jayce licks his lips, frowning slightly.

“Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Vi shrugs, “Yeah. I’ll do it later.”

Jayce nods, “Good. Alright — abs, lets go.”

You’re antsy all the way to the airport, checking your phone every four seconds, your knee bouncing even as the cab driver pulls up into the terminal and opens the trunk to grab your bag with a smile.

You bolt through the doors, thanking the heavens that the TSA Pre line is nearly empty.

Just as soon as you get through security, Mel calls.

“Have you got it?” you ask, without even saying hello.

Mel sigh, “Yes, yes, but it won’t do much good if you’re not here to give it to her —”

“I know! I know — I’m at the airport, and just got through security. Are you and Jayce —”

“I’ll come pick you up at the airport — thank god it’s only 16 minutes away from campus.”

“And you’re sure we’ll still make it on time for the game?”

“So long as your flight doesn’t get delayed —”

“It won’t.”

Mel laughs, the sound soft as you speed-walk your way through the terminal, slumping down next to your designated one with a long breath.

“Alright then, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Mel says.

You make a loud kissing noise into the speaker and hang up, your fingers automatically flicking through the open windows till you come to yours and Vi’s text history.

You grin down at it stupidly for a few more seconds before jolting out of your seat as one of the gate agents comes to shake your hand and help you board first. As you sink into the wide, business-class seat, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Your fingers fiddle with a thin gold chain around your neck and you bite back another grin.

You tug out the small teardrop locket dangling from the chain and flick open the clasp. Inside is nestled a single violet flower, pressed and perfect, preserved behind a thin pane of shimmering glass.

Vi makes a round of the rink, scanning the crowd with furrowed brows.

Nope. Nope. Nope…

She swears silently to herself, rolling her shoulders as the crowd roars.

You promised you’d be here tonight.

“And tonight, we’ve got our season’s top two favorites for the NCAA’s Frozen Four Championship — the Piltover Enforcers, and the Zaunite Barons!”

Vi grins as the stadium positively shakes with applause. It’s always nice playing on home-ice. Across the rink, she can see the huge, lumbering shapes of the Barons, and her jaw clenches as she catches Sevika’s eye.

They’d been something like childhood friends once upon a time. But after a falling out of meteoric proportions, they’d settled somewhere between grudging acquaintances and mortal enemies. Where they land on the scale on any particular day typically depends on the weather, the orbital tide height, and whether or not Mercury is currently in retrograde.

Though judging by the smirk that’s visible from beneath Sevika’s helmet, Vi thinks it’s nearing the mortal enemies end of the spectrum today.

All the players line up for the face off.

Vi bites down on her mouth guard and smacks her stick against the ice. Sevika skates up to her, bending down so close their helmets clack.

And for a brief, interminable second, Vi thinks Sevika’s going to stay quiet. But the moment passes and Sevika chuckles, the sound low and hoarse and utterly derisive. It sets Vi’s teeth on edge even before the first word leaves her mouth.

“Heard America’s snowflake-sweetheart’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Tch. What’s it to you?” Vi’s eyes flash up.

Sevika’s smirk has morphed into a full blown grin, sharp as freshly turned blades.

She shrugs, keeping her voice low as the official says something or other to both the teams.

“Well… just a lotta people buzzin’ online about her perfect skate at her competition this past weekend and I’m just thinkin’… man… you must not be fuckin’ her right —”

“You —” Vi nearly jerks up, but Sevika presses in just a bit tighter and Vi grounds her teeth down over the mouth guard.

“Cause if you lemme **take her for a spin, you can bet your scrawny ass that she won’t even be able to stand up straight, let alone skate clean.”

The puck hits the ice as if in slow motion; Vi feels a white-hot anger mixed with something very much like hurt surging up the length of her spine as she watches Sevika’s stick make contact with the puck first. But she doesn’t care — she slams her body forward and feels her shoulder check into Sevika’s chest as they both go sprawling across the ice and the puck goes wide.

They scramble up and take off after the puck, now in Zaunite possession, Sevika’s shoulder ramming reflectively into Vi’s as they jostle down the length of the rink.

Vi cracks her shoulder back into Sevika and the momentary gap is all she needs to break away, circling wide behind the goal. Someone shouts Reverse! and Vi feels more than sees the tiny black puck make contact with her stick. Her body moves on instinct, and she’s halfway down the rink before the others catch up to her.

She allows herself a single, tight-lipped grin before someone slams into her back with the force of a speeding firetruck. The world spins, but a second later, Vi hears the unmistakable sounds of Sevika’s heaving breaths.

“Ha. Aren’t you glad your little girlfriend isn’t here to see you eat shit?”

Vi flips around and before she knows it, she’s swinging her left arm into Sevika’s helmet, knocking it askew.

“Vi!”

Vi’s whole body seizes at the sound of your voice, and she looks up wildly, but she pays for it a moment later as Sevika’s fist connects with her jaw and her head snaps back. She brings her elbow down against Sevika’s extended arm, her free hand grappling to keep Sevika’s head shoved against the ice.

A whistle blows and they shove apart, shaking their heads and spitting blood. Vi tastes iron on her tongue and winces as she rotates her jaw. There’ll be a nasty bruise, but it’s not dislocated, and Vi’s suffered much worse at Sevika’s hands.

Half a foot from her, Sevika is shaking out her arm, looking murderous as the official comes up to point them towards the penalty box.

Vi looks around, and halfway across the rink, she sees you, your eyes wide, your hands pressed over your mouth, Mel and Jayce sitting next to you, both looking worried. But you’ve got dark streaks painted on your cheeks, and it takes her a second to recognize the large “VI” written there — her number, her name.

The world melts around her as she meets your eyes, and you look so worried that she almost laughs. This is nothing, she wants to say, you ain’t seen nothing yet, princess.

But the second is short lived as the official skates over and jerks his head towards the penalty box. She sighs, begrudgingly skating over and settling herself as far away from Sevika as humanly possible as the clock starts on their five minutes.

When all’s said and done, the game is a good one — with the final score of 3-2 in Piltover’ s favor. Sevika gets another penalty, but Vi manages to keep her cool. And by the end, everyone’s sweaty and tired, but riding high, and Vi can’t help the way she once more scans the cheering crowd for your face.

But, you’re not there. The seat next to Jayce and Mel is empty, and Vi can’t help the clawing, hollowing sensation that burrows up her chest from the base of her stomach.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Margot teases, bumping Vi as they all clamber off the ice.

Vi narrows her eyes, “What’dyou mean?”

Margot only grins, shooting Vi a wink before following the rest of the team towards the lockers.

Her phone buzzes and Vi glances down, only to see a single line of text from you:

come to the figure skating lockers. i’ve got a present for you.

Electricity zings up Vi’s limbs as she pivots hard left and makes her way down the heavily padded hallway towards the figure skating lockers, tugging off her gear as she goes. By the time she gets there, she’s managed to get most of her upper pads off, shucking them outside the door, leaving her in her loose jersey and pants.

She pushes through the thick metal door into the figure skating lockers. They’re smaller, brighter, and generally cleaner than the hockey team lockers. Vi’s never thought herself a stickler for things like nicer locker rooms but stepping in, she can’t help the way that her eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa.”

“They’re not all this nice.”

Vi whips her head around so fast she almost gets a crick in her neck at the sound of your voice. And there — standing next to the far row of pure white lockers, with your hands behind your back and her number (her name still painted on your cheek), you.

“Yeah?” she asks, even as she drops her helmet on the thickly padded floor and shuffles forward in her skates. She takes her time looking you over — and objectively, she knows it’s only been a few days since she’d last seen you, but it feels like forever, the way time stretches endless when you’re a little kid on the playground and eternity is just another thing you can take for granted.

You purse your lips around a shy grin and Vi almost groans as she notices the bright pink ribbon tied around your neck like a choker. You’re wearing the little black dress that you’d worn to that sorority party, the one that’s been the subject of one too many of her dirty daydreams — her varsity jacket slung around your shoulders.

“Sweet god, princess… is this the present you have for me? Please tell me it is —”

You let out a soft puff of exasperated laughter.

“No! I mean —” your eyes cut away as you shift your weight from one foot to another, falling back half a step as Vi takes a few steps closer. “I-if you want it to be — this can be — uhm — an additional present —”

“Mm… I don’t think I want any other present if I’ve got this one —” Vi says, inwardly thanking the heavens that she’d kept her skates on as they give her a few more inches as she corners you against a row of snow-white lockers, so bright they’re almost blinding.

“I — well that’s —”

“Mm… cat got your tongue, princess?” Vi asks, reaching up to tug your chin back towards her as you try to glance away.

You suck in a short breath, your lashes fluttering as you meet her gaze with yours — dark to light, amber and ice.

There’s adrenaline coursing through her system, and Vi knows she’s still riding high off the win, off the knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here for her. She looks you over with reverent eyes, her gaze lingering on the dark paint now slightly smeared across your cheeks in a large “VI”.

“I… I got this for you a while back…” you say, pressing something into her chest. Vi pauses, glancing down to see a small black box wrapped in a length of bright pink ribbon the exact same make and color as the one around your neck.

Vi falls back a step to take the box in her hands, turning it over.

“What is it?”

You shrug, a tiny, bird-like movement. Sweet and almost daring.

Vi grins as she traces a finger along a single ear of the perfectly tied bow.

“Can I?” she asks.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Vi tugs on the ribbon and it comes loose with a whisper. She opens the box to reveal a simple, teardrop locket set on a golden chain. She picks it up, letting the locket dangle from her fingers.

“Go on, open it,” you prompt, looking both bashful and eager. Vi gives you one more glance before fumbling open the locket to reveal a single snowflake, carved into the thick glass set into the middle of the locket.

“Oh.” Vi breathes, her voice nothing but a whisper. She stare at the locket, at the simplicity and delicacy of it. And then, she looks back up at you.

“It’s — Mel and Jayce helped me pick it — I didn’t know if you even wore stuff like this but —”

“I’ll wear it,” Vi says, letting the pendant drop into the palm of her opened hand. She offers it to you with a lopsided grin. “Can you help me put it on?”

You nod, a bit breathless, even as you take the locket from her and undo the clasp with trembling fingers. Vi grins as she leans in to let you fasten the chain around her neck, reveling in the tiny kiss of cold metal against her sweaty skin as she pulls back.

“So? How’s it look?” she asks.

You stare at the locket, and then up at her, and she swears she can see your eyes go molten.

“It looks… good.”

“Good,” Vi whispers, reaching up to finger at the tiny pink bow still tied around your neck. You suck in a breath, going still against her as she ghosts her breath along the long column of your neck. And she thinks she can almost hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage by the way your pulse flutters in your neck — she sure as hell can feel her own traitorous heart thundering away in her chest as she glances from the bow around your neck up to you and back down again.

“Can I?” she asks again, though this time, her voice is gentle, imploring, something like a plea as opposed to question.

She revels in the way your pulse flutters beneath the bright pink of the satin.

“Y-yeah —” you say, your own voice a harsh scrape of sound over a burgeoning need that Vi can almost taste on her tongue. But, she wants to take her time with you, she thinks, so she trails her fingers up to your neck and teases at the rabbit ears of the butterfly bow before tugging one end loose. And just like before, the ribbon gives way much too easily, and something gold shimmers as it drops from beneath the pink satin.

She stares.

It’s a gold chain identical to the one around her neck, with a teardrop pendant strung from it that mirrors her own.

This time, when she glances up, her eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

Your throat bobs as you clench your fingers at your sides, resisting the urge to lift your hands and help her.

“What…” her voice trails off, disbelieving.

You lick your lips. “Go on — open it.”

Vi nearly fumbles the locket twice before she gets it open, and her short intake of breath is the only sign you get that she’s seen what’s inside. You hold your own breath, watching her face as it flickers through a film-frame series of emotions.

“Is that —” her voice is hoarse; she clears her throat, running a thumb over the glass.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching up to take the open pendant from her, glancing down at it yourself, heat pricking into your cheeks as your eyes settle on the pressed violet.

She’s kissing you before either of you can say another word, and the force of it nearly slams your head back into the lockers but Vi’s hand is somehow there to cushion you, her fingers digging into your hair as you gasp open for her wanting mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss and there’s nothing gentle in the sting of her nails raking against your scalp as she presses you close, and then closer.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, skin and sound — your tiny, surprised squeak eclipsed by the low moan that reverberates from her chest to yours as she licks into the hot cavern of your mouth and feels you soften against her — sweet as sun-warmed honey.

“F-fuck princess —” Vi hisses, pulling back with a panting breath as you let your head fall back, gasping for air even as she yanks you towards her till both of you are toppling onto one of the long benches, your legs falling open to straddle her thighs, her hands poised over the round of your hips.

You look down at her, running your thumbs along her cheeks eyes flickering over her face — and the admiration caught behind the fractured glass of your eyes is so obvious that Vi almost turns away, embarrassed. Instead, she leans up to nose into the triangle of your threading pulse, delighting in the shiver that chases down the shape of you, in the involuntary way your thighs squeeze on either side of hers.

She grins, inching her fingers beneath the hem of your little black dress, groaning as she finds the winged hollows of your hipbones and realizes, half a breath later, that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Holy shit — w-were you like this the whole game?” she asks, her eyes going wide with awe.

You bite your lips, cocking your head to one side as you reach up to brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.

“No…” you say, but your voice trails off and you glance towards the side. She follows your gaze to the left, only to find your bookbag sagging against one of the far lockers. A smirk twists her lips as her eyes slingshot back to you.

“Oh wow… so…” she drawls, trailing her fingers ever so slowly up the bare skin of your hips, hitching the hem of your tight black dress further and further up till it’s barely covering what she now knows is your bare cunt.

“You came in here and took them off… just for me?” she bats her lashes at you, her skylight eyes going dark and liquid as she watches you fidget above her. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip and Vi has to physically bite back a moan.

“Maybe I did — what of it?”

Vi’s smirk stretches as she reaches up to tug your face down towards hers, so close you can taste her breath dissolving on your tongue like sugar into tea.

“Princess…” she says, and her voice is so thick with desire it might’ve been spread there with a butter knife, “I thought… you wanted to take things slow.” Her fingers have successfully rucked your dress up high enough for it to gather at your waist, though she keeps her eyes on yours and makes no move to take advantage of the fact that you’re now entirely naked from the waist down.

You shrug up a single shoulder.

“Right… but I also remember telling you that I’m not the best with impulsivity…”

Vi laughs, the sound bright and honest. You giggle, pursing your lips, your cheeks tinted such a darling shade of crimson that Vi doubts rosy-fingered dawn would’ve had the power to eclipse it.

“Good,” she says, reaching up to cup your face with both her hands, bringing you down to tease her lips over yours, her words soft and indulgent, “cause honestly, I’ve never been the best with that either.”

She’s about to kiss you again, content to lose herself in the intoxicating drag of your lips on hers, but a text message alarm blips from her pants pocket and it jars the both of you from your desire-induced trance.

You blink, a slight frown creasing your forehead as she reaches into her hockey pants and digs out her phone. You sit back slightly as Vi clicks on her screen to see a slew of notifications dating back till god knows when, but the latest is sent from a few seconds ago and only reads:

New iMessage from cupcake 🧁

“What the —” Vi frowns.

But a second later, you’re pushing off her lap, and Vi catches a glint of the hurt in your eyes before you’re tugging down your dress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s Caitlyn, right?” you ask, your voice tenuous.

And for a second, Vi seriously considers lying to you, telling you that it’s someone else — that it’s Powder or even one of the girls from the hockey team, but she sees the fractured look in your eyes and knows that she can’t.

“Y-yeah — it is but —”

You suck in a deep breath, your fingers twisting in front of you even as Vi pushes up from the bench to try and reach for you. You jerk away, your back hitting the lockers with a loud clang that set’s Vi’s teeth on edge, even as she clenches her fist and drops her arm.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” you say, making your swift way to your bag and snatching it up, digging around for your phone before shouldering the straps and rounding the benches again. And maybe it’s the sheer desperation curling up her chest, or the fact that the name had just come up on her screen but when she opens her mouth again, Vi says the worst possible combination of words —

“Wait, cupcake —”

You physically flinch at the pet name and Vi squeezes her eyes shut with sigh. Fuck.

When she opens her eyes again, you’re by the locker room door, your hand poised on the handle. You shoot her a single, broken backwards glance before pulling it open and slipping away.

Vi stands there, held still by the oppressive silence and the bleached-white metal all around her. She’s frozen for a single second longer before she swings her fist into the row of lockers next to her and pain ricochets up her arm from her knuckles, and her fingers pull away, already bruised.

“Fuck!”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes you three tries before you manage to punch the call button on Mel’s speed dial. She picks up after a single ring.

“Hey there, darling — well that was quick — we’re all heading to the after party if you —”

“Mel — c-can you come and p-pick me up?”

Mel goes quiet, and then —

“Darling? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“N-Nothing I just — can you come pick me up?” you hiccup halfway through your sentence, wiping at the fat, traitorous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Distantly, you can hear Mel saying something and Jayce’s voice answering back. A moment later, she’s back on the line.

“I’ll come get you, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying? Did Vi do something?”

“No — it’s — it’s nothing — I just d-don’t feel very good —”

Mel sighs, “Alright then, stay where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah — t-thanks Mel.”

You hang up the phone and dart into the nearly abandoned parking lot, the crowds have long since dispersed, leaving you thankfully alone. You slump against the outer wall of the rink and suck in a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to rub at your eyes with an angry palm. You cast your eyes up at the ruefully clear autumn night, the moon hanging fat and low, the stars twinkling with their cold, far-off light.

Approximately five minutes later, Mel pulls into the parking lot, mercifully alone, rolling down the windows as you rush forward and let yourself into the passenger’s side of the car, sinking into the seat with a bitten-off sob.

“Oh my darling… what happened?” Mel reaches over to give your hand a squeeze.

You bite your lips, blinking hard at the dark tarp roof of her convertible, clutching at your bag.

“Sh-she got a text from ‘cupcake’.”

Mel stares at you for a solid three seconds before slumping back into her seat and reaching up to pinch her nose bridge.

“I’m going to murder Jayce.”

“I fucked up — I fucked up —”

“Whoa, whoa — slow down — what the hell happened?”

Vi nearly chucks her skates into the already dented lockers just as Jayce makes an abortive move forward as if to stop her. She drops her skates and buries her face in her hands instead.

“Caitlyn texted me, and — and I never changed her contact from ‘cupcake’ —”

Jayce groans, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I told you to block her?”

“I forgot, okay?” Vi says, tugging so hard on her own hair that Jayce has to reach out and smack her hands away.

Jayce sighs, leaning back against the lockers, looking over the shape of her. He can’t help the tiny grin that hitches his lips or the small puff of helpless laughter.

“Wow.”

Vi looks up, “What?”

Jayce just shrugs, “No, it’s just — been a while since I’ve seen you down this bad.”

Vi flips him off, “Fuck you, Talis. Yeah, laugh it up — look! It’s Vi! Piltover’s favorite train-crash lesbian, fumbling yet another —”

“Y’know, one of the things about being in a nice, committed, completely non-toxic long-term relationship —” Jayce says loudly, cutting her off despite the murderous look in Vi’s eyes, “is that you learn real quick that you’re always gonna be the one that’s wrong, and that your dear, darling, perfect girlfriend will always be the one that’s right.”

He grins, bitten-lipped and open-palmed. Like this, he looks almost like the politician that Vi knows Mel’s parents so desperately want him to be.

Vi frowns, “What’re you getting at, pretty boy? Spit it the fuck out — I don’t have the patience for your bullshit right —”

“And you know what people do when they’re wrong?” Jayce continues in that chipper, Sunday-morning commercial voice of his. He leans forward even as Vi leans back, the frown digging ever deeper between her brows.

“Uh… cry and punch things and shoot for a new PR at the gym?”

Jayce snorts, but at least Vi’s smiling.

“No, you fuckin’ fratbro son of a — you apologize.”

Vi’s gaze goes flat. “Ah. Right. Of course — why didn’t I think of —”

“And then — ” Jayce continues, raising his voice even higher, a finger pointed up in the air as if he were delivering the valedictorian speech at graduation, before he twists his hand and pokes it into Vi’s jersey-clad chest.

“You do better.”

Vi’s breath catches; she blinks up at Jayce before swallowing around the peach pit in her throat.

“R-right…”

Jayce hikes both of his eyebrows comically high. Vi glances up towards them before puffing out a breath.

“Think you can do that?” Jayce asks, his voice now finally back to normal.

Vi chews on the inside of her cheek before shrugging up a shoulder.

“Dunno, but… I really wanna try.”

Jayce thumps a fist into her chest.

“Good answer, Lanes. Now. Phone.” He opens his hand palm up.

She blinks at it for a second before sighing and digging her phone from her pocket and dropping it into his hand.

Jayce punches in the password without breaking eye contact, pulling up her text history and turning the phone around to face Vi as he clicks — Contact > Info > Block Caller — on Caitlyn’s number.

He hands it back just as the screen goes dark.

Vi stares at the long crack running through the center of her screen before the phone lights up again, this time, with a text from an unknown number.

Jayce barely glances at it before smiling.

“That’ll be Mel.”

Vi’s eyebrows knit as she flicks open the screen. There are two texts in quick succession:

i’ve gotten her to agree to come to the afterparty.

Do not. Fuck this up.

taglist: @traiitorjoe@rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly@drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22@lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless@armins-slvt@lin-elizabeth @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

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hanna81024 · 2 months ago

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Can I be honest with you guys for a sec? I feel like this needs to be said. This is coming from someone currently in the middle of writing a 17-chapter, 50k+ word Scarian fanfic, so keep that in mind. The way some of you act around Desert Duo is genuinely just… weird to me. It really hit me during the charity streams. And to clarify, when I say Desert Duo, I’m not talking about their characters—because then I’d be a total hypocrite. I mean the real people.

The way people ship-post about Grian and Scar themselves using clips from livestreams is just super off-putting. They’re close friends, not a couple. Grian is literally married. Seeing the chat constantly flooded with stuff like “omg scarian” or “the way he looked at him”—it’s just… weird, man.

Sorry if this comes off as harsh, but I really think this kind of stuff belongs in fanfics and fanart, not in real-life clips. It crosses a line, and yeah, I know I’ve said that in like five different ways now, but I really need you guys to understand how off it feels. And I get that someone’s gonna say, “Well, they don’t care,” and maybe that’s true. But still—can we not just acknowledge that blurring the lines between the real people and their characters for the sake of shipping is kinda weird?

Like, I clearly enjoy scarian fan content, but this… god, man…

#desert duo #scarian #grian #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #trafficshipping #hermitshipping #third life #hermitcraft #hanna types out her thoughts at 3 am

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cheesycatz · 13 days ago

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Me: (puts the DealMaker on Kris just in case there's a single reference to Spamton in Chapter 3)

The pathetic divorced TV that's still whipped 20+ years later:

So YEAH writing my thoughts on the Spamton and Tenna content we got. Mainly:

Tenna is WAY more obsessed with Spamton than Spamton is obsessed with Tenna

Tenna's fond memories of Spamton have been tainted by his current hatred of Spamton

Tenna blames his problems on Spamton because that's easier than accepting his fate as a darkner of becoming obsolete

Tenna probably believes Spamton is more successful than ever, and would probably sympathize if he knew how poorly Spamton was actually doing

The 10 ft tall TV man is the submissive one?????

wait no delete undo control z delete delete delte dlelatefbbsjabcjowm

(Here's a YouTube video with all the nonsense I'll be referencing if you're normal and don't know what the hell I'm talking about)

It's interesting just how obsessed Tenna is? Despite the fact that Spamton thinks Tenna is the one entirely responsible for his downfall, he only mentions him a few times, and usually so vaguely we didn't even know he was referring to Tenna until chapter 3 came out. Spamton clearly found a new plan to become a big shot (becoming NEO), and while he's still very spiteful, he's somewhat moved on. He doesn't need Tenna anymore, just like he doesn't need Swatch, the addisons, or anyone else that was ever by his side. His plan doesn't involve anyone from his past.

Meanwhile, Tenna brings Spamton up repeatedly, entirely unprompted. Constantly mentioning emails, talking about how he's better than him, the Z rank room and the S rank room look like they haven't been touched since Spamton last visited, the fact that he's using the pipis Spamton gave him to mass produce TV slop, that giant Spamton head in the Susiezilla mini game—you can tell Tenna is still living in the past, and his Spamton obsession is a part of that.

Tenna also has a hatred for Spamton that seems strange considering how close they must've been. From Tenna's perspective, Spamton promised to help him become a “big shot” (I assume this is referring to helping Tenna become successful, relevant, and up-to-date with technology rather than Spamton's more metaphorical meaning when he uses the term), then rushed out after receiving a phone call, never to be seen again. This event was presumably Spamton's benefactor deciding they would no longer help him, and the reason he never came back was possibly because the laptop got taken back to the Library, or because he was getting evicted? Regardless, the last Tenna ever sees of Spamton is his face going pale, then literally running out of the room, phone still hanging off the receiver. If that was the last you saw of your business partner and friend (or lover wink wink), wouldn't you be concerned?

…And his first thought was that Spamton had purposefully scammed and ditched him? I think, given how “bright” Tenna and Spamton's smiles were in that Z rank room poster, Tenna's perspective of this event must've shifted. After all, Tenna is retelling this story 20-ish years later when he's been abandoned by the lightners for years. Aside from the Knight, Spamton is literally the only hope Tenna ever had. And, considering how Tenna's employees talk about him and his contracts in Chapter 3 (Lanino and Elnina, his 2nd in command, ditch him like five minutes after his crash out they ain't loyal 😭😭😭), he's probably been extremely isolated since Spamton (and Mike) left. He pretends that the random guys pretending to be Mike are actually Mike, because that's easier to accept than coming to terms with the fact that the real Mike is long gone.

I think, in the same way Spamton blames his problems on everyone else, Tenna blames all his problems on Spamton. He probably believes that Spamton is still the richest salesman in Cyber City, that he's more successful than ever while Tenna rots in a broken home. He doesn't know that Spamton's been puppetified (either horrifically transformed or agonizingly burned alive in acid depending on what theory you like more), evicted from his home, and has been living on the streets for literal decades. Not to mention Spamton's verbal and visual glitches, which very well could hurt given how much he mentions being in pain in his dialogue.

Chapter 3 definitely showed that Tenna is an antagonist, not a villain, unlike what Spamton would have you believe. The only reason he fights is because he's desperate for attention, and also because of the Knight's instructions (which he also only followed because he's desperate for attention). I don't think he would hate Spamton if he knew what Spamton went through, which made that shitpost scene of him getting blasted with foam that much more heartbreaking. Spamton has been through so damn much that his voice and appearance is entirely unrecognizable from the man he once was. I know it was a joke, but Tenna literally assumed he was some weird, feral animal. Spamton could pull out his birth certificate, passport, driver’s license, social security number, whatever, and Tenna probably still wouldn't believe him, because his image of Spamton is completely different from the real man.

From Spamton's perspective, it's interesting how quick his tune changed when he saw that Tenna kept the pipis. It makes me wonder if he really does believe Tenna was responsible for his downfall, or if he tries to trick himself into believing it because it's easier than accepting his fate. Otherwise, like Tenna, I wouldn't be surprised if Spamton grew to resent Tenna the longer he went without seeing him. Even if Tenna was already losing popularity by the time Spamton left, he still had so much more than Spamton had. Spamton started from the bottom, but Tenna always had his giant TV studio, always had employees, never had to worry about when his next paycheck was. Spamton was born to fail. Tenna was born at the height of his own popularity. It's not surprising that Spamton would envy Tenna, and it's not surprising that he wishes their roles were reversed. Though, perhaps seeing Tenna all these years later, desperate, pathetically lonely, still obsessed with Spamton, and begging for freedom made Spamton a little sympathetic.

Overall, the similarities between Spamton and Tenna makes their dynamic very enjoyable to me. Both have been abandoned, and still perceive and hate the other as the other's old successful self. Their similarities also make their differences more fascinating. Part of why I like Spamton is his perseverance. His situation is easily 100 times worse than Tenna's (literal homeless man that's been horribly disfigured vs. millionaire irrelevant tv host smh), yet Spamton's the one that wakes up and still works his ass off trying to reach his goals, while Tenna desperately clings to his dying dark world, bitterly living in the past rather than trying to do anything to help his situation.

I don't care if he's a murderous criminal, Spamton's a fucking inspiration. No matter how much everyone hates Spamton, no matter how much they try to erase his image, they still constantly replicate what he had. The Color Café sells his bowties, the Chapter 4 addisons try to mimic him the second they don't have jobs, and, of course, Tenna loathing yet revering him. None of these people know if Spamton's even still alive—yet the mere idea of him has influence everywhere. No matter how hard they try to scrub him from existence, they can't escape it. I like Tenna as a character, but he will never compare to Spamton's sheer influence.

Also sorry Tenna but I think you deserved getting kinkshamed by an entire audience for keeping your ex's freak ass unfertilized puppet eggs and nonconsensually feeding them to your employees

Conclusion: uuuuuh can I have a 200k words slow burn fic about these two reuniting in Castle Town with a side of overcoming their hatred and realizing how similar they are? And a drink of hijinks with Tenna refusing to recognize Spamton at first? oh yeah can I also get a Spamton NEO? Your NEO cream machine is broken? Okay……..

#deltarune analysis #spamton #tenna #tenna deltarune #ant tenna #mr tenna #deltarune spoilers #deltarune #spamtenna #dawg what tag are we using for this guy #I CANT BELIEVE I MISSED THE PIPIS CUTSCENE IN MY PLAYTHROUGH I WOULDVE LOST MY SHIT

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andvys · 4 months ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter five

⭐︎ Watching cityscapes turn to dust

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, gore, mentions of killing (zombies?), post apocalypse au, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You find out the truth's of this world, ones you weren't prepared for.

Word count: 5.1k

Author's note: This one is a little emotional... but Steve and Sunshine are finally getting closer. Also @hellfire--cult wrote the whole upside down conversation part and everything that came after, y'all are gonna squeal the way I did when you read a specific part aaaahhh

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

“See this? Eucalyptus. If we run out of toilet paper, we can use this as a replacement.”

Steve scrunches his nose, staring at the plant that you are picking apart now, gathering the leaves and stuffing them into your bag.

“You’re telling me I can wipe my ass with a plant?” He asks, not sounding convinced of your words.

“A leaf, but yes. It’s non irritating and soft. Koalas not only eat it but use it as such.” You explain without looking back at him, continuing to pick at the plant. You were hoping to find some mulberries or chokeberries out here but instead you stumbled upon this.

Steve nods at your words, a small smile grazes his face, “is there something you don’t know?”

Your braid falls to the side when you turn to face him. In all this time since you have been on the road, he hasn’t seen you with your hair open once, it’s always in a braid or a ponytail but never open.

You give him a sheepish smile and a small shrug, “...math.”

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, a low chuckle falls from his lips, “alright.” He furrows his eyebrows when he sees the amount of leaves you are stuffing into your backpack, “what’re you gonna do with all that?”

You zip the bag and throw the strap over your shoulder again, adjusting the backpack before you bend down to pick up your machete again, shrugging at him, “it can be used for a lot of things! We can put some in the shower for the good smell, we can make some tea with it or use it as a decongestant if someone gets sick.”

Steve nods again, he starts walking beside you, looking down at you with curious eyes. He is impressed by your knowledge. His first impression of you was false, he thought you were a clueless, lost girl, someone doomed to die in a world like this but it turned out that you know more than he thought.

You showed him how to build a water filter from scratch, you know what berries are edible and which are poisonous, you know your way around medicine, you’re fast on your feet and your reactions are quick. He is not so convinced that you are much of a fighter or that those knives strapped to your belt have ever been used for anything other than cutting fruit or opening cans. Your arms seem weak, they shake every time you lift heavy things, he can’t imagine how you have gotten yourself out of certain situations before but you know how to survive, he knows that now too.

“I was hoping to find some berries, we could’ve made jam, we still got a bunch of sugar.” You speak quietly, looking around the trees around you, careful not to miss anything creeping up on the both of you.

“I’m sure we’ll find some soon,” Steve murmurs as he keeps a tight hold on his rifle. He looks up into the sky, noticing the dark clouds. “It’s getting darker earlier now.”

“Yeah,” you sigh with a frown on your face. “I don’t like it, it means that winter is coming.”

“Yeah, hopefully we’ll make it to California sooner rather than later.”

You hum, giving him a skeptic look, shrugging.

That look on your face surprises him, amuses him even, he can’t help but chuckle, “is that pessimism I see on your face, sunshine?”

“Never!” You chuckle and nudge him with your hand. “I’m just being realistic–”

“What every pessimist says ever,” he laughs, shaking his head.

“No, I’m just experienced, Steve! It took me a while to even get here, there’s a lot of things that get in the way, obstacles. Sometimes you gotta do detours, there are a lot of towns and cities you have to avoid, that unfortunately makes the journey longer.”

“How do we know what places to avoid though?” Steve frowns, looking down at you curiously.

“Well, big cities and everything around it, those places were bombed, remember? When the government and the military still thought that they could prevent this from happening… whatever the hell this is.” You mumble, gesturing to some of the rotten plants you’re passing by.

“Right,” Steve mumbles and looks down. He sometimes forgets that you don’t know what caused the end of the world. He hasn’t told you yet, Nancy and Eddie haven’t either.

“It’s dangerous there, they thought they could take out those monsters that way but they only made it worse, cities are crawling with those things, along with infected people.”

He didn’t know. He was stuck in Hawkins since the beginning of the end, he never turned on the radio until you, he never even thought about what happened to the rest of the world, he was stuck in that town, he was busy grieving her.

“How do you know?” He asks, glancing at you.

You continue to look ahead, taking a deep breath before you open your mouth.

“I got myself in deep shit when I took a detour to Washington DC. I ran into a couple who told me about a refugee camp in DC. I should’ve known it was a mistake to change my route and go there but it was only the beginning of everything and I was alone and scared, I wasn’t thinking.”

“What happened?”

You look down as your lips curl downwards, wincing a bit.

“The place was crawling with infected people, it was overrun. I tried to go back, take the same way out and get back on my old route but… I swear it was a blink of an eye moment and those things had me surrounded.”

Steve frowns, his breathing becomes a little shaky as he thinks of the fear you must’ve felt when death was creeping up on you.

“How’d you get out?”

“I had to fight my way out,” you murmur, looking up into his eyes, revealing the mark it left on you as you allow him to look into your eyes. “It was the first time I had to kill sick ones.”

He can see it wasn’t easy on you, it’s written all over your face.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and then it took forever to get out of there. The city was crawling with infected, with monsters, everything. Not to mention that most buildings were falling apart and it wasn’t easy to find places to hide.”

As you continue to tell him how you got out of the city of horror, Steve realizes that you have seen far more than he has. He might’ve been roped into the upside down years ago, he might know more but you have made experiences that he was spared from. That you have encountered things that he can’t even think of.

Shivers ran down his spine when he overheard your conversation with Eddie back in Hawkins, knowing how it could have ended for you makes him feel sick still when he thinks about it.

“I have avoided cities and big towns ever since. The journey is longer that way but safer.”

Steve nods.

“Guess it’ll take a while for us to get to California then.” Steve mumbles, spotting the RV in the distance and the small fire Eddie had made.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be tough with the cold weather but as long as we stock up on everything, we’ll be fine.” You shrug, surprising him with how relaxed you seem about all the things that he feels anxious about.

“Let’s hope we’ll find enough lakes on the way so we can keep filling up our water tank.”

You always make sure that the water tank in the RV is filled so the shower and the toilet can be used but you save up on it as much as you can. Bathing in the lakes is getting more impossible by the second, the water turning colder and colder, but it works for hair washes and quick cleaning on the most needed areas.

“Yeah and let’s hope they won’t be frozen or else we’ll have to use snow and baby wipes to clean up,” you chuckle.

“If there is gonna be any snow,” Steve points out.

“I’m sure there will be, so we better find some warm clothes, you can’t walk around in this leather jacket,” you gesture to his trusted brown jacket. “You’ll freeze to death.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at the flannel you are wearing, “funny coming from you, you’re not even wearing a jacket.”

“This thing is warm!” You argue, tugging your flannel closer to your body.

“Yeah right, that’s why you’re shivering!”

“Am not!”

Eddie looks up at the both of you, grinning a little when he sees how close you two are walking next to each other.

“Don’t you dare say anything right now,” Nancy warns him as she stirs the soup in the pot, giving him a strict look.

Eddie sinks deeper into his camping chair, his eyes flash with amusement when he turns to Nancy, “wasn’t planning on saying anything.”

Nancy knows her friend well, she knew he was going to say something to tease Steve, something that would’ve only made him tense again and she doesn’t want that, not when you two are starting to get along.

“Mhmm sure, Munson.”

Eddie takes another look at the two of you before he leans closer to Nancy, “but he is smiling.”

Nancy tries to be subtle when she looks towards you and Steve. He is grimacing. She has to admit, it’s funny to watch your interactions with him, how you talk his ear off, trying to get him to smile or even laugh – it’s a challenge, he doesn’t smile very often these days, let alone laugh. It’s cute how you keep trying though.

“Don’t mention it to him or he’ll stop.”

Eddie snorts and leans back again, his eyes sparkle and a grin appears on his face when you wave at him.

“Hey, what’d you got there?” He raises his eyebrows at your backpack. “Did you find your berries?”

“No, unfortunately not but we found some eucalyptus!”

“Ah, nature’s toilet paper!” Eddie grins.

Steve raises his eyebrows at him, he stops beside you and places his hands on his hips.

“How’d you know?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, placing his hand on his chest in offense, “I don’t like that surprised look on your face, Harrington. Why wouldn’t I know?”

Steve shrugs, “maybe because you don’t look like a guy who’s into plants?”

“That’s very offensive considering I used to sell ‘em.”

Nancy snorts and shakes her head.

You straighten your back, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“You sold plants!?” You ask, smiling brightly.

Steve shakes his head, chuckling at the look of enthusiasm on your face, “no, he–”

“Why yes, sweetheart. I sold all the good greens,” Eddie grins.

When Steve and Nancy shake their heads at him again, laughing, and Eddie’s eyes flash with amusement, you realize that you are missing something, an inside joke that you don’t get.

Nancy notices how your head is tilted to the side, your lips curled downwards as your eyebrows knit together.

“Alright,” you shrug, throwing your backpack down and your machete next to it. You plop down on your camping chair, scooting closer to catch the warmth of the fire. The smell of soup filling the air around you, making your stomach grumble in anticipation. “Is that chicken noodle soup?”

“Yeah with fresh chicken and everything,” Eddie nods, watching as Nancy pours you the first bowl.

You give him a deadpan look, eyes flickering back and forth between his and the empty cans of soup in the grass.

He chuckles at you, handing another empty bowl to Nancy.

Steve is still standing, looking around, looking through the trees and over the large field. He is gripping his rifle tightly still.

“Dude, sit down, we’re safe here.” Eddie tells him. “We checked the area, it’s clean.”

You look up at the brunette, noticing the worried look on his face.

“Yeah, it’s safe, you saw for yourself, Steve. The forest is green.”

He nods, though still unsure. He takes another look around before he sits down beside you. A sigh falls from his lips as he takes the rifle off his shoulder, placing it down on the grass.

You’re right, the forest is green, no vines or rotten plants around, no ashes covering the ground. Places like these are usually safe from monsters. Usually. Steve can’t ever rest, no matter how safe they look or feel.

“Here.” Eddie pulls him out of his thoughts, handing him the bowl filled with soup.

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs, giving him a tight lipped smile as he takes it from his hands. He glances at you, your bowl is on your lap, the spoon in your hand as you stir the hot soup. A strand of your hair falls in front of your eye and you try to blow it away but to no avail. His hand itches, fingers twitching. He tears his eyes away from you, looking down at his dinner instead, and he begins to eat in silence.

“Hey,” Eddie nudges his chin at you, eyes flicking back and forth between your face and your machete on the ground.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever actually used that thing?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to the side.

Steve watches you from the side, curiously. You look confused, eyebrows furrowed and lips curled downwards.

“Uh, yeah…” You murmur. “Why?”

How could you have survived without it? It would’ve been a miracle if you didn’t have to use it.

Nancy raises her eyebrows at Eddie, she hugs her blanket tighter around her shoulders, sipping the soup from her spoon.

Eddie shrugs. He knows you’ve had to fight at some point, to kill, you wouldn’t have survived for so long if you didn’t. Yet he can’t imagine you lifting that thing to kill something or someone, not because you are weak or incapable, he just thinks that you are soft – too soft to kill, even monsters. You are the type to pull away, to run, to hide, to fight but not to kill.

You look into his brown eyes, trying to find the look of judgment in them but you can’t, just curiosity, nothing more or less.

“Just haven’t seen you use it, that’s all.”

“Yeah and I’m relieved about that, Eddie! It means we avoided danger successfully. I really hate using it.”

Nancy nods at you, smiling.

You’ve been on the road for nearly two weeks and it’s been nothing but a wasteland – empty roads, empty towns, empty houses. Nothing but the ghost of what the world once was. You haven’t come across monsters or infected yet, not even people. It’s almost as if everything disappeared completely but the screeches of the bats at night remind you of the danger still out there. It’s only a matter of time until you run into something or… someone. You got lucky so far but how long will luck stay on your side?

“Well, the same goes to you all,” you shrug. “I haven’t seen you use your axe, Eddie. I also haven’t seen you use that bat, Steve.”

Nancy chuckles when you challenge them both, leaving her out of it.

“Are you doubting my axe wielding skills, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, smiling in amusement.

“Are you doubting me and my machete?” You retort, glaring at him playfully to which Steve chuckles, smiling at the look on your face.

“Hell no,” Eddie shakes his head, “I was just curious! I don’t doubt you at all, I bet there’s a cold blooded killer behind that cute face.” He smirks, winking at you.

Your eyes widen and heat rises to your cheeks as you grow flustered.

Eddie’s eyes fill with pride when he notices your reaction, he can’t help but chuckle softly. He glances at Steve who rolls his eyes.

“What about you, Steve?” Eddie grins. “When was the last time you used your bat?”

Steve shrugs.

As he thinks about it, he realizes that it’s been a long time since it was used. He relied on the axe that Eddie stole from him and the rifle Hopper gave to him on the day he left, on the day they were all supposed to leave. He didn’t even pack the bat then, Robin did. That’s the reason why he took it with him nearly two weeks ago.

“Probably in ‘84.” He mumbles without thinking. “When Dustin and I went looking for Dart after he ate his cat.”

His words sink in slowly and it takes you a moment to fully realize what he just said.

Nancy straightens her back as she notices the line between your eyebrows and the way you slowly put your spoon down into your half empty bowl. She looks at Steve who hasn’t even realized what he just said as he keeps eating his soup.

“‘84?” You mumble, turning your body to face Steve. “What…?”

Steve’s eyes bore into the grass, his forehead puckers, his heart sinks a little.

“A what ate Dustin’s cat!?”

You look bewildered, completely mortified as those images must run through your mind. The situation is not funny at all but the look on your face is and Eddie can’t help but chuckle, something that earns him a punch to his arm from the girl beside him.

Nancy glares at him.

“Goddamn, woman,” Eddie hisses at her, rubbing his arm.

Steve can feel your eyes on him, your intense stare. He slowly looks up, turning towards you.

They haven’t told you anything, you are just as clueless as the rest of the world is or what remains of it. To you, the world just flipped over. A mysterious virus wiped out more than half of the earth’s population. The sickness spread and people started turning into monsters. Monsters crawled out of hell or fell from the sky as many believed. He remembers all the things said about the upside down creatures, he remembers how some called them demons while others called them aliens.

They didn’t mean to hide it from you, to hold back the truth. The conversation never came up and they also didn’t know how to explain it all to you without sounding like they had gone insane.

Where would they even start?

Would you even believe them?

“Uh…” Steve panics a bit, turning to face Eddie, looking at him for help but the metalhead only shrugs at him. He glances at Nancy who seems to enjoy his struggle. She shrugs at him too, giving him a look that says ‘go ahead’.

He hates this and even more so, he hates the smug looks on his friends’ faces.

For a moment it’s quiet, nothing but the crackling of the fire filling the space.

“What do you mean?” Your voice pulls his attention back on you. Your eyes are filled with confusion, your lips slightly parted.

Steve takes a deep breath.

He knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later, he just didn’t think that he would have to be the one to explain this world to you. He is not good at these things.

With a sigh he leans down, placing the bowl on the grass before he leans back again, turning his body towards you.

Where does he even begin?

He clears his throat, glaring at Eddie when he cackles.

“I uh… listen, what I’m about to tell you is gonna sound… crazy.”

“Can’t get crazier than this,” you chuckle nervously.

Steve smiles a little, taking another deep breath.

“Well, this has been going on for longer than you think.”

You narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head a little.

“I’m not following…”

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, he looks back and forth between your eyes and the fire, unable to find the right words.

“The uh…” He pauses, clenching his jaw. “Fuck…” He whispers.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie sighs loudly. “You’re the worst storyteller ever, dude!”

“Well, why don’t you tell her, Munson!?” Steve snaps in frustration, huffing loudly.

“I might be the master of story telling thanks to being a Dungeon Master… but I wasn’t in this shit from the very beginning.” Eddie says with another shrug and a cocky smile on his face which makes Steve sigh and roll his eyes. Your attention goes back to the brunette, your head tilted, ready to listen.

“There… There’s another dimension.” Steve starts and Nancy now knows it’s gonna be a long story, looking down at her bowl and continuing eating.

“Another dimension? Like a parallel universe or something?” You ask and Steve scrunches up his nose.

“Not exactly. It’s this world but a more… devastated version. What you saw back in Hawkins, it’s not as bad as it is in that dimension.” You were getting lost now, his words not making any sense and he noticed it in your face. “This started back in 1983…”

You listened.

For the first time in weeks, you sat there without any words coming out of your mouth except for a few questions, letting Steve talk. Nancy gave her input every now and then. They told you everything… from beginning to end. How one of the teens got taken away, how one of them was an experiment, how the others solved the mystery, how the government was involved, then–

“Wait… so… the Russians… they did what to you?” You ask and Steve clears his throat, looking at you.

“Kidnapped me and Robin, almost beat me to death and then they drugged us, thinking we would spill the beans or something.” He chuckles and your eyes were just glued on him, a worried frown in your eyebrows. His laugh ceased as he looked at you completely confused. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

He blinked a few times at that. It’s something that had happened years ago, back in 1985… Robin was one of the only people who asked. Dustin… then everyone saw him and the one thing that they asked was ‘what happened?’. You, years later, when his bruises are no longer there, maybe a scar on his lip from it that is barely visible… you ask him if he’s okay. He doesn’t know how to answer, completely taken aback by your question. Eddie notices, clearing his throat, which makes you turn your head at him.

“He is perfectly fine as you can see. Annoyingly so.” He comments and Steve is a little grateful for your attention, for your care, to no longer be directed at him. He cracks his neck a bit, not noticing the eyes of the other girl sitting in the circle, who is holding back a smile.

“So… After that, we came to find out so many other things… one in particular was that this whole thing, this whole… dimension, not only was opened by El, but another person got sucked in it… A dangerous person.” Your eyes went back to Steve as he continued his explanation.

You couldn’t believe this was all done by a single entity, a thing that was once human, a monster that was once a child. He explained how the gates worked, how the craters were created and then… your eyes landed on Eddie as Steve told you about the final battle.

“We thought we hadn’t killed him… but then– El told us he was dead. She could see him dying in his mind… but he didn’t leave without a parting gift.” Eddie states as he looks at his arms, seeing the scars and then back at you. “With the craters open, he gave one last order.”

“What was that?” You ask and Steve clears his throat, your attention back to him.

“To take over this side. To bring the Upside Down… up.”

You didn’t know how to react now. Your eyes drifted to the floor. They have been in this war for so long. For years. Kids. Fucking kids were involved in this and you just felt anger. Good people were involved in something that should have been dealt with by adults. The people who died, they recounted each one of them, but your eyes were on Nancy, who was looking at the horizon, as if absent minded.

She lost her best friend to this monster… and her father.

Steve lost his soulmate… Eddie almost lost his own life… They all almost died at some point and– it was hard to imagine that while they were suffering like this, when they were fighting and getting beaten up… you were picking up sunflowers with your parents. You were off partying. You were out with friends or going to concerts.

It felt unfair. You feel so guilty for some reason. You feel guilty for having had the time to be a proper teenager. To have a proper childhood. To have a family while theirs started to break apart slowly. The scars they all have, on their skin, on their minds, on their hearts… you don’t think you will ever comprehend. You won’t ever understand that pain.

“Sweetheart…” You heard Eddie calling you, but you were still shocked, the information dawning on you, and then– you flinched slightly when a thumb grazed your cheek, making you look to the side to see Steve, worriedly looking at you as he wiped something off your face.

“You don’t need to cry…” He softly spoke to you and… cry? You shook your head to get out of your shock, at least a bit, and you raised your hand to touch your right cheek and– You were crying. Tears fell down your eyes and you didn’t even notice it. Your heart felt as if someone was crushing it in their bare hands and your stomach was in a tight knot as Steve’s words kept replaying in your head.

“How… How can I not cry?” Your reaction was not something they expected. They expected you to yell in fear, or to appear nervous, or to be at least a bit skeptical of their story… but you were crying. Eddie’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, your eyes finding his.

“Why? We’re here… we’re alive.” He says with a soft smile, but you shake your head, the lump in your throat bigger than ever.

“Your lives were ripped away from you… normal lives… Your friends… family– How can I not cry?” And it dawned on them. They haven’t thought of it that way, not once they stopped and regretted or wished for things to be different. But now, the thoughts linger… if the upside down never happened, or they never interfered… where would they be right now?

“It… it made us who we are now.” Nancy tries talking, not wanting to show how her voice started to break. Your tears kept coming down as you tried to nod, yet it didn’t erase the sadness. It didn’t erase how bad you felt.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry this happened to all of you…” Your eyes fell on Steve. His eyes were red as well as the other two people in the circle. Soon, you weren’t the only one shedding tears. They all sat, looking at the fire in the middle, letting the world sink in. Letting their story be heard by themselves this time.

“Wow, sweets… thought we were done crying over this but damn, you come along and break the fucking dam.” Eddie jokes as he wipes his tears away, a wet chuckle escaping him and Nancy barely smiles, wiping her own tears, sniffling. You looked at him, a small smile on your lips as you saw him trying to diffuse the tension.

“We can’t afford to cry, we have to save our water and our hydration.” She says as joke, which makes you and Eddie chuckle. Your eyes turned to the one person who was still silent, looking at the firepit. Your smile fell a bit and you hesitantly raised your hand up and you returned his gesture. You wiped the stray tear that fell down his cheek but he didn’t flinch away from you. He wasn’t startled.

Steve looked at you as you retreated your hand back to your lap. He gave a few blink as he gulped the lump that formed in his throat. You were a nuisance. He knew that. You were making him have emotions he thought he was better without, and now…

“Thank you.” He softly spoke, and you gave him a small smile in answer. He reciprocates the gesture, the sadness slowly leaving his body as warmth fills his body once more. It was better to blame the fire for that.

He wanted to hate you for what you were doing to him. But he couldn’t help but thank you… because having these feelings, these emotions, reminded him of who he once was. With Dustin. With the other teens. With Robin. He’s once again vulnerable, but being able to laugh with Eddie, with Nancy… and you… He doesn’t want to lose that again.

“Don’t want to break the cute and intimate moment, but the chicken soup– I think it was fucking expired–” And all of your eyes widened as the loudest thing was heard through the field. Eddie’s face reddened as he cleared his throat. “That– I bet it was a demogorgon.”

The first to break was Steve. He laughed loudly, cackled, grabbing his belly as his face reddened from the strain of his laughter. Eddie had just let out a huge fart that echoed against the very far trees. You instantly followed as well as Nancy, all of you almost falling off the chair as Eddie scrambled up, rushing to get toilet paper inside the RV.

“IT’S NOT GONNA BE FUNNY WHEN IT HAPPENS TO THE THREE OF YOU!” You all heard him yell as now tears of laughter and joy escaped your eyes, your head hurting a bit from how hard you were laughing, pretty sure Steve was in the same or worse situation as you were because his was the loudest.

You all saw Eddie rush out with the small shovel and the toilet paper, running towards the woods, and your eyes caught on Steve. It was the first time you saw all of his teeth. His mouth wide with laughter, his eyes clenched, his hand on his belly as he complained it was hurting. Nancy’s own laughter was like a background noise, the volume was low on her, while Steve’s was on high.

You hoped to see him like this more often. He looked… good like this.

He looks good when he is happy.

☀︎

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington series #stranger things angst

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neochan · 4 months ago

Text

THE PROMISCUOUS TUTOR (M) | PART ONE

SERIES MASTERLIST LINK | remember this is part three and a half of a series! read part one & two for context!

PAIRING | tutor!jaemin x reader

SYNOPSIS | na jaemin is too sexy to be holed up in the campus library, but once you catch wind of what he does between the shelves, you know it’s your time to see just how well his reputation proceeds him.

WC | 15.3k

WARNINGS | cursing, mentions of alcohol, sexual comments, vouyerism, explicit smut, choking, hair pulling, so sorry to the jaehyun stans this chapter :(, pink-haired jaemin. mc does some hoe shit idk.

A.N | tumblr is being stupid and won't let me put it all in one part, so i'm splitting it into two. the next part will be linked on the masterlist / uploaded in a few! please send asks after you finish reading. i want to hear your thoughts!

Typically, the University dining hall is one of the loudest places on campus at any given time.

However, you’re becoming increasingly aware of how eerily silent it is at the ass crack of dawn – and how unbelievably loud Jaemin is.

It’s one thing if he was whisper-yelling about midterms coming up, but the dude was dishing some very personal details while sifting through a pan of scrambled eggs. And there was no whispering.

None.

None at all.

Jaemin wanted to make sure you heard his frustration. So, loud and proud, with his entire chest, he piles a heaping serving of eggs on his plate while conversating at the top of his lungs.

“...then we flipped positions, but she got the angle wrong and bent my dick–”

Jaemin's voice carried across the dining hall, prompting you to offer an apologetic smile to the staff member stationed at the food line. However, he just yawns tiredly and turns around to continue flipping pancakes on the griddle.

They obviously didn’t get paid enough to care about Jaemin and his dick bending episode, so you moved along behind the boy, piling up your own plate with the dining halls incredibly mid breakfast.

“. . . and I didn’t even mean to fall asleep, but we went so many rounds I just closed my eyes for two seconds, next thing I know it’s five am and I wake up to Haechan calling me –”

The mention of his name makes your head snap up. “Haechan?”

Jaemin stops at the soda machine and pours a cool glass of Gatorade into a clear plastic cup. “Yeah, he was totally freaking out, wondering why I hadn’t come home.” He chuckles before moving on to find a table. You grab a water bottle and scurry to keep up. “Like I don’t disappear for pussy all the time.”

At this early hour, you could have had your choice of seats in the café, but in typical Jaemin fashion, he zeroed in on an elevated platform encircling the main dining area. It was a nice spot – next to a cluster of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the quad and few academic buildings. But again, at this hour, especially with it being a Sunday, there wasn’t much to look at. Just a few workers maintaining the lawn and a solitary squirrel.

It wasn’t like you were going to be staring out the window much though. His words had captured any wandering attention.

"...and he asked if I had heard from you, which is why I texted.” Jaemin scoops up a hearty forkful of scrambled eggs and eagerly pops it into his mouth, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

The jolt of surprise that courses through your veins is unmistakably reflected in your expression. "Me? Why would he be asking about me?" you blurt out, your nerves getting the best of you.

Shit.

So Haechan had woken up and noticed your absence. A pang of guilt tightens your chest and makes you cringe on the inside. What a shitty thing to do. Take his virginity and then all but bail on him.

But he was cool with it being a one-time thing, you argue with yourself.

Jaemin interrupts your internal debate through a mouthful of pineapple, “I don’t know but he seemed kinda mad. You didn’t piss him off, did you?”

To avoid an immediate answer, you shove a forkful of syrup slathered pancakes into your mouth and chew slowly. When you swallow, it feels like a lump is stuck in your throat. But maybe that was just your guilty conscience trying to choke the life out of you.

“I don’t think I did anything.” You shrug, the words sounding less convincing than you’d hoped. A thought pops into your head, diverting the conversation momentarily, “Wait. You went home to shower, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

You lean in a bit, your tone hushed, “So… did you see him?”

Jaemin cards a hand through his faded pink hair and shakes his head, “I mean yeah, but he just said good morning and shut his door. I invited him to breakfast, but I don’t think he heard me.”

As his words sink in, a mix of relief and concern mingles within you. The last thing you needed was Haechan tagging along to a morning-after-breakfast. That would have made things mega awkward.

The boy you had just fucked and the boy you were wanting to fuck. Add in the fact that they had no idea you were even completing this stupid drunk-induced challenge…

Oh yeah, the challenge. Why the hell did it keep skipping your mind? Like it wasn’t the very thing that got you in this position.

Just the thought of it… well, it made your mind wander (as if it hadn’t been wandering this entire time). And somehow it landed on just how good Jaemin looked this morning.

He obviously had the after-sex glow - his skin was looking smooth and radiant, eyes bright, and lips a subtle shade of darker pink. The thought of why they were puffy made your thighs quiver - and underneath the dining table, you have to squeeze them together just to breathe properly again.

Was it from Yeji biting them last night? Passionate kisses turning into something much more aggressive? Could it be from him pushing open her thighs and coaxing her through ecstasy with just his tongue?

The vulgar thoughts circle your brain while you take in the rest of his sleepy, early morning outfit. A bright red hoodie hangs off his shoulders, covering any sort of muscle definition your eyes were itching to see. Not that it truly mattered – your memory was still pretty vivid from the party two nights ago. However, that night, your focus had been solely on Hyuck, which now seemed like an unfortunate missed opportunity.

Especially when he gets up to dump his plate in the dirty dish bin, and your eyes follow his tight cargo pants. What exactly was hiding beneath the black fabric?

Technically, you already knew thanks to the video he shared the night all this challenge stuff was created.

But a little reminder couldn’t hurt.

Jaemin returns to the table with a fresh glass of blue Gatorade, and when he sits down, his eyes wash over your body like he was mirroring what you were just doing. Did he catch you? Is that why he did that?

He doesn’t give any hints. Just raises an eyebrow playfully, the rim of his cup poised between his lips. "I know you were avoiding the question, but why are you up this early?" he teases, his voice a blend of curiosity and amusement.

A chuckle escapes your lips as you spear a piece of fruit with your fork. It was good to think quick in these situations, but the answer that comes out of your mouth might have been the stupidest thing you’d ever said, "I was planning to go on a run."

You don’t run. Especially not on a Sunday morning.

His lips curl into a mischievous smile, his gaze dancing with a hint of skepticism. "But your hair is wet."

Glancing down at your slightly damp hair, you feel a blush tint your cheeks. You hadn’t even realized. After your dizzying thoughts of Jaemin in the shower, you had been so excited to meet him for breakfast that you forgot to blow dry your hair, "Yeah, I showered."

Jaemin leans forward, his expression mockingly serious. "Before the run?"

Your laughter bubbles forth, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "Well, you wanted to grab breakfast, so I thought I’d take a quick shower.”

A grin tugs at Jaemin's lips, his intrigue growing. "But you're a night showerer."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you respond, "Is this a full-scale investigation now? Am I on trial?"

Jaemin breaks into hearty laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just trying to solve the mysteries of the morning, you know."

Relief stretched through your body like an adrenaline chaser. “Well, I hate to disappoint Mr. Detective, but there’s no mystery here. I just got up early and was gonna hit the gym, but you texted me first.” You put the fruit back onto your plate, too worked up to take a bite, “Next time, I’ll ignore your text.”

“Hey!” he frowns.

“Kidding.” You remark, “But I think I’ll skip the gym instead and take a nap. I’m not used to waking up this early…”

“Just make sure you’re at the library by one. Would hate to miss your free tutoring session.” He pushes back from the table, and you do the same, gathering all your half-eaten dishes from the world’s fastest breakfast date.

“Do you want me to pay you? I have no problems giving you cash.”

“Nah, I like helping out a friend.” He bumps your elbow as you walk down the ramp to the main dining floor. The surge of electricity that snaps through your body takes you by surprise. Maybe this breakfast was a little higher tension than you were aware of.

You drop all your dishes into the dirty dish bin and walk side by side with Jaemin out on the quad. There was still no one in sight, even as the sun started to bloom full light over the bright green shrubbery.

“Don’t say I never offered to pay.” You giggle.

“Nah, don’t worry. If I wanted something in return, it wouldn’t be money.” He just stares at you, a deadpan look with no emotion.

You, on the other hand, have many emotions crossing your face – shock, disbelief, curiosity, intrigue.

“I’m kidding.” He snorts.

You stumble over your words, “Y-Yeah, duh.”

“Alright, I’ll catch you at one. Don’t be late!” He reminds, walking backwards as he wiggles a warning finger at you. He spins around, almost tripping over a loose brick on the pathway in the process.

As he retreats into the backdrop of trees, headed back to the boy's dormitory on the far side of campus, you find yourself wishing to follow. Maybe you could catch some sleep in his bed, enveloped by the sweet smell of Jaemin (that being hair dye and Dior Savauge).

Instead, you begrudgingly drag your feet in the opposite direction. Back to your lonely dorm where you would fall asleep in an empty bed that smelled like nothing but yourself.

“We’ve wanted this for a while.”

Haechan looks up at you from between your legs and licks his puffy lips. His finger draws lazy circles around your clit, and it feels wonderful.

You could watch him like this forever, but what drags your attention away is the second set of lips attaching to your neck. Nothing had warned you of his presence before, but now you were on full alert. He sucks bruises against your skin, hands running up and down your body until you were left shaking into his touch.

“Jaemin?”

The pink haired boy draws back and sits on his heels, a goofy grin spread out.

“Yes princess?”

Your head is on a swivel now. From Haechan’s chocolate brown eyes and mischievous smirk to the way Jaemin was eyeing your exposed chest.

“You okay sweetheart?” Jaemin takes a singular finger and tips your chin upwards, “How about you just lay back and let us take care of you.”

Haechan speaks up, “Tell us which one makes you cum harder, okay?” Two fingers pinch your clit, making you jerk against Jaemin, “Like a bet.”

Like a bet.

In the hazy realm between dreams and reality, your eyes flutter open, greeted by the harsh reality of full sunlight streaming through the curtains. Panic instantly surges through you as you glance at the clock – it's later than it should be. With a sudden jolt, you sit up, your mind racing to comprehend.

The realization hits like a tidal wave: you're late for your tutoring session with Jaemin. You fumble with the sheets, untangling yourself in a hurry, and your heart pounds with each passing second. Your phone, lying neglected on the nightstand, taunts you with its unmissed alarms.

“Oh fuck.”

The room spins with the remnants of the vivid dream. Jaemin and Haechan... at the same time. Jaemin’s arms around you, Haechan between your thighs. The wetness there now seems unavoidable, but there was no time.

Your phone lights up with another text from Jaemin. Grabbing it, you hastily read through.

(1:01 PM) Manwhore: yo, you on ur way?

(1:04 PM) Manwhore: helloooo?

(1:07 PM) Manwhore: don’t tell me you forgot

(1:08 PM) Manwhore: if you don’t text me back or get here in the next five minutes, I’m literally going to fuck your roommate again.

Wish you would fuck me as a punishment, you think, but type out a different response.

(1:09 PM) Y/N: you’d fuck her anyway.

(1:09 PM) Y/N: I overslept. Be there in five.

Another glance over your messages and you realize the same roommate he was threatening to fuck has also been bombarding you with a flurry of messages.

(10:01 AM) Roomie!!: I feel like I never see you

(10:52 AM) Roomie!!: I wanted to wake you up but you weren’t here literally all night…

(11:09 AM) Roomie!!: I left you a muffin on the counter <3

(12:36 PM) Roomie!!: Can we please talk tonight? Or hangout? Or go to the movies? Literally anything??? I miss you!

You shoot her a quick message, saying sorry and promising to catch up with her tonight. Man, you've really missed her. There's this itch to spill everything, spill the beans about the stupid bet, but at the same time, you're not sure if you should. It's like walking on eggshells, ya know?

One thing was apparent though. She could never know about these filthy dreams. How desperate you were to be underneath your best friends…that was a secret you must keep.

Speaking of best friends, you had one waiting impatiently at the library for you to hurry the fuck up. No matter if you were just dreaming about him sucking on your neck.

You snatch the nearest clothes and quickly slide on your shoes in a rush. Carelessly, you throw textbooks into your backpack. Grabbing the muffin Jennie left for you on the counter, you swing your backpack over your shoulder and scramble out the door.

“Stupid fucking stairs” you mutter underneath your breath, hurtling down all five flights in a rush.

“What did the stairs ever do to you.” The voice startles you, nearly causing you to trip.

“What the hell, Haechan.” Great, the other half of your dream has just materialized. “What are you doing in the girls dorm.”

He grins, keeping pace with you down the flights. “Visiting a lady friend.”

“Truth. Now.”

He sighs, “Group project.”

“Sounds about right.” You reach the bottom of the staircase and push open the door that spills out onto the quad.

The fleeting thought of sprinting away crosses your mind, but you dismiss it. Instead, you glance over your shoulder, watching him struggle with his backpack straps. His hair is a fluffy brown mess, wind tousling it. A faded graphic design t-shirt hangs off his collarbones, with matching sweatpants that seem two sizes too big.

He's such a loser, you think affectionately.

“So…” He muses, catching up to you and bumping your arm with his elbow, “Why’d you dip this morning?” There’s a tinge of hurt in the question but you choose to ignore it.

You shrug, “Met up with Jaemin for breakfast…you were sleeping so I didn’t want to bother you.”

The campus has come alive since your last outing. Students lounge on the quad, soaking in the dwindling sunlight before fall strips away the warmth. You wish you could join them and forget about your trivial problems.

"Weird. Because he invited me too," he keeps his head down, focusing on his worn-out sneakers navigating the uneven brick paving the campus.

“He told me.” You don’t know what Haechan was getting at. Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have dipped, but…what else were you supposed to do?

“Surprised your legs are working.”

“Haechan.” You shriek, slapping his shoulder. Where the hell did that come from.

He laughs loudly, “I’m just saying. Maybe that’s why you were so mad at the stairs. Hurt a bit?” Yeah, he was feeling cocky. Confident. Cause here was this beautiful girl next to him, who just so happened to be his best friend, and who also sat on his cock last night. He felt on top of the world.

“I’m fine.” You seethe, “And just so we’re clear, we aren’t telling anyone about this.”

Bummer. He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I know. You want to keep the best sex of your life a secret. No sweat.”

“I swear to god Haechan –”

“Oh, calm down princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. Our little secret.” He winks at you and a hot blush spreads over your cheeks.

Fuck him and fuck his stupid pet names.

“Round two?” He braces for the swat that comes his way, another laugh slipping past his lips, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop joking around.”

You want to feel annoyed, but you're just glad to have your best friend back—the one who makes inappropriate jokes at your expense. Maybe that's greedy of you, expecting everything to go back to normal after taking his virginity.

But it’s what he wanted…. So get over it Y/N, you think.

Round two didn’t sound so bad though…especially after that stupid fucking dream you just had.

“Where you headed?” he asks, pulling on the straps of his backpack.

“Library. Jaemin’s tutoring me. And I’m late.” You reply. He was really gonna kick your ass if you didn’t hurry up.

“How great. I’m on my way there too. Gotta finish this stupid presentation.”

You glance at him, catching his face scrunch up.

“Got something else you want to say?” you question. It looked like he was physically in pain. Yet, knowing him, he was just holding himself back from saying something inappropriate.

“Promise not to hit me.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Well…I was just gonna say, if you want help relaxing after the draining tutoring session you’re about to have…”

Bingo. You knew him soooo well.

“You’re impossible Haechan.”

“One of my redeeming qualities I must say.”

The library comes into view. Fucking finally. It felt like ages since you left your dorm.

You decide to snark back at him. “You know…on second thought.” It almost makes you feel bad the way his eyes spark up, “I would but, I got plans…”

His response is firm and unwavering. "Cancel them."

Locking eyes with him proves to be a mistake as you realize he's dead serious. "Can't, sorry," you pout.

He strides ahead, swinging open the library door with a grand gesture. You roll your eyes, heading straight for the back wall where the individual study rooms are located.

"Y/n," he whispers, silently urging you to reconsider. "Think about it."

Ignoring him, your attention is diverted when you spot Jaemin, who also catches sight of you through the glass separating the main floor from the study rooms. He rolls his eyes and taps his wrist as a mock reminder of your tardiness.

"Y/n," Haechan whines, a plea echoing the same tone as the night before.

Choosing to play with him once more, you tease, "Sorry, Haechannie. Plans, remember?" Leaning in, you cup his ear and blow a cool breath, feeling him shiver. "But you can think about me when you jerk off later."

He watches in shock as you saunter away, pushing open the study room door to apologize profusely to Jaemin. The bulge in Haechan's pants goes unnoticed until he tears his eyes away. "God damn."

Na Jaemin is disgustingly attractive.

And so, so distracting.

How were you supposed to study binomial distributions when he sat on the opposite side of the table looking like that.

The red hoodie he had on this morning has been discarded, replaced by a t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves that showcased his toned biceps. As he shifted around the scattered textbooks, his tongue peeked out between his lips in concentration.

Jaemin’s presence plus the constant remembrance of the dream only amplified your struggle to stay focused.

Instead, your (lovely) brain decided to entertain you with intense fantasies of clawing at his biceps while you rode him. You’re sure he’s a groaner. It’s almost visual in your head, the way he’d tip his head back and growl at the feeling of you splitting yourself on his cock. You know he talks you through it too.

“Got any guesses on the size?”

"W-What?" You stammer, a twinge of anxiety hitting you, concerned you might have been caught daydreaming.

Jaemin cards a hand through his hair and smirks, “The sample size, y/n? Have you not been paying attention for the last twenty minutes?? We’re trying to solve for the sample size.” He blows air through his teeth in annoyance, “I swear it feels like I’m just doing your homework for you sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired.” You mutter, “How about I do the next five by myself and have you check over them after?”

"Sounds good. Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions," he responds casually, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning his attention back to his own work.

It annoyed you how smart he was too. And he rarely got distracted when he was studying. It’s like he gets automatically switched to hyperfocus mode. Nothing breaks his concentration. It’s such a weird version of Jaemin, but one that you’ve grown accustomed too during the study sessions. Any other time of day and he’s chatting up girls and doing stupid dares that normally got him in trouble with the campus police. It’s happened too many times to count.

The gods favor him, you think, beauty and brains.

Your gaze inadvertently shifts to the main floor of the library. Through the transparent walls, you see Haechan sitting at his own table. He looked bored, his lips set in a pout and a crease drawn between his eyebrows. Bored and frustrated. But he also looked good as hell.

He pushes his hips up to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair he was in, and the grey sweatpants do nothing to hide the painfully obvious outline of his cock. Arousal bells start going off in your head, and you think you might just faint out of pure horniness.

You watch him pick up his phone.

A buzz sounds on the table, coming from your own phone.

(1:51 PM) Weird guy from the street: stop staring at me

There’s literally no way he could have known you were looking at him unless he had been sneaking glances at you too. The thought makes you blush.

(1:51 PM) Y/N: not staring at u weirdo

(1:52 PM) Y/N: simply looking through the window

(1:52 PM) Y/N: not my fault ur big ass head is blocking the view

You peak at him, and this time he’s looking dead at you with a big frown on his face.

(1:52 PM) Weird guy from the street: okay ouch

(1:53 PM) Weird guy from the street: but ur eyes r literally burning holes in me

(1:53 PM) Weird guy from the street: if you wanna fuck so bad, just meet me upstairs :)

A snort sounds at the back of your throat, catching Jaemin's attention as he glances up from his textbook.

"Just searching for the equation I need," you confess sheepishly, raising your phone in explanation.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, so you go back to texting.

(1:54 PM) Y/N: u wish loser

From the other side of the glass, you watch him throw you a middle finger.

(1:54 PM) Weird guy from the street: okay but seriously meet me upstairs

(1:54 PM) Weird guy from the street: it’s SERIOUS!!!

(1:55 PM) Weird guy from the street: i promise

(1:55 PM) Weird guy from the street: swear on jeno’s hockey career

(1:55 PM) Weird guy from the street: don’t tell him i swore on that or he’ll kick my ass again

(1:55 PM) Weird guy from the street: just meet in the geology section.. never seen anybody up there

You send a final text

(1:56 PM) Y/N: fine, but if this is a trick, i’m kicking your ass.

Your chair emits a loud scraping sound as you push it back to stand up. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom before my brain explodes. Be right back.” You explain, and Jaemin nods.

The echo of your footsteps resonates through the quiet library as you navigate your way to the geology section. The fluorescent lights above flicker intermittently, casting occasional shadows that dance along the bookshelves. You can't help but wonder why Haechan chose such a weird ass place to meet.

Decorative rocks are showcased throughout this section of the library, and in the back of your mind you wonder who in their right mind would study geology. Rocks?

“Took you long enough.” Haechan teases, emerging from the shadows between two bookshelves. You squint at him, your eyes still adjusting to the unexpected appearance.

"Why do you have to be so extra?" you quip, recovering from the surprise. It's the second time today he's managed to catch you off guard.

"Extra is my middle name, darling," he grins, leaning casually against the shelves. You secretly wish they would give in and collapse just for the sake of a good laugh.

"Cut the dramatics, Haechan. Why am I here?" you demand, crossing your arms.

"I want to know what you’re doing with Jaemin," he deadpans, peering up through his long lashes. "Because for the past thirty minutes or so, you've been practically drooling over him." He checks his wrist adorned with a silver watch you gifted him last Christmas, "And I've been keeping track, by the way. Don't bother denying it; I've got eyes everywhere."

You roll your eyes, annoyance creeping in. "That's bordering on stalker behavior, you know."

He casually shrugs, unfazed. "Answer the question."

"I'm studying with Jaemin. What else would I be doing?" you retort, finding the situation utterly ridiculous.

"Sure, you're not one of his study buddies?" Haechan drawls, dragging out the second-to-last word and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You resist the urge to roll your eyes again, realizing you've walked right into his stupid trap.

You glare pointedly. “Just because you caught me looking at another man that isn’t you doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

“Oh sweetheart, I didn’t say anything about fucking him.” Haechan replies with a sly grin.

“You implied it!” You huff, jabbing him in the chest with a manicured finger.

He clutches the spot and winces at pain. “Damn your nails are sharp.”

“Why am I really up here.” You were becoming impatient. Perhaps you should have known that Haechan would waste your time. There was nothing of importance for you between these stupid, dusty, rock filled shelved.

A part of you did know it, though. And that part was practically begging Haechan to shove you against the shelves and start fucking your brains out.

You squash that part down. Deep down.

Haechan sighs and takes a tentative step backwards, “Honestly, I was bored and just wanted to mess with you.” You open your mouth to chastise him, but he cuts you off before you can, “But now that we’re on the topic of fucking Jaemin –”

“Don’t think we’re on the same topic here.” You interject.

He keeps going without missing a beat, “I just thought you should know about his....habits” His face beams in pride, as if this super-secret tidbit of information could solve world hunger.

"His habits?"

Haechan takes a step towards you, "Yeah...his dirty, filthy habits."

"What are you getting at Haechan?"

The boy in front of you, eyes you up and down before speaking slowly, "You're telling me you don't know?"

You narrow your eyes at Haechan, feeling a mix of confusion and suspicion. "Know what exactly? Stop beating around the bush and just spit it out."

Haechan smirks, relishing the moment. "I just thought you should know that he fucks girls here after hours."

“In the geology section?” You question, skepticism etching your features.

“In the library dumbass.” Haechan retorts, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. His eyes lock onto yours, daring you to challenge him.

“Yeah right.”

He stomps his foot in a childlike manner. “I’m serious.”

Your disbelief lingers. "I don't believe you. It's literally patrolled by security after hours," you assert, your arms crossing defensively over your chest.

Haechan rolls his eyes, seemingly accustomed to your skepticism. "Y/n, me and Jeno used to think Jaemin was rocking your shit back when he started tutoring you."

A wry smile creeps onto your face. "How lovely."

“I mean, now we know you just need help with stats –”

“It’s a hard subject.” You defend yourself.

Sure, you’d never been good at math like others, but statistics was a hard class. And your professor made it even more boring with her monotoned voice.

“I know, cheated my way through an A.” Haechan admits, flashing a beaming smile. “Anyways, he has an entire roster of girls he brings to the library after hours. Honestly, you’re the only girl I’ve seen him actually tutor.” The soft glow of the library lights casts a warm hue on the leather-bound volumes that surround you and you notice it illuminates the curve of Haechan’s jaw too.

“Haechan, I swear if this is a prank or a set up.”

He gives another stomp to the worn-out carpet, "Why would I be lying about this?" he insists, his expression genuinely serious. "You know what, meet me here Friday night at nine thirty."

“The library closes at eight.”

“Back entrance is always open.” He winks at you, and you playfully swat his arm. “Gonna prove that I’m not lying.”

“Whatever.”

You find yourself baffled by Haechan's sudden revelation about Jaemin's supposed "dirty habits." There's a lingering question in your mind – why is Haechan even sharing this information with you in the first place? As the absurdity of the situation sinks in, you can't help but wonder what prompted him to bring you to this secluded spot just to share peculiar details about Jaemin's life.

Is he threatened by your sudden interest - if he really was catching on to the fact that you were after Jaemin.

A few beats pass before he’s nudging your shoulder. “So?” He jostles your arm with his own until you swat at him again, “You’ll meet me here?”

“Sure, Haechan.” In truth, you had nothing better to do. And maybe you could use this to your advantage. The next part of this stupid challenge was to fuck Jaemin anyways, and what better way than to use his rendezvous spot to do so.

If Haechan was telling the truth.

“We should make out.”

You slide your eyes to his and cock your head, “In your dreams Hyuckie.”

The day was winding down, and the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the university campus. You trudged back to your dorm, feeling the exhaustion from a day filled with studying and more homework than you could manage.

Echoes of distant laughter and the occasional sound of a slamming door fill the hallways as you climbed the stairs to your floor, anticipation building to catch up with your roommate, Jennie.

You didn’t mean to completely ghost her the last couple weeks, but between classes and the challenge…well, you had your mind full.

The door is swinging open before you can get your key in the lock, and you’re met face to face with her.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up! I swear I never see you anymore. You leave before I’m up and come home after I’m asleep!"

Apologizing, you step inside and close the door behind you, embracing your roommate. "I know, I know. It's been crazy lately," you admit, setting your bag down and following her to the living room.

Jennie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me." she teased.

"Never.” It’s true. Jennie was the one person in the world who you could relax around. “So, what’s been up with you.”

She sighed dramatically, as if she'd been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and plops down on the couch. You do the same. “Sorority stuff, you know how it is. Rush week is killing me. Drama, drama, drama. Oh, and did I mention Jaehyun broke up with his girlfriend? The whole campus is losing its mind over him, including maybe me," she added with a sly grin.

Your eyes widen at the news. "Jaehyun broke up with his girlfriend? That's big news! Why did they break up?" you inquired, curious about someone else’s drama.

Maybe it could distract you from your own.

Jennie leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "No one knows for sure, but there are rumors. Apparently, she cheated on him.”

“Why on earth would she cheat on him?”

She giggles, “That’s what I’m saying! He’s like the hottest guy on campus. She’s definitely mental if she cheated on him. If he was mine…”

“Make him yours.”

“Y/N!” she giggles and playfully shoves your arm.

You break out in a smile too, “Well, if he is single, now’s your chance!”

Jennie shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Who knows?” She tugs a blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around her thin body, “Anyways, enough about me. What’s been keeping you so busy? You haven't even had time for Mark. He's been asking about you by the way."

You sighed, feeling guilty for neglecting your friends. "Classes have been crazy, and Jaemin and I have been hitting the books together. Speaking of which, he's been a lifesaver. I wouldn't survive this semester without him."

Jennie smirked playfully. "Oh, Jaemin, huh? Is there something I should know?"

You rolled your eyes, swatting her arm this time. "No, nothing like that. He's just a great study partner."

She raised an eyebrow, a knowing expression on her face. "Sure, just a study partner?”

It funny how fast you break into a cold sweat.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I mean..” She drags the words out and for a second you think she’s gonna accuse you of sleeping with him. Or at least accuse you of having the hots for him. “I’ve studied with him. So, I know that studying doesn’t always mean studying.”

“Oh my god. You think I’m fucking him?”

I haven’t yet, you think.

“I’m just asking!”

“No, I promise he’s just helping me with stats homework.” You hold up two fingers, “Scouts honor.”

She rolls her eyes, “Look, I wouldn't blame you if you were sleeping with him. Been there done that.”

You wonder if she’s one of the girls Haechan seemed so sure Jaemin fucked in the library after hours. It’s not like you would ever ask her. But your mind wanders nonetheless.

“Trust me, I’m not.”

“Maybe you should.” She suggests in thought, “I mean he definitely knows his way around a girls body.”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, “Oh my god, gross!”

She holds up her hands like she’d been caught, “I think you need to let loose. Just giving you a recommendation.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Speaking of letting loose, I have a sorority event this Friday, and I want you to come. It's a big reveal for my little, and I want you there."

You hesitate. "I appreciate the invite, but I'm actually hanging out with Haechan that night."

There’s a part of you that wants to add the fact that you’re really just trying to catch Jaemin in the act of fucking in the library. But with the way the conversation just went…maybe that was best kept to yourself.

Jennie's expression shifted from excitement to a subtle disappointment. "Come on! I never see you anymore. Can't you ditch Haechan for one night? It'll be a blast, and you'll get to meet some great people. Plus, you need a break from that annoying prick."

You forget that Jennie doesn’t like Haechan, recalling drunken nights where she spent hours cursing him out for embarrassing her during her own rush experience. Apparently, he was her date and got too drunk which ended in him throwing up all over her dress. It’s a miracle she got a bid for the house she wanted.

Feeling a bit guilty, you sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll come. But only because you're my best friend, and I miss spending time with you."

Jennie's face lit up, and she practically squealed in delight. "Yes! It's going to be so much fun. You won't regret it."

The night stretched on with the two of you quickly settling into the cozy routine of a girls’ night in. You ordered some delicious takeout, stocked up on snacks, and found yourselves comfortably sprawled on the couch with episodes of Love Island playing on the tv. Fairy lights twinkled over your entangled figures as you both became engrossed in the latest romantic drama on the screen.

It was a nice reprieve from the boys you’d been constantly drowning around.

But watching the couple on screen makes your mind drift to thoughts of Jaemin. His body caging you against the wall of a study room, eventually laying you back on the table scattered with textbooks and eating you out. His pink hair caught between your fingers…

The thoughts worm their way into your dreams when you and Jennie eventually drift off to sleep, curled on the couch, not wanting the night to end.

Aside from the frat parties, drunken nights, and time well spent with friends, college was actually very fucking boring.

The week breezes by with boring lectures, hastily eaten lunches, and so much damn homework that you genuinely begin to think you’re drowning. You almost turn in a quiz too late on Monday and decide from then on that you’d lock yourself away till your schedule looked a little less hectic.

And that led to a very boring and very sleepy Friday.

The lecture hall was dimly lit, and the professor's monotone voice droned on about the intricacies of music theory. You were struggling to keep your eyes open, staring blankly at the notes you'd given up on comprehending. The only thing getting you through this intolerable day was the weekend ahead (Even though you had to meet Mark on Saturday for a stupid group project), and the coffee you had gotten with Jennie that morning.

She made sure to dutifully remind you of her sorority event that night, which in turn reminded you of your library date with Hyuck.

Like you could forget.

After that, and your morning stats class (where you promptly took a little nap despite your determination to genuinely understand the subject), you met up with Jeno for lunch. It wasn’t so bad, until Jaehyun crashed at the table and stole Jeno’s attention to talk about hockey plays for their game on Sunday.

Awkwardly trying to avoid him and the rumors that were spreading on campus (and because you had no idea what a bar down or hat-trick was), you promptly left and got to your music theory lecture early.

Which at this moment felt like a place where pretty things came to die.

You couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh. The boredom was reaching unbearable levels, and you questioned your life choices that led you to enroll in this class. It’s not like you needed it to graduate. The spot was simply open, and you needed another class.

Just as you were contemplating an escape plan, the door swung open with a loud bang.

Mark rushed in, disheveled and panting. Everyone turned to stare at him, including you. He apologized to the professor, who simply gestured for him to take a seat. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sight.

Mark Lee was…a character. You met him through Hyuck, who introduced him as the love of his life. Mark had grinned awkwardly and shuffled away from Haechan’s body after that comment, instead choosing to question you about your major and interests. It was then that you both became friends too. Albeit, casual friends. (Except for the one time freshman year that you had hooked up in the science building bathroom)

He was there to gossip with, grab lunch, and aid you through music theory (which you didn’t know a damn thing about). He was exceptionally talented and hardworking, show cased through his double major in theology and music theory. A weird combination, but after getting to know his religious background and affinity for guitar playing, you thought it was perfectly spot on for him.

Like Jaemin, he dyed his hair bright ass colors whenever he was on the verge of a breakdown. This weeks’ color was black with silver sideburns. Somehow, he pulls it off quite well.

"What's up?" you whispered to Mark as he settled into the chair beside you.

He looked worn out. It was barely one pm, but the ruffled hair, wrinkled clothes, and half on-half off jacket, makes him look like he’d been hit by a tornado on his way to class.

His mouth is set in a flat line when he glances over at you, “Hyuck, is what’s up.”

“Hyuck?”

The professor sends a pointed glare at the two of you, and mark smiles sheepishly before leaning in to tell you the rest, his voice hushed, “Yeah. Went over to his dorm to grab my notebook that I left last night, and the dumbass was wasted.”

“Like, drunk?” you question, because as you recall, it was barely one pm.

“Drunk as fuck.” Mark deadpans.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “It’s the middle of the day?”

“Yeah, I told him that many, many times.” Mark digs around his backpack, trying to find a pencil to catch up on the lecture he missed, “All he kept doing was stumbling around, asking for cheesecake–”

When you open your mouth to question it, Mark cuts you off.

“I don’t really know why.” When he finds the pencil at the bottom of his bag, he snorts in triumph and continues, “So he kept asking for cheesecake, started bawling when I told him there was none, and finally, when I wrestled him into his bed, he started telling me about you.”

Your body freezes impossibly fast, gaze nervously darting around the room. Maybe if you didn’t look Mark in the eyes, then you could forget what he said and pretend that the words never left his mouth.

No, of course not. Time to bite the bullet.

“Me?” You squeak.

“He told me a lot about you actually.” The way Mark is looking, his arms crossed and an expression that can only be described as accusatory, can mean only one thing.

“He told you about…”

You want to leave the lecture hall and punch Lee Donghyuck yourself when mark responds.

“Yep.”

“Fuck.” You should have known Hyuck couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “What did he say.”

It was Marks turn to glance around the room, just in case anyone was listening in. When all is clear, his voice drops even lower, “He said you guys fucked after Jaehyuns party. And that it was the best sex of his life – well, the only sex of his life. Was he telling the truth?”

Now’s your chance to lie and set the record straight that you never slept with Haechan. Though, with Mark’s tone, you already knew that he knew the right answer.

“Yeah…We did, but it was just a convenience thing. He happened to be at the right place, at the right time. It was nothing more than that.”

Oh, how you wished those words were true.

It would severely less-complicate things.

Mark chuckles nervously, “I’d avoid him if I were you. Because dude, it was so much more than that to him.”

Your biggest fear is confirmed with his words. How dumb could you be to think that taking his virginity wouldn’t lead to him having some weird clingy attitude towards you. You should have known better.

“I can’t avoid him. I have to meet with him tonight.” You hiss.

Mark shrugs, “I don’t know if he’ll even be awake, dude passed out hard. I mean, I set his alarms, so who knows.”

“Maybe…”

“Anyways, dude – OW!”

A flying drumstick clips Mark in the head, and he hurriedly rubs the spot, wincing. The professor, arms crossed, looks at the both of you in displeasure.

Bursting into a fit of giggles, you realize that this day was definitely not going to be boring anymore.

As you sit in your cozy apartment engrossed in a book, your phone buzzes, pulling you out of the fictional world. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Hyuck.

(8:52 PM) Weird guy from the street: can you come open the door

(8:52 PM) Weird guy from the street: my key isn’t working for some reason

Your eyebrows furrow as you read the message "Key? Hyuck has a key?" You mutter to yourself. You've always assumed that when he showed up randomly at your apartment, it was because Jennie, your roommate, had let him in.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you head to the door. As you swing it open, there stands Hyuck.

"Hey," he greets, a indefinable glint in his eyes. "Can I come in?"

You step aside, allowing him entry, "When did you get a key?”

He chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Well, I don't have a key. That's the thing."

You cross your arms and pop an eyebrow, "You literally just texted me saying your key isn’t working."

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hyuck…” You grumble, “How is it that you randomly show up in the apartment then?”

He smirked, teasingly. "Magic. Or maybe Jennie's magic. I just show up, and the door opens. But seriously, I don't have a key."

You decide to drop the matter. It really wasn’t worth the headache of going back and forth with him. Besides, you really should have caught on sooner. Jennie didn’t like him, yet he was always here to pester you.

“Right…. Are you still drunk?”

“That, I am not.” He walks further into the apartment and starts messing with the stack of papers on the counter – shuffling them. “Mark made sure to leave me the usual hangover cure on my nightstand, so I don’t feel sick either.”

“You know, it’s not really proper to get drunk in the middle of the school day.” You chastise him. There’s not really a reason as to why you’re lecturing him. Can’t a friend just be worried about her other very problematic friend?

His counter comes quick, “I never claimed to be proper. If you took a walk inside my brain, you’d understand.” When you meet his gaze, he gives you a teasing wink. “Now are we ready to go see some girl get her back blown out.”

“Not the words I would use.” You mutter, grabbing your keys and phone off the coffee table in the living room and following Hyuck to the library for the second time that week.

Surprising to you, he keeps the banter to a minimum during the entire five-minute walk. Only once does he comment on your outfit, even though it was a totally normal outfit. Yet according to him you were wearing a ‘too-short cheerleading skirt that showed your ass way too much.’

Besides the one little quip, he kept his mouth shut.

What was even more surprising (as if anything could top Haechan shutting up), was that the library was way too easy to break in to.

Well, does it count as breaking in if it was left unlocked?

According to Hyuck, no. To authorities, probably.

Navigating back to the geology section was easy. All you had to do was take the staircase in the back. Honestly though, it was a bit creepy. The empty library creaked and echoed at the slightest touch. Hyucks heavy steps on the stairs made you jump which made him break his silence and tease you for the rest of the way up.

You didn’t realize this before, but the geology section perfectly overlooked the main floor of the library. Provided, there was a bookshelf blocking the ledge, which added another layer of privacy.

Hm…Hyuck wasn’t a liar.

Na Jaemin was in fact in the library, with a girl at his side, studying, after hours.

Yet, that’s all they were doing – studying. The girl furiously scribbled in her notebook while Jaemin watched. He points out what you assume to be a mistake and the girl giggles, flipping over her pencil to scrub the paper with the eraser.

There’s no denying that they sat closer than normal. She leaned into Jaemins shoulder, and his hand was under the table – probably resting on her thigh. But nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be occurring.

You go to turn around and confront Hyuck. Maybe tell him to shove a rock up his ass. But the front of his body hits your back, caging you against the bookshelf.

“Hyuck…” you warn, voice low.

“Just watch.” He murmurs, arms encircling your waist to pull you closer.

Marks words lick up your spine like a fire, singing every nerve in your body.

It meant so much more to him.

Haechan's exhalations reach you in delicate, soft wafts, caressing the back of your neck and eliciting a tingling sensation as the hairs on your skin stand on end. "See." he murmurs. A shiver runs through you as he traces his fingers along your arms, whispering, "I don't want to say I told you so, but..." he clicks his tongue, nosing your shoulder, "I told you so."

Your gaze remains fixed as Jaemin playfully pulls the girl onto his lap, their textbooks now abandoned and ignored. As she molds herself against him, the hem of her shirt lifts, and Jaemin's fingers instinctively find the revealed skin, tracing intricate patterns. At some point, his hand slips entirely under her t-shirt and drags higher and higher. You can hear his quiet murmurs, between kisses - compliments of her body, her lips, her taste.

It's selfish to think, but Jaemin should be saying those words to you. And maybe that makes you a little on edge – a little pissed off.

"They're only making out," you argue back, voice quiet, "This doesn't prove shit. Even I've done this."

You feel Haechan jolt back in surprise, unanswered questions flooding the tip of his tongue. With who? he wants to ask, but he doesn't. If anything, the questions fuel his eagerness to prove you wrong. He knows Jaemin. For fucks sake, they've been roommates since freshman year.

There's a bite to his tone when he speaks up again, "Just watch."

So, you do.

You watch as Jaemin loses himself in this girl completely, all the while wishing it was you. But no, instead, you're stuck peering through bookshelves, while Haechan presses himself into you from behind at the same time Jaemin pushes his hips up.

"Is this turning you on?" you hiss, head whipping sideways to look at him.

His head dips down to nip at your earlobe, “So?”

“You’re such a pervert.”

“And you aren’t?”

Fair point.

Though, your sexual tendencies were far from voyeuristic, you can’t help but enjoy the scene in front of you – the secret thrill of watching Na Jaemin.

Haechan’s hands slip under the hem of your shirt, mirroring Jaemin. “Want me to stop?” he mumbles.

The argument that breaks out in your head doesn’t hold a candle to the way your body reacts, because maybe, just maybe, letting Haechan fuck you between the shelves of the library isn’t such a bad idea. However, spying on Jaemin, and wishing it was him instead, might be.

But Haechan doesn’t have to know.

And after all, what he doesn’t know can’t kill him.

You shake your head no, sensing his grin against the side of your neck, “I figured as much.”

Jaemins low groan carries across the empty library, and the mere sound leaves goosebumps crawling up your spine.

So, he is a groaner.

You knew it.

Haechans voice replaces the sound, “How about you spread your legs like a good girl and let me take care of you?”

“Right here?” You hiss.

“Is that okay?” He cranes his head over your shoulder so that you could just barely make eye contact, and suddenly you’re transported back to that first night with Haechan. The innocence in his gaze, the longing, the willingness to please you. He just wants to show you that he can take care of you – more than anyone ever could.

Won’t you let him?

Silently, you nod your head – and Haechan wastes no time.

As his fingertips glide along your arms, tiny goosebumps rise in their path. Once they reach the tips of your fingers, he intertwines them with yours, creating a seamless connection, then gently presses both hands against the sturdy shelf of books. The tip of his tongue finds your neck again, swirling patterns into the skin, and the sensation of his touch sends shivers down your spine.

You want to stay like this – focused on Haechan – but the thought that you were missing the real show on the bottom floor, makes you turn your attention to the other two occupants of the library.

It’s unfortunate that the girl in Jaemins lap decided to wear jeans, because watching her struggle to undo the button, while your best friend observes impatiently, makes your head spin. He looks like he wants to rip them off her without a second thought. Instead, he smacks her hands aside with a cheeky grin and swiftly undoes it, shoving his big hand down the front of her jeans. You can’t hear what he whispers into the shell of her ear, but her breathy moans pour from parted lips, carrying across the library.

Haechan’s teeth nip at your shoulder as he untangles one of his hands from yours and curls it around the waist band of your skirt.

“No–” you mumble, “Don’t wanna get undressed here…just…push my panties to the side or something.”

Haechan’s eyes widen behind you, though you can’t see. You only hear the grunt that escapes his lips as he obeys, roughly twisting them to the side.

A shiver runs through you, the stark contrast between how he is now and how he was the other night. He’s rougher now, less gentle, less tender. It’s as if he has something to prove—maybe holding onto you with a firmer grip is the only way for him to believe it’s real. To convince himself that you’re truly his for a second time, even though you swore it would never happen again.

You barely register the sound of foil tearing before his hand moves between you, the cool slide of latex against your skin making your breath hitch. He works quickly, efficiently, like he’s done this a thousand times before—like he can’t afford to waste a second more. The anticipation coils tight in your stomach, and you swear you’re already dizzy by the time he presses against you again.

You have to slap a hand over your trembling lips when Haechan pushes his cock into you so roughly that you tilt forward and nearly lose your footing. His knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh from holding your panties to the side feels like zaps of electricity, and your eyes flutter close again.

This is so bad of you. So very bad. But you don’t mind it. Because right now, he’s fucking you so hard and so fast that you haven’t had any time to adjust. No time to think.

The shelf is shaking, but Haechan can’t find the willpower to care. He can’t find the willpower to care about anything. He doesn’t care if you don’t like him the same. He doesn’t care if you’re just doing this because it’s the right place, right time. He doesn’t care if it’s only happening because you’re enjoying the sight of Jaemin and that girl. He doesn’t fucking care.

Not when he’s the one fucking you, pushing you against the shelves so hard they might just fall over. And when you sigh his name, so breathy and whiny and so perfectly his, he reaffirms that he doesn’t fucking care.

You chose this moment.

You chose him.

If only for a night.

But he’ll take a night. He’d take anything you’d give him – anything you’d be willing to spare.

He feels like he’s transcended the astral plane, the way you suck him in, pussy so wet he’s nearly slipping out with each thrust.

Jaemin is losing his mind too. This girl – whatever her name is – just won’t shut up. She’s babbling about how hot he is, how sexy it is that she’s on his lap right now, how she can’t believe they’re doing this in the middle of the library.

All he wants to do is fuck her mouth so she’ll shut up.

You know that look — the one Jaemin gets when he's on the edge of annoyance. A flicker of doubt crosses your mind. Does he know you're up there watching? Maybe that's what’s setting him off. For a brief second, your heart clenches, cold and uncertain — but then Haechan's lips find your neck, scattering your thoughts like they were never there.

His hand reaches up the front of your body, enclosing itself around your throat. At the same time, Jaemin's hand tightens around the girl's throat, his fingers pressing into her skin with the same slow, deliberate intensity. A choked gasp slips from her lips, mirroring the way your breath shudders under Haechan’s touch. The sight of them, so perfectly aligned, sends a sharp thrill down your spine. “How does it feel?” He mumbles, squeezing just a bit, so that your response comes out quiet and strained.

“Feels good.”

“Just good?

“Feels perfect.” You gasp out.

The room feels hotter as their hands move in sync—tight, possessive. Haechan's thumb brushes along your jawline, eyes flicking between your parted lips and the way your breath catches under his grip. Jaemin mirrors him perfectly, leaning in close to the girl whose whimper fills the space.

“Perfect, huh?” Haechan taunts low in your ear, voice dripping with cocky amusement. His fingers flex around your throat, just enough to make your pulse race.

Jaemin's fingers disappear further down the girl's jeans, knuckles flexing as he works her open — soft wet sounds carrying through the dead silence of the library. His eyes are lidded, lips curled into that lazy, cocky grin you know so well. The one that says he knows exactly what he's doing to her — what he should be doing to you.

Haechan's hips snap harder behind you, forcing your cheek against the cold shelf as the books rattle in protest. His breath is hot on the side of your face, voice low and taunting. "You wish it was him, don't you?"

Your nails scrape against the wood, trying to find something — anything — to ground yourself as the shame pools hotter between your legs.

"No," you lie through clenched teeth.

Haechan laughs, breathless and mean. His hand snakes up your chest, pushing under your shirt to grab at your tits. He squeezes hard enough to make you arch into him, hips rolling back against his cock. "Liar," he spits. "You're dripping down my dick watching him finger some random bitch."

Your eyes snap open, finding Jaemin again. His mouth is on her neck now, pink tongue flicking against the delicate skin as she writhes in his lap. His free hand fists her hair, holding her still — the same way he playfully does with you when he’s holding something high above his head that you can’t reach.

Fuck.

Haechan feels the way your pussy clenches around him at the sight, and the cruel grin that spreads across his face makes your stomach flip. "Filthy little slut... you like pretending I'm him?"

You shake your head no, but Haechan catches your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look straight through the shelves. Straight at Jaemin.

"Then keep your eyes on him while I fuck you. Since that's what you want so bad."

Heat flushes through your entire body — humiliation, desire, and something darker twisting in your gut. You shouldn't want this. You shouldn't want to be fucked like a ragdoll while imagining your best friend is the one splitting you open. But the way Haechan's cock is stretching you — brutal and unrelenting — makes it so fucking hard to care.

The girl on Jaemin's lap starts whining, hips rocking against his hand. Jaemin's mouth drops open in a soft moan, head tipping back against the chair. His fingers are moving faster now — slick, dirty sounds echoing through the stacks.

Haechan's lips brush your ear, voice syrupy sweet. "Wanna come together, baby? Wanna let him hear how good we're being up here?"

You're so close — thighs trembling, pussy clenching around him with every punishing thrust. And the worst part is... you do want it. You want Jaemin to hear you. You want him to know exactly what you're doing — what he's missing out on. What Haechan gets to have while he wastes his time with girls who won't ever know him the way you do.

Haechan's fingers find your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles that send sparks shooting up your spine. "That's it," he groans, hips stuttering. "Come for me, baby. Let him hear how fucking good I fuck you."

A sudden rustle echoes through the library — footsteps approaching, heavy and deliberate. Your breath catches, panic slicing through the haze of pleasure.

You don’t want the pleasure to stop, but the sparks in your stomach are dying down with each jangle of keys you hear. When you turn your head, you see a flashlight sweeping through the aisles of books a few rows over.

“Haechan we gotta go.” You urge.

“W-Wait, just give me, ah fuck, give me two seconds.” He stammers out, hands squeezing and kneading your thighs as he gets closer and closer.

“Hyuck.” You warn,

“Please!” He whines, “I’m so fucking close.”

You roll your eyes and say the thing you know will get him to finish, “Be a good boy and cum for me.”

The words are barely a whisper, yet they cut through the tension like a knife. His body tenses, a low groan rumbling in his throat. His hips buck against yours one last time, a shudder running through him as he spills inside you. The sudden quiet after his release is deafening, broken only by the continued jangling of keys and the soft thud of approaching footsteps.

“Hurry up.” You whisper through gritted teeth.

Haechan curses under his breath, pulling out of you with a slick pop. He rips the condom off, glancing around frantically before stuffing it between the pages of a geology textbook.

“That’s disgusting.” You whisper.

He just shrugs.

"Okay," he breathes, his voice thick with spent desire. "Okay, we go."

He pulls away, and you quickly adjust your clothing, the sound of rustling fabric seeming impossibly loud in the silence. "Come on," you hiss urgently, fingers tightening around Haechan's arm as you dart through the labyrinth of shelves with desperate determination. This stupid fucking geology section was so damn difficult to navigate. Shelves of useless books and glass cases of rocks. You take a wrong turn and end up face to face with a wall.

“This way dumbass.” Haechan whispers, this time grabbing your hand and pulling you in the opposite direction.

Apparently, he knew exactly where to go, dragging you down a few corridors and finally to the back staircase that you had come up earlier. His hand tugs you down the steps so fast you think you might just tumble down them. But when you reach the bottom, he spares you a glance, “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

"Hey!” The security guard's shout jolts you, too close for comfort, and you both sprint away once more.

Navigating the bottom floor feels better; fewer shelves clutter the space, replaced by study room cubicles and vacant tables. You trail behind Haechan, relief flooding you as you spot the double doors illuminated by the red exit sign.

At last, you burst through the library doors, the cool night air a balm against the fevered heat of adrenaline that courses through your veins. But as you collide with a figure standing at the edge of the pathway, your heart lurches.

This was it. You were done for. Caught by the security guard for breaking the rules. You just hope they don’t throw you in jail. They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

"Jaemin?" Haechan gasps, his voice a breathless whisper that hangs in the air like a fragile thread.

Forget jail – you might just die here on the spot.

There Jaemin was, his hands holding your arms to steady you. God he really was just solid wall of muscle. But it was just him, no girl in sight.

He peers down at you, mouth dropped in surprise. “What are you two doing here?”

You and Haechan share a quick look and then speak at the same time. “Project.”

Jaemin releases his hold on you and takes a step back, “You don’t share classes.”

“I was helping him.”

“It’s due tonight.” Haechan affirms, still trying to catch his breath, “What were you doing here?”

It’s an accusatory statement – but you didn’t think Haechan had the balls to actually ask it.

Jaemin shoves his hands in his pockets and starts down the path. The both of you follow on his heels, “I was studying.”

“Right.”

“Well, are you guys coming back to the dorm to finish the project?”

“Can’t. I have to go to a Jennie thing, like, right now.” As if on cue, your phone pings with a slew of messages from her – all asking where the hell you were. “Can one of you guys go with me? She’s asking me why I’m late and she’s not gonna be satisfied unless I have a good excuse. But, if I bring one of you guys, she’ll understand.”

Haechan pipes up from beside you incredibly fast. Literally jumping at the chance, “I’ll go.”

“Don’t you have a project to finish?” Jaemin’s voice holds a note of skepticism as he turns his gaze to Hyuck, one eyebrow lifted.

Haechan’s expression falters for a moment, his defense tumbling from his lips, “Yeah, but–”

“You should probably head back to work on it.” You interject, tone firm.

Jaemin nodded in agreement.

If you could get Jaemin to go with you, perhaps the night would lead exactly where you wanted it too…with him between your legs, and another part of the challenge completed.

Sure, you felt bad about literally ditching the boy you were just fooling around with – who you literally made cum in less than ten minutes. But you had a duty. A responsibility.

Right?

Haechan just shoves his hands into his pocket and storms off towards his dorm without another word. Which, by the way, was not the norm for him. He always had to have the last word. Boy must really be butt hurt.

“Jaemin?” you began, turning to face him, a playful glint dancing in your eyes.

“What do I get out of this?” Jaemin's response was quick, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he met your gaze.

You roll your eyes, searching for something that would tip the scale in your favor. “You get to see pretty girls in pretty dresses.”

“Fucking deal.”

So, turns out entering a sorority house in the middle of an event was not a respected nor appreciated thing.

Technically you wouldn’t have been late had Jaemin not insisted on stopping by his dorm so that he could change. He had ‘too many girls to impress’. And then, every outfit he chose, Haechan had some rude comment to make. Thus, making you late.

Girls around the room shoot dirty looks as you and Jaemin scramble in through the door. You tuck your head down, feeling the weight of their judgement. Jaemin, however, seemed to revel in the attention. Instead of trying to blend in, he unabashedly drank in the gazes directed your way. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he winked and waved to some of the girls around you. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his audacity.

What a manslut.

Thankfully, your entrance didn't manage to disrupt Jennie's announcement. The sorority president continued her speech from the front of the room, determined to maintain the flow of the event, even if her sisters were still glaring at you.

As Jennie finished calling the names of all the new sisters, the room erupted into cheers and applause.

Someone starts playing music.

Drinks start flowing.

Jaemin filters off with mumbled excuses of finding said drinks.

And you realize just how fucked you look, literally.

Your disheveled appearance didn't go unnoticed, as Jennie approached your huddled figure. Trying to smooth down your hair and straighten your skirt, she all but sprints over. Her eyes widen when she spots a hickey on your neck.

"You're not helping your case," Jennie teased, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You sure you didn't sleep with him?"

You chuckled nervously, clawing at the mark on your neck, "Not him, someone else."

“Someone else?” She questions, raising an eyebrow. A hint of guilt washes over you; perhaps it's time to open up to her. The expression she wears suggests that if you don't share the information willingly, she might claw it out of you.

You open your mouth and close it, almost mechanically. What were you going to say? Tell her that Haechan decided to have his fun between the shelves of the geology section. Jennie would kill you, like, actually murder you and dump your cold body in the quad fountain. She’s eyeing you expectantly.

“Actually, it was–”

“Y/n! Jennie!” Jaehyun's smooth voice interrupts, catching you off guard. You turned to see him, a playful glint in his eyes. He pushes past a group of people, smiling all the while. Luck must really be on your side this week, because Jennie turns away from you to embrace him, your expected confession already forgotten.

When she pulls away, she shoots you a look. If you squinted, you’d see her pupils replaced by little animated hearts. She really was into him.

“I didn’t know you were in a sorority Y/n.” He paused, eyes flickering between you and Jennie. "You both look amazing."

You chuckled, waving off the idea. "No sorority for me. I'm just here to support Jennie. She's the social butterfly tonight.”

Jennie beamed at the mention of her being a social butterfly, and Jaehyuns compliment, clearly enjoying the attention from both of you. "Oh, you two should chat. Y/n, meet Jaehyun. Jaehyun, this is Y/n, my roommate, best friend, partner in crime, etcetera."

Jennie doesn’t know that you’ve both met before, and you guess he doesn’t have the heart to explain it all to her. Unaware of your previous encounters, she continued her introduction “Jae, Y/n is amazing. She’s the one who introduced me to that new coffee shop I’ve been meaning to take you to!”

Jaehyun extends his hand, and you shook it, feeling a subtle spark as your eyes met. "Nice to officially meet you, Y/n. Jennie's been talking about you," he admitted, a smile playing on his lips.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. "Oh, has she now?"

Jennie nodded enthusiastically. "Only good things, I promise! Mostly about the coffee joint."

“About that…” Jaehyun says, pulling out his phone from his pocket and tapping the screen a few times, “I’ve been meaning to get your number so we can go sometime.”

When he hands the phone to Jennie, she all but passes out. A beaming smile overtakes her features as she hastily inputs her number. “I sent myself a text, so you’ll know it’s me.” As Jennie handed back Jaehyun's phone, a newfound excitement radiated from her. "I can't wait for us to check it out together. It's my absolute favorite," she exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to how the boy was now smirking at you.

Jaehyun, still not looking in your roommates direction, gave a nod of agreement. "Absolutely, looking forward to it." He pockets his phone and leans against the wall.

Your roommate shoots you another look, this one of pure giddy delight. “Alright! I’d like to stay and chat with you guys all night, but I got a party to run! Being a Delta Gamma girl means I gotta run around like a chicken with her head cut off. I’ll catch you guys later though?” Jennie shot one last love-struck glance your way before gracefully maneuvering through the crowd, disappearing into the sea of partygoers.

As the music pulsed and the lively atmosphere continued around you, you found yourself standing with Jaehyun, both of you momentarily left to your own devices. Jaemin was nowhere to be found so you might as well enjoy the company of Jeno’s older half-brother.

Jaehyun, ever the smooth talker, leaned in a bit closer, his voice a low murmur over the music. "Well, it looks like it's just you and me now.”

“Seems like it.” You respond, not sure what to say, but Jaehyun interrupts what little silence there was.

"So, Y/n," He begins, "Tell me about Jeno. Been keeping an eye on him?”

Honestly, you hadn't crossed paths with Jeno much this week. The only time you managed to meet up was for lunch earlier in the day, and even then, Jaehyun decided to join, leaving your catch-up session with Jeno cut short.

"Well, I'm not his personal watchdog, but as far as I know he’s doing alright. He’s probably practicing for the game tomorrow.”

Jaehyun's smile widened, and he reached up to casually brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture sent a subtle shiver down your spine. Why did he do that? That was literally so out of the blue. Especially when he just gave your roommate his number.

"Speaking of keeping an eye on things," he teased, his tone now laced with a hint of flirtation, "You seem like you need a drink. Want me to get you one?"

You glance around the room, searching for Jaemin so that you could excuse yourself, but he was nowhere to be found – still.

You sigh, “Yeah, sure. Why not? Surprise me.”

Jaehyun returned shortly with a drink in hand, and as you took a sip, he continued the conversation. "So, tell me about the party last weekend. Did you and Haechan enjoy yourselves?"

The mention of the party made you choke on your drink (that, and the fact that it was literally ninety-five percent tequila and five percent lemonade), surprised by the sudden shift in topic. “Me and Haechan? W-what do you mean?”

He couldn’t know, could he…?

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, smirking so wide his dimples hollowed out his cheeks. It was kind of cute – in an objective way, of course. “Well, you guys went off during spin the bottle, right?”

Oh, you had totally forgotten about that.

“Yeah, but we didn’t do anything.” You wave your hand in front of your face and take another sip of your drink. It wasn’t entirely a lie – you didn’t do anything at the party.

He hums and takes a sip of his own drink. Swallowing it hard, he gestures to you, “Well, I can clearly see a hickey on your neck, so who has the pleasure of getting at you?”

Your drink nearly becomes a choking hazard once more. Attempting to articulate a response, you struggle as the words seem to get caught in your throat. God damn tequila.

“Was it Jaemin?”

Now that…that about killed you. You wished it had been Jaemin’s lips on your neck, his hands on your body, his co- “Hate to burst your bubble, but me and Jaemin are just friends.” You give him a wry smile, “It was just some dude in my class.”

“Some dude?” He smirks, and those damn dimples come out again.

You nod, “Unfortunately.”

He lifts his cup to his lips and utters, almost muffled by the rim of the solo cup, "I bet I could do better."

“Is that so?” You quip, the words leaving your mouth faster than you can comprehend. There’s no justification for the thoughts seeping into your brain. This was supposed to be Jennies man. Jeno’s brother. A friend and nothing more.

But those dimples.

And that suit he was wearing. All black tie, shiny shoes, and crisp white button up.

You could blame it on the alcohol.

You could blame it on Haechan leaving you high and dry.

You could blame it on a million other things…

But one thing is for certain: You just might regret this in the morning.

You’re definitely going to regret this in the morning.

When the windows of his car fog up, you notice the faded presence of heart shapes delicately traced by the touch of someone’s finger.

Probably his ex.

Unfortunately, this is the only thing you manage to focus on while Jaehyun fisted a handful of your hair, yanking your head back. His thrusts were fast and pointed and damn near painful.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groans.

Maybe if you could focus really hard, you’d be able to finish, but when he snakes his hand around your waist and starts rubbing the side of your leg, you realize that that wasn’t going to happen.

“Feel good?” The cockiness drips from his lips, and it almost makes you laugh. Poor thing, at least he was hot.

“Mhm.” It’d feel better if he slowed down and stopped jackhammering into you.

The leather seats of his car stick against your skin when you try to lift up onto your elbows. It was pretty spacious, but with Jaehyun all but laying on top of you, it felt more than cramped.

His hand rubs harder, “Don’t hold back baby, cum for me.”

Did he really believe you were close to finishing? You weren’t making any sounds, not shaking, not moaning for him to keep going or go faster. But genuinely, if you told him the truth, it would probably break his ego in half. Or prompt him to actually get better at sex.

You decide to just fake it. “Fuck Jae…Feels good.”

His voice is strained, “Don’t call me Jae.”

“Sorry–” You mumble, head dipping under the weight of his heavy hand that comes to grab at the back of your neck. His other hand was already wrapped up in your hair, but the other steadies himself while he continues to fuck into you.

“Call me daddy.” He breathes.

Of course he’d have a daddy kink.

You amp your voice up a bit “F-Fuck, daddy, love your cock.” Apparently, this was exactly what he wanted because he starts humming in satisfaction, “Want your cum.” You just wanted him to be done.

The tips of his ears turn red, pace faltering when the name rolls off your tongue. “Baby...fuck” He keeps it just like that, disjointedly fucking into you as he came – thank god he had a condom on. But he doesn’t pull out right away, instead keeping still until his breathing returned to normal. You just kinda awkwardly sit there, panting.

“That was really good.” He chuckles, pulling out and sitting down on the seat. You fix yourself too, sitting beside him. Your skirt is down on the floorboard, so you bend down to get it and start to put it back on. You felt sticky and sore and not satisfied at all.

The silence becomes more awkward than it should have been, so you speak up, “So…you have a daddy kink?”

He opens the car door and drops the condom on the ground – which was really fucking gross, but what other choice did he have?

“Yeah…I don’t know, it’s something new I guess.”

Continuing to awkwardly fumble around for something to say you ask another question, “Oh, you were experimenting?”

“I guess.” The awkwardness starts to creep back in again. He wasn’t good at pillow talking, was he? He wasn’t good at much anything when it came to sex, you guess. Throwing on his shirt, he starts to get dressed while you twist your hands together in your lap.

You shifted uncomfortably, “Um, I should probably go find Jennie,” you mumbled, avoiding direct eye contact with Jaehyun.

He seemed oblivious, choosing to focus on the button of his jeans, “Sounds good. Think ‘m gonna head home.” When he did look up, he gave you a genuine smile, “You okay to walk?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I think I’m good.”

What is it with guys and asking if you were okay to walk after? It’s not like they’re paralyzing you with their magical cock.

As he sat there, you couldn't help but think this dude needed a serious sex ed lesson, and then a follow-up on how to treat a girl after putting her through... that.

“If you ever wanna do this again, you have my number,” he said casually.

You didn’t have his number, and you would never get it. You forced a smile, “Absolutely!”

He got out of the car, and you followed suit, stepping out onto the street and discreetly fixing your clothes so that it looked like you hadn’t been cramped in the back seat of someone’s car. He made his way to the driver’s side door and opened it, “You gonna be at the game on Sunday?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it. Jeno would kill me, you know.”

He nodded, seemingly unfazed, "Great, hopefully I’ll see you there."

You waved a half-hearted goodbye as he got into his car. When he pulled out of sight, you muttered to yourself, lesson learned, boundaries set.

Turning on your heel, you went back inside the sorority house. The vibrant energy of the party still pulsed through the air. You wonder where this night would have gone had you stayed. Too late for that now. Now you were just unsatisfied and pissed off.

Frowning, you spot Jaemin across the room sitting on a couch. Some girl has her arm thrown around him and they’re laughing. His pink hair falls into his eyes when he looks at her and she reaches a hand up to move the tumbled strands. Her other hand rubs his arms, and he annoyingly flexes. They were three seconds away from kissing and honestly, it pissed you off even more.

Rolling your eyes, you march over to him, damn near pushing people out of the way. Some tell you to watch where you’re going but you ignore them, entirely focused on Jaemin and whoever this girl was.

“Hey Y/N” he cheerfully greets, giving you a beaming smile, “This is Vera.” He gestures to the girl by his side

You grabbed his upper arm, shaking Vera’s grip off of his other one, and pulling him upright – away from her. "Come on, we're leaving," you declared, not in the mood for his flirtatious antics. His bicep flexes, and you find yourself even more desperate to get the fuck out of the sorority house and home to where you could give yourself a proper orgasm.

Jaemin protested, trying to resist your tug. "Dude, what the fuck.” He lowers his voice, “Can’t you see I’m with a girl.”

You shot him a stern look, "You're my date?? This is so rude."

Vera just gives a nervous laugh. Probably afraid that you’d hit her if she tried something. You wouldn’t, but she didn’t know that.

He chuckled, still trying to charm his way out of the situation, "Come on, don't be like that. She's cute, and I was just having a chat." He lowers his voice again, this time whining, “Dude we were just about to go back to her place, don’t fuck this up for me please!”

Ignoring his protests, you start to drag him toward the exit. He finally relented, realizing you were serious about leaving. As you reached the door, he turned to Vera and mouthed, "Call me!"

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, "Unbelievable."

Outside, the cool night air hit you, and you couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the evening. "Note to self: choose Haechan next time."

The campus path stretched ahead as you stormed down it, frustration evident in every step. Jaemin followed behind for a few minutes until he got fed up. When he finally catches up, he grabs your shoulder and spins you around.

"What's got you so mad?" he asked, a bemused expression on his face.

You took a deep breath, deciding to let it out. "Jeno's brother.”

“What about Jeno’s brother? Did he try something…I swear to God Y/N, if he tried something-”

You cut him off, “He sucks at sex.” The embarrassment creeps up your spine the longer Jaemin stares at you with wide eyes.

“Wait you…” Jaemin burst into laughter, his amusement echoing through the pathway. "No fucking way…” He clutches his stomach and doubles over, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes like you just said the funniest thing in the world, “Jeno’s brother?”

You shot him a look, still seething, but Jaemin's laughter was contagious, and soon you found yourself smiling despite your annoyance.

"What? Did he have a small dick or something?” Jaemin teased, the corners of his lips still twitching with mirth.

Eyes rolling, you cross your arms over your chest. “More like he thinks giving me an orgasm means rubbing the side of my thigh for five minutes while he fucks like a jack rabbit.”

“Oh my god.” Jaemin doubles over in laughter again, “Now I know why his girl left him.”

“Not funny.”

“Come on,” He chuckles, “Don’t be mad, laugh it off.”

You sighed, "I'm not mad, Jaemin. I'm sexually frustrated."

The laughter died down instantly as Jaemin's expression shifted. "Oh," he says, a hint of realization dawning in his eyes.

"Yeah, oh," you replied, not expecting such a reaction. What was he thinking? And why was he looking at you like that?

After a moment of silence, Jaemin speaks up, his voice softer now. "I’ll do it.”

A breeze passes through the quad, making you shiver. You rub your arms to bring warmth back into them, barely registering Jaemins words, “You’ll do what? Fuck his ex better than he ever could?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’ll fuck you better than he ever could.”

It’s almost like the world tips over and starts swimming in your vision, because there’s no way, on Gods green fucking earth, that Na Jaemin just offered to fuck you. What happened to not even touching you with a ten-foot pole? Was there sex pollen in the air or something? Did that girl slip something into Jaemins' drink? What happened to being just friends?

But Na Jaemin was just a boy

And you were just a girl. One that was in desperate need of an orgasm.

He seemed to pick up on your hesitation, prompting him to move a step closer and begin clarifying, “Look, I won’t make it weird or anything.” Extending his hand, he gently caresses your arm, and you allow it. “Just a friend helping out a friend, right?”

“But…Why?”

As long as you’d known Jaemin there was no sexual chemistry whatsoever. Except for the last couple weeks when this challenge shit started. But you could have sworn that was all one sided, stemming from your overactive, horny ass brain that needed to be satiated.

“I guess I have a thing for helping those in need…you know, tutoring and all.”

You chew on your bottom lip, “Makes sense…”

Could this night possibly help you complete the second part of the challenge? Was fucking Na Jaemin going to be this easy?

His hand continues to stroke the side of your arm and goosebumps break out on the exposed skin. “Come on Y/N, you deserve an actual orgasm after having to put up with that.”

You raise an eyebrow, “And you think you can give me one?”

“Oh I know I can. Multiple if you’d like.” His words bite through the air, confidence dripping from his lips. Except, instead of it being cocky and very not true like Jaehyun earlier, you could sense he was telling the truth. And thinking back to the video he showed you weeks ago, of him fucking that girl and making her squirt, you realize, Jaemin is exactly who you want right now.

But maybe you want him to work for it a little more, after all, he was the slut in the friend group. (Even if you were the one that already had two cocks in you tonight).

Taking a step closer, you gaze into his eyes, “You talk a big game, Na Jaemin.”

God, he looked fucking good. Button up slightly askew, taunt collar bones peeking through the top. You want to rip it right off of him and get to the muscle’s underneath.

He mirrors your stare, “And I can back it up.” Time stands still when he gives you a once over, biting his lip when he gets to the (as hyuck called it) short ass cheerleading skirt you wore, “Look, I won’t even cum if you don’t want me too. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Desperation rolls off his tongue, and if you had looked closely enough, you’d notice the front of his pants tightening. He never thought about you in this kind of way. You were always off limits to him. A girl he could never claim. But now…with you staring at him like you wanted to bite him (odd, though he’s gotten more feral reactions from other girls before), he can’t help but think about you naked in his bed. Begging for his cock. Begging for him. And well, that made him hard.

“Whatever I want?”

He repeats his words, “Whatever you want.” Voice dropping to barely above a whisper, he gives you another once over, “You can use me as your personal sex toy.”

“Oh, but I’m not Vera?” At this point, you were teasing him – and he knew it. “Thought you wanted her?”

He laughs, “Maybe, but you’re definitely prettier than her.” It catches him by surprise when he notices that it’s true. You were prettier than her. In fact, now that he’s noticing, you were prettier than about ninety five percent of the girls on this campus. How the fuck had he not noticed before? Or maybe he had…maybe this is the first time he’s wanted to admit it to himself. “Come on, I’m so much better than the rubber shit you’d be using if you went home alone.”

You step closer, almost chest-to-chest with him, “And how do you know I’d be using rubber; I have perfectly good hands-”

He leans in, bringing his face inches from yours, "Not better than mine." His eyes drift down to your lips, only to return and lock onto your gaze. "And we both know that."

There’s only a sliver of sanity left in your body to stop you from kissing him right then, right there, in the middle of campus.

“Jaemin.” You whisper.

“Yeah baby?”

That sanity was slipping further and further away.

“What’s the fastest route to your dorm?”

A. NOTE. read the the note at the beginning of this post. and don't forget to reblog :)

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