#blinding flash of the obvious here tonight

[marypsue]

You know, for years I've been thinking "the whole half-vampire situation and 'kill the head vampire and free any half-vampires' thing in The Lost Boys is so unique, I've never seen that particular approach to vampire turning in any other vampire story, and it really fits the story well, I wonder how they came up with it" and.

It's Dracula. It's literally just what happens in Dracula. Michael Emerson and Mina Harker 'having to kill the master vampire whose blood (which you ingested) is slowly turning you into a creature of the night in order to become human again' handshake meme.

[mitchellpete]

Be My Angel

summary: Maverick is drunk and in love with you. You’re the only person Goose trusts to care for him. Mav just wants to finally be close to you.

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x f!reader

tags/warnings(?): mav is really drunk, goose playing matchmaker, friends to lovers, mav finally flirting with you, slightly suggestive bit, sexual tension if you squint?, one (1) gendered term which is why i went with f!r [gn everywhere else]

word count: 3.2k

A/N: titled after the song be my angel by mazzy star! request guidelines here. ツ❤

-

If there’s anything you’ve gotten used to since moving to San Diego, it’s definitely the sound of the waves outside your window. They’re especially loud at night, but you’ve discovered some comfort in the thunderous crashes and the way they lull you to sleep every night. It’s like that now; your eyes droop with sleep but you’re determined to get through a few more quick chapters of the book you’ve been dying to finish for the past month. Curled up on your couch, you disregard the noise, letting it blur and sink to the back of your mind as your eyes move along the pages.

Despite your eyes begging for rest, you manage to finish one chapter and then suddenly you think of your bed and how warm and cozy it must be right now. You think about the wind outside, how in the morning it’ll still be a bit breezy but you’ll be able to sleep in and stay warm under the covers. You close your book, eager to sink into your mattress but the thought halts the second you set it aside, something suddenly off about the usual noise from outside.

Waves, wind, somebody talking.

A car door slamming.

It’s just past midnight and somebody’s outside. Your eyes widen at the realization, your guard going up.

Tip-toeing to the window, you suck in a breath and carefully pry one of the bottom blinds open, peering out at the noise. Your eyes light up at the sight of Goose’s Bronco, but then you’re confused as you watch him fumble with something in the passenger seat. His back to you, you squint at the sight of his lanky frame bent over the lowered window, and when he finally moves to get the door open, you realize he isn’t alone.

You watch as he helps Maverick off his car, the shorter man’s arm awkwardly around his best friend’s neck as he staggers towards the steps to your porch.

Is there something wrong with him?

You let go of your blinds, nearly tripping as you rush to the door. Swinging it open, the cool wind immediately nips your skin as they both look up; Maverick looks hazy.. a faint, crooked smile on his face, and Goose is just relieved to see you.

“Oh, hey, you.” He flashes you a cheeky grin. “Can you believe he couldn’t get his own seatbelt off just now?”

Mav looks dumbfounded as he looks at you, and, with a slightly hoarse voice, says, “Hey.”

He’s drunk.

A gentle laugh escapes you. “You guys scared me.”

“Sorry. I know it’s late,” Goose says, his free hand scratching the back of his head as the other holds onto Mav’s shoulder. “..D’ya mind if I leave him here tonight? I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, a smile tugging at your lips as warmth envelops your cheeks.

Goose happens to notice and cocks an eyebrow, but his playful smile remains. “He kept mentioning you at the bar—” he says, guiding Mav up the four steps to your deck. Mav is on his left side, the side closest to you, and his lazy smile gets a tad bit wider at the sight of you suddenly so near him. “—and then I remembered he likes your couch.”

Your smile widens this time.

It’s not the first time Goose drops Maverick off at your door late at night, and it’s certainly not the first time he hints at Maverick’s very obvious crush on you. 

You think back to the look on Mav’s face the first time Goose cracked a joke—a few weeks prior at the bar, the night he'd decided to bring his polaroid camera. You’d brought a friend from school, and you remember giggling with them when Goose demanded to take your picture after a couple of drinks. With your friend on one side and Mav on the other, you posed happily, only to snicker like little kids when someone bumped into the photographer, seemingly ruining the picture. You remember Goose turning to yell asshole! at the passerby, but then smiling at the sight of the polaroid. It was a bit blurry, but it’d managed to capture your laugh and Mav looking absolutely captivated next to you. 

It’d been Goose’s turn to snicker. “It’s perfect. Mav’ll wanna hang it up in his locker so he can finally look at you all day.”

What seemed like one of Goose’s nonchalant jokes instantly turned Mav’s face bright red. 

You thought you’d known Mav pretty well by then, but there never came a witty reply and he didn’t glance your way for the rest of the night. You were confused. Did he really like you? And if he did.. was he embarrassed about it? He could get anybody he wanted—he certainly had the charm and experience for it… yet there he had been beside you, avoiding your eyes as if unsure of himself. It was the first time you’d seen him like that.

A few nights later came the second time. He had been drunk then too—not as badly as tonight, you thought—but Goose’s son had gotten sick in the middle of the night, and your house was a faster drive from the bar. Mav had spoken to you about his father, his eyes glossy, and then ended up curled up on your couch. 

Looking at him tonight, your eyes soften. “Wanna come in?”

He nods and you lead him inside, but remain by the door.

Goose steps forward and leans an arm against your doorframe, a mischievous look on his face as Mav wanders into your home. The stupid smile on Mav’s face makes Goose snicker, and you’re playfully shaking your head at the both of them.

“If you could just let him crash on your couch,” he says, his hand coming up to softly pat your cheek. “I’d appreciate it.” You cock your eyebrow at him as his hand drops, and suddenly his eyes widen, hands going up in defense. “Not playing matchmaker this time,” he insists, glancing at Mav over your shoulder. “He really is drunk.. and I know he’ll be safe here tonight.”

You laugh. “You’re protective of him. It’s cute.”

“Yeah, well..” He shrugs, and then looks straight into your eyes. “I know him too well. Know what’s good for him.”

You can’t help yourself. “And you mean.. me?” 

Goose thinks for a second. “I mean.. you’re the first person he likes that I’ve ever seen him get nervous around,” he says. “He must really like you if he’s not trying to—”

“GOOSE!” Mav’s sudden yell from inside makes the both of you flinch.

“Yeah, buddy?” Goose’s face is instantly wiped with innocence, his eyebrows raised and his lips sucked in.

A short pause. “...My—where's my bike?”

Goose turns to you, his voice hushed. “Already went through this with him. Just tell him I took care of it.” He starts taking a few steps back. “I gotta go. I miss my wife.”

You nod, suddenly remembering how cold you’d gotten. “..‘Night Nick. Say hi to Carole for me!”

You watch as he jogs back to his car—“Will do!”—before you step back into the comfort of your home—a hand on the door as you wait to see him drive off. 

The waves seem to be quieter the second you’re alone with Maverick. All you hear is his incoherent mumbling coming from the living room, and you start to wonder how much he could have possibly drank. 

He’s standing in front of the wall, squinting at your picture frames. Exhaling, you walk past him to gather the book you’d left there, and the glass of water you’d had on the coffee table. You refill it in the kitchen and add a straw, and he turns to look at you when he hears your steps again.

“Here, Pete. You need to drink water.”

He looks at the glass, and then back at you. You realize he should probably sit when he starts to take it. 

“Wait—” you stop him. “Can you sit? Couch is right there.” You place a hand on the TomCat patch on his arm, gently nudging him towards it.

He doesn’t stumble, but his steps are awkward as he walks. A smirk paints his face when he sits back against the cushions. “You’re taking care of me?”

You offer him the glass. “Well.. you’re drunk again.” 

He’s staring at it again before he takes it. “..‘m not that drunk.”

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head. “Goose j–..just thinks he’s funny,” he says matter-of-factly, sticking the straw in his mouth. 

You giggle at him. “You don’t think Goose is funny?”

“Nope.”

You watch him as he sips and he looks.. almost delicate. His cheeks are tinted pink, and his eyes, despite looking heavy on his lids, seem bigger and rounder than usual. His lips look wet and puffy when they let go of the straw, and you swallow hard at the sudden thought of kissing him. What it would feel like.

God, you wanna kiss him so bad right now.

You shake your thoughts with a tired sigh as you reach for the glass. “Give it to me,” you tell him softly and he hands it to you. “Let me take your boots off.”

You have to move the coffee table just a bit for room, and after placing the glass on it, you sink to your knees beside his legs. Maverick just watches as you lift the bottom of his Levi’s, your hands gentle as you scoot the material up past his boot. When your fingers reach his skin, it’s almost like he flinches, and then suddenly he’s unable to sit still, his legs fidgeting as you wrap a hand around the back of his heel. The boots are a snug fit—you wonder if his feet ever get tired of them. You pull, but the boot doesn’t budge. Maybe it’s the angle, you think. Maverick’s still watching, his two front teeth visible from his slightly opened mouth. You’re smiling as you tug again, but his boot refuses to come off. It’s definitely the angle, so you move.

You’re in between his legs now.

And he’s fidgeting even more.

“Pete, can you.. try pulling your foot out as I tug your boot forward?” you wonder, hand around the back of his heel again. 

He gives you a faint nod. So you tug again, and though the boot still doesn’t come off, it does move. 

“C’mon, Pete, just a little more. Just pull your foot out.”

He suddenly thinks it’s funny; a smile spreads on his lips and he starts giggling. If he wasn’t so cute, you’d almost get impatient. 

It takes two more tugs to finally get the boot off, and you take a quick second to regain your strength. He watches as you hold the boot in your hand, inspecting the design for the first time, and his breath visibly catches in his throat when you finally set it aside and look up at him. 

“Same thing for the other one, okay?”

He’s fidgeting again, his lips suddenly dry. You watch his fingers grasp around a loose part of the material of his jeans on his upper thigh, and he squeezes. “Y–.. you look so pretty.. right there.”

Oh.

Warmth fills your cheeks again, and you have to look away. You hope he doesn’t notice how flustered you’ve suddenly become, but then again you don’t think he’s in any condition to tell.

“You think so?” You try to act nonchalant as you grab his other boot, your stomach doing flips.

“Mmhm.” 

A big tug. He’s distracted, still just looking at you, and the boot doesn’t move. “Remember to pull your foot out,” you remind him.

The second tug gets it out. 

He said you looked pretty… right there.

Cheeks still warm, a smile tugs at your lips as you gather both boots and set them by the coffee table. Maverick’s eyes never leave your frame, even as he reaches for the glass of water again.

“Wait, actually.” You stop him. “Take your jacket off.”

Dropping his arms, he’s giggling again, and your knees go weak at the crinkles that form beside his eyes. “Yes… ma’am.” He leans forward as he reaches for the back of the jacket. Trying not to laugh, you watch as he pulls the end of it, even with his arms still in the sleeves. Oh, he can’t possibly be this drunk.

When his method doesn’t seem to work, he leans back again and shrugs, a teasing glint in his eye. With a dramatic sigh, he mumbles, “I.. can’tgetmyjacketoff.”

You realize what he’s doing, and you can’t help but let him.

“Let me see.” You playfully roll your eyes as he grins at your response, and he scoots forward again. He looks almost excited for you to touch him—his eyes follow your hands as one reaches inside and the other grips the end of his sleeve. Grabbing his tricep, you pull his arm out of the sleeve, and you swear your face starts to hurt from how wide you’ve been smiling at his absurdity. You grab the now empty sleeve and easily (but gently) pull off the rest, revealing his usual white tee. 

You hope his jeans aren’t too uncomfortable to leave on. You consider joking that he should bring some of his sleepwear next time, but only bite your lip as he grabs the glass again for more water. His mouth easily finds the straw, and you’re staring at his lips again. 

He starts sipping, his lips stretched into a smile as he stares back. 

Your thumb smoothes over the material of the jacket. 

There’s a small, nearly empty closet in the living room, and you decide to hang his jacket in there. Mav’s straw is making noise now that he’s nearly finished with his water. You wonder if he’s tired; you’d forgotten how heavy your eyes had felt earlier. Closing the closet, you move to the one in the hallway to retrieve a blanket for him—the same one you’d given him the last time he was here. He suddenly pops up behind you, quietly somehow, and slurs something about needing to use the bathroom.

Stepping aside, you let him stagger down the hall.

“You need help in there too?” you tease.

He reaches the door and swings it open, his hand slapping against the wall to look for a light switch. “Yeah.” 

Chuckling in amusement, you retrieve the blanket and move back to the living room. 

The light switch clicks on after a couple of seconds, and you focus on moving the cushions around so that he’s comfortable when he returns. The scent of his cologne lingers where he’d been sitting, and you silently hope it remains even after he leaves tomorrow. You lay the blanket over where he’d lay, and then run past the slightly cracked open bathroom door to your room for the spare pillow you had. You’re setting it at the head of the couch when he makes it back.

He looks cute in just his socks. His hair is somehow a bit disheveled—you assume he ran a hand through it, and his eyes are red now. He’s obviously exhausted.

You pat the couch. “Lay. You need to rest so you can feel better quicker tomorrow.”

He listens, his face still flushed, and you give him room to lay down. “Can I get a g’night kiss?” he mumbles as he passes you, and your face feels hot again. 

Trying not to make a fool of yourself, you rush to the kitchen to refill his glass of water, and when you return he’s plopped himself down on his back, on top of the blanket.

“You need to sleep on your side, okay?” you tell him, gently pulling the blanket out from underneath his legs, and then over them. 

He seems nearly out of it now, but nods faintly again. When he switches positions, his eyes are closed but he buries his nose into the pillow and breathes in. You decide to be brave and lean in to kiss his cheek. Just because he asked. 

His skin is warm against your lips and his scent fills your nostrils, and you almost wanna give him a second one. His eyes are still closed, however, and you step back to let him finally rest. Gathering a few of your things to head to bed, you stare at his face. You’re glad he’s relaxed.

Just as you begin to walk out, he stops you. 

“Pillow smells like you,” he murmurs, and his eyes open again after a few seconds. He buries his nose into the pillow again, and then lifts his head just a bit, proceeding to say something completely incoherent. 

“What?”

For a split second, you see a twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

It’s the third time you've seen that look.

And then he says it so clearly: “Stay with me.” 

You blink. “Stay with you here?”

He nods, and then pats the couch. “J–st.. here.” He rests his head back on the pillow, his voice quiet. “I.. wannabewithyou.”

You could cry. You nearly do as he closes his eyes once more, and then you’re thinking of his lips again. Why you hadn’t thrown yourself at him before tonight was beyond you. You think of what Goose had said earlier—nobody had ever made Mav nervous the way you do. Maybe, just maybe.. you had been subconsciously convincing yourself that it was too good to be true. And you’re suddenly so glad he got shitfaced tonight.

“Mav?” The nickname feels a little more personal; you speak it softly.

He opens his eyes. 

“C’mon,” you say, your tone still gentle. “Come sleep with me.”

“Hm?”

You walk over, his eyes looking up at you as you extend your hand for him to take. “In my room. Couch isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

Though the exhaustion is still visible on his face, he suddenly smiles, taking your hand. His palm feels soft, just like his cheek did, and you can’t wait to feel the rest of him. Sleepily, he grabs the pillow and follows as you lead him down the hall and into your room.

He stands there for a moment as you fix the bed, making it as comfortable as possible the way you did the couch.

“You.. gave me a kiss,” he states, looking dumbfounded again.

“Mmhm.” 

You crawl onto your mattress, kneeling towards the end of it to reach his hand. He lets you pull him close to you, and you give him a peck on the lips. A goodnight kiss.

He leans in for a second one.

All of him is softer than you ever imagined. Maverick instantly wraps his arms around you the second you get him into your bed, his strong arms firmly around your waist. Your back to his chest, you lean your head back into the crook of his shoulder, and you feel him press his face into your hair, breathing in again. It’s the most you’ve ever touched each other, but somehow it feels natural.

Moonlight seeps in through the window, blanketing over the both of you. You suddenly hear the waves again, and place a hand on his arm.

“You know I like you too, right?”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds. It’s sinking in, maybe? 

He sniffs. “I like you more.”

You’re laughing again.

[unknownunidentified101]

ONE HELL OF A GREETING

CHARACTERS ; Satoru Gojo x female ! reader

SUMMARY ; ex to lovers ! you thought you would never see him again but when you get drunk at a club, your friend only knows one person to call.

WARNING ; mentions of alcohol, swearing and suggestive

“ why the hell would you drag me out here” you grit your teeth to the brown haired girl. She gave you a sheepish smile in return

“ oh come on [y/n]! You have to lighten up, you look so…you know” Shoko whined back, staring at your appearance up and down.

Shoko was talking about your state after breaking up with her friend. It was a mutual decision… at least you thought it was. You couldn’t help but feel empty after breaking up with the white haired man named ‘Satoru’.

“ …plus. It will be fun! I promise” Shoko clung to your shoulder, her head resting on your shoulder

You give an annoyed sigh, rolling your eyes in exhaustion, “ one time. that’s it” you grumble, opening the glass doors to the club.

You were immediately blinded by the flashing lights

It was an eye sore moving around with Shoko who was a well known figure, greeting people she knew. You didn’t even know how you ended up here. Shoko was always one hell of an convincer.

You felt relieved when you saw a stool, you had to stumble to sit down so you could catch your breath as Shoko closely followed

“ one shot please” Shoko met the bartender who knew her too well. “ I’m guessing it’s the usual” the bartender smiled, preparing a drink in advance

“ two please” Shoko looked at you with a grin. “ Shoko you know I can’t drink” you reason, feeling light headed

“ oh come on! We are at a club! Hey I’m responsible for you, you can attack me in the morning” Shoko took the drink in her hands, sliding one cup to you

“ …I can’t believe you” you give a death glare to the ‘mindful’ woman. “ it’s time to live a little” Shoko gestured, swaying her eyebrows to you

You gave no response, rather it was obvious you were judging her with your eyes, “ …fine [y/n]. if you don’t want it I’ll-“

Without another word you took the glass on the table, gulping down the liquid immediately. You felt the after effects as the burning sensation filled your throat like a bush fire

Shoko smiled.

“ oh shit” Shoko murmured. It had been thirty minutes after you told her that you were taking a walk outside. Her miss calls piled up on your phone. What happened to you? Had you gone home? You would’ve picked up. Shoko mindlessly thought

Shoko bit her nails, thinking of what to do. She couldn’t think of any other solutions to find you without making you mad. There was only one idea in mind. Obviously she couldn’t drive you home after she found you so she had to call someone to do it.

Meanwhile aside Shoko’s worries, you sat at an empty playground.

You were swinging mindlessly, watching your feet dangle forward and back. You felt sick and you had enough of clubbing for tonight . You watched your phone screen light up with another Shoko message and miss call

You breath in and out, putting your phone on silent. “ what are you doing here?” You suddenly heard an all too familiar voice. Your head perks up as you see a figure towering over you

“ none of your business” you spat out, looking back down. “ ouch, that’s one hell of a greeting baby” Gojo kneeled down to look at your face. Your face contracts upon hearing an endearing term. It had been months since your break up and this was your first time seeing the man again.

“ what the hell are you doing here?” You got straight to the point, not wanting to have ‘small talk’. “ Shoko called me, said you were in trouble and I knew you would be here” Gojo explained to you. Looking at his appearance, he looked like he just left his house in a hurry .

“ right..Shoko should of went looking for me” you grumble at your friends choices, head leaning back lazily

“ woah there!” Gojo was quick to cup your head to prevent you from falling backwards on the swing. “ shouldn’t children be playing on these swings?” Gojo teased you as he guided you upwards.

“ oh shut up. I’m leaving” you had enough, not wanting to associate with Satoru- no. “Gojo” anymore.

“ you aren’t in a stable condition, let me drive you home.” Gojo followed you like a lost puppy as you slowly walked away. He had to resort to grabbing your hand after you wouldn’t stop

“ yeah? So are you!” you mumbled without thinking of the effects of your harsh tone. Gojo peered at you through his black glasses before having a defeated sigh

“ fine then you leave me no choice, I’m not letting you get kidnapped” Gojo easily lifted you upwards as if you were a sack of potato’s that he could throw over his shoulder

“ hey! That’s assault!” You started to whin, kicking and trying your attempts to punch the man. Gojo gave an airy laugh, “ you’ll thank me later.”

“ why are you doing this?” You watched Gojo take the keys to your house out of your very own pockets. “ because I’m doing Shoko a favour, she was practically begging me to take you home, she knew you were going to kill her if you didn’t get home safely” Gojo reasoned. It was a lie. He did it for you.

“ so much for friends” you gestured, looking into Gojo’s eyes. Maybe you were hallucinating but you saw a grey tint in Gojo’s under bags, it seemed worse from before but nothing was definite .

“ let’s get you to the bed” Gojo managed to open the door while dragging you inside

You felt slightly better after reaching your home. In fact you felt your home become warm again. It was always cold when you were in it so why did it feel like it was glowing of warmness again?

“ here we go” Gojo guided you to your room. Even after months he still remembered the layout of your house

“ hey.” You stopped Gojo from entering your room. Gojo perked his head to you as if he was all ears

“ thank you.” You quietly murmured. It was a blessing for Gojo to hear such words slip out your mouth. “ it’s fine” Gojo leaned down to observe your features. It was as if the tension had changed, he was staring into your eyes differently this time.

You tensed up, he looked as if he had the urge to say something but didn’t have the confidence to act upon it. You didn’t even know what came over you, maybe it was the influence of the alcohol running through your veins as you collided with Gojo’s lips

It was familiar feeling, it felt minty and refreshing like it always was. You couldn’t help yourself as you wrapped your arms around Gojo’s neck

He was just as aroused as you were. He was shocked that you would be all over him after insulting him to the core moments earlier

You continue to share your lips as Gojo manages to open the door behind you. He didn’t break contact, pressing his body against yours as you stumbled into your bedroom

You felt like whimpering against his lips. “ Satoru..” Your legs felt weak as you fell on the bed with him towering over you.

Gojo stopped after leaving you breathless. His eyes sparkled to you as he took off his glasses, taking a moment to take in the view

“ I cant do this..” he mumbles, his hand trailing off you. You felt like pouting when he parted from you.

“ talk to me in the morning , then I’ll give you that greeting you were looking for baby ” Gojo kissed your forehead.

You sprang out of your bed, the ringing sensation in your mind didn’t seem to go away as you hissed louder. You gawked around your room. How did you get here? All you remembered was that party?

You step out of bed, feeling curious as you looked around

You limped to your bedroom door, hands clutching the doorknob before you swag it wide open. You were met with ocean eyes which totally caught you off guard

You stumbled back as the man held some soup in his hands, “ what are you doing here..?” You manage to murmur.

Gojo perks his head at you, disappointed you didn’t remember the past events. “ who do you think took you home?” Gojo travelled past you, placing the hot soup on your desk

“ you took me home..?” You thought your ears were deceiving you. The last thing you wanted right now was this man driving you home

“ although you were relentless, I couldn’t let you sleep on the streets” Gojo stared at your frame that was stuck in place ( mostly because of shock)

“ did we…” you immediately looked down to see you were fully clothed, indicating your mind thought of other means

“ I mean you were all over me” Gojo mocked you, moving slightly closer to you. “ did you stay here? Where did you sleep?” You ask as many questions as you could

Gojo grumbled and massaged his neck from your scolding, “ relax I slept on the couch, not comfortable by the way” Gojo phrased with his fingers. It was a lie. He stayed by your side the whole night.

“ you have to go” you wrap up, walking to the man and trying your attempts to drag him out the room.

“ hey!? Making me leave so soon- I mean you were all over me yesterday-“, You rush to open the door to your house, yanking the giant man outside to meet with the harsh breezes.

“ this was a mistake.. I’m killing Shoko” you cursed under your breath, your hand slamming the door. Well that was your plan before a hand stopped the door from shutting in time

“ hey hey! Just- let me tell you something” Gojo walked into your house again. The nerve of this man…

“ what??!? What was so important?” You reached your limits, he was really good at pushing your buttons

“ I…can i stay for breakfast..?” Gojo shared an airy laugh. You stared into his pupils. His eye bags seemed more worse then before…

“ maybe you should go home and sleep..look at those eye bags” you tried your best to avoid any more interactions

“ I don’t want to…I wanna stay with you” Gojo grabbed your wrist. You had never seen him like this before. He seemed so… desperate.

“ Gojo- I’ve told you this many times” you wanted so badly to get out of the situation

Gojo frowns, “ my names Satoru” Gojo moved more closely to you. “ well- you know I’ve talked about this! This won’t work” you repeated for god knows how much

“ I know, we can’t be together because they might use you to get to me…but that’s stupid isn’t it?” Gojo chuckled to himself. You stared in utter bewilderment

“ you are also strong baby…please let me stay” Satoru grabbed your wrist, making your hand rest on his cheek

“ I can’t sleep…all I thought about was you…when I got that call from Shoko I sped to get to you” Satoru confessed his deeds to you. It was bittersweet to you.

You swallowed all your pride, the eyes were too hard to ignore. “ fine..you can stay for 5 minutes” you dead-planned. Satoru jolted his head up in excitement, “ 10 minutes?”

—-“ don’t make it 3 minutes”

“ yes ma’am! I figure that’s enough for our greeting”

—- “ what greeting!?!”

[stayteezdreams]

A Better Ending: Part One

Plot: Sitting alone at a restaurant, you accept your date has stood you up. But before you can leave, someone else decides to join you.

-Part Two-

Pairing: Choi San x Gn!Reader

Warnings: A teeny bit angsty, with some self-doubting/sad thoughts but only for a moment

-Meet-Cute Masterlist-

Words: ~2k

Your eyes flashed to your phone screen again as you nervously fiddled with your water glass, your leg tapping impatiently beneath the table.

'I'll wait five more minutes' you thought to yourself as you glanced around the restaurant.

Your date was now nearly thirty minutes late, and you hadn't received a single message or call from him.

You let out a sigh as you saw your waiter look at you as he walked past, pity obvious in his eyes. He had refilled your glass multiple times, asked if you wanted a starter, offered you a drink, but you refused everything each time and you said you were going to wait.

But the waiting felt more pathetic each minute that passed.

Picking up your phone, you re-read your messages.

'Hey! I'm here, are you close?'

'Did you get lost lol?'

'Are you okay?'

'If something came up let me know, we can reschedule.'

'I'm starting to get worried, are you okay?'

You messaged your friend who had set you up on this blind date, telling her what was happening. She said she'd try to reach him, but you hadn't heard anything yet.

Your mind began to go through all of the options again. He forgot tonight was your date. He got lost. He got in an accident. He decided he didnt want to come and has ghosted you. He showed up, saw you and then left.

'Ouch' you almost winced at the last thought, hurting your own feelings with the possibility.

Feeling your phone buzz, you quickly checked it, and felt your heart drop.

'I'm so sorry Y/n. He's not coming, coward. I'll never forgive him for standing you up like that.'

You sighed softly as you began to type out a reply

'I had a feeling he wasn't gonna show, but I waited anyways. Don't feel bad, it wasn't your fault. Thanks anyways.'

San tapped his fingers on his phone as he looked at his texts. He was left on read, again.

He scoffed as he rolled his eyes softly. He really thought she was interested in him, but he was proven wrong it seems.

The first date went well he thought, though, the more he thought about it, the less interested in him she seemed, and more in the fancy date he offered.

He had never been stood up before, and he couldn't help but feel embarrassed. It wasn't like anyone knew, but, a man sitting alone at a dinner table for twenty minutes would probably make it obvious.

Looking around, his eyes cast over the various couples and groups in the restaurant, before landing on someone sitting alone.

You were staring into space, phone under hand. He had noticed you earlier, you were here when he got here. Had you been alone the whole time? Did you also get stood up?

As his waiter walked past, he stopped him "This might be an odd question, but, have they been alone the whole time they've been here?"

The waiter glanced over to where San was referencing and the guy frowned "Yeah, they said they were waiting for someone but I think they got stood up."

San frowned, looking over at you "They're not the only one."

The waiter rose his brow at this and shook his head "Two in one night, wow."

San watched you for a moment, seeing you check your phone, before your face fell. He had a feeling he knew exactly what you were going through in that moment.

How could someone stand you up though? You were gorgeous. Bad boyfriend? Bad friends?

Watching as you texted someone, your face knit with disappointment, San suddenly felt the urge to tell you he knew how you felt. Maybe you could rant about your bad dates together? Or was he just being crazy?

After setting your phone down, you leaned your head back a bit and let out a sigh. Should you say screw it and order some food and eat alone, or just go home?

Admitting defeat, you reached down to grab your bag, wondering how embarrassing it was going to be to ask for a bill for four glasses of water.

Seeing someone sit down across from you, you looked up startled.

San felt his heart thump heavily in his chest as you looked up and met his eyes. You froze, and San thought that time stopped for a moment.

As one of the most attractive men you've ever seen sat down in front of you and smiled, you felt your whole body freeze.

This was not your blind ate. He looked nothing like your blind date, at least not from the photo your friend sent you.

"Uhm." You managed to let out, obviously uncertain of what was happening.

He lifted his hands and let out a chuckle "I know you're confused, but I'll explain."

You sat up slowly, eyeing him carefully. "Okay?"

He smiled, obviously a bit embarrassed "I've been sitting over there waiting for my date, who decided to never show." You felt your heart jump at this.

"I noticed you when I first showed up, and I also noticed you've been alone the whole time and I was wondering if maybe..the same thing happened to you?"

You nodded your head "Yeah, he ghosted me."

San closed his eyes and let out a hiss "I was left on read."

You winced a bit, feeling the pain, before you suddenly felt a bit amused "So, you saw me, guessed I was going through the same thing and decided to...?"

"Save us both from the embarrassment of eating alone at a romantic restaurant?" He said with a laugh and you couldn't help but smile in return.

The way his eyes wrinkled and his dimples showed when he smiled gave you butterflies.

"Well that was a nice thought." You said softly, your tone shy, yet amused.

Seeing your waiter come up to your table, you wondered what he was going to think, before he smiled over at San.

"I was wondering where you went." He looked over at you and grinned "Would you like to order now?"

"Uh-" you looked at San who met your eyes, rose his brow and smiled "Sure" You gave in and he smile a bit wider.

After you both ordered some food San leaned in a little bit "Do you know why your date ghosted you?"

You shook your head as you sipped on your drink "No idea, he ignored my messages, I had to hear it from the friend who set us up."

His face contorted to anger as he shook his head "Coward."

You giggled "That's what my friend said."

"And they're right."

You tried to ignore the way your heart was beating, and the heat rising up your neck "What about you?"

He shrugged "I don't know. This would have been our second date. I thought the first one went well, but I guess not. I think maybe she was just in it for the fancy dates, and this did not meet her expectations." He said looking around.

You scoffed "This place has great food, shes missing out."

He smiled, his voice rising in agreement "Right?"

You looked around "I wonder if that's why my date didn't show...I picked this place, maybe it wasn't up to his standards either." You shrugged "That's a better reason than the one I was torturing myself with anyways."

San raised his brow and tilted his head "What do you mean?"

You suddenly felt a bit embarrassed as you twirled your glass slowly in your hands "I thought maybe he did show up, but then he saw me, and left."

San felt his gut twist at this. How could you think that? You were one of the most attractive people he'd seen. Exactly his type. He couldn't imagine anyone reacting that way to you.

He shook his head "No way."

You gave him a curious gaze and he smiled softly "There's no way he came. Because if he showed up and saw you, he would have come in, definitley."

You felt your face get hot and you hoped it wasn't noticeable. You looked down at your glass shyly and smile "Thank you, that's nice of you to say."

San smiled amused at the way you reacted to his comment "I'm not just saying it though, I mean it." He said softly, and as sincerely as he could, and the way your eyes looked up to meet his made his heart skip a beat.

You were obviously stunned by his comments and it made him think you weren't used to them. What a shame.

Not wanting you to get too uncomfortable he smiled "I didn't ask your name."

You swallowed, clearly glad of the change of subject, though you were still effected by his comments. "Oh, it's Y/n"

He smiled "I'm San."

"It's nice to meet you San."

"And you Y/n." He said in return, as you both smiled, shy giggles leaving you both as your heart hammered in your chests.

You had decided, about half way through your dinner with San, that even if your blind date had showed, you wouldn't have felt like this.

It turned out you and San had a great deal in common, similar interests, hobbies, and dreams. If you had met some other way, there was no way you wouldn't be friends.

But there was also a growing attraction, that you were sure you would not have felt with the man who ghosted you. You hoped San was feeling the same things you were. The way he acted, and looked at you said he did, but maybe that's just you being hopeful.

When your waiter finally brought the bill, you reached for it, but San grabbed it faster. You met his eyes with amusement and surprise.

"Allow me."

"No, are you sure? I'm okay with paying for mine." You said as you reached out your hand and he just shook his head.

"Take it as a thank you."

"A thank you?"

"For saving me from eating alone."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you."

"You're welcome." He said with a brazen tone and cheeky smile as he handed the bill and his card to the waiter who had come back over.

You scoffed in amusement before you fully laughed, making him chuckle.

San walked you to your car, and you had the growing realization that you might never see him again. Would he say yes if you asked if you could? Would he decline?

As you stopped by your car and faced him and smiled "I had a great time, thank you."

He grinned and nodded "I did too."

"I hope the girl you were supposed to take out regrets it."

He chuckled "And I hope the guy who stood you up learns just how much he missed out on."

Your ears burned a bit hotter at this, and you giggled under your breath. You wondered again, if he would say yes to seeing you again, but it seemed he had the same thought.

"Would you want to have dinner with me again?" he asked you with a soft voice and a shy, endearing smile.

Your heart skipped a beat as you nodded "I'd love to."

He beamed at you before tilting his head "No standing each other up?"

You shook your head fervently "Definitely not."

He chuckled "Good."

After you exchange phone numbers, San reached out and took your hand and you held your breath. Bringing it up to his face, San pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand before he smiled shyly at you.

"As mean as it might sound, I'm glad you got stood up."

You laughed, but knew what he meant with his comment. "I can say the same."

He grinned before he slowly let your hand go "Goodnight Y/n. Until next time."

You nodded and smiled softly "Yes, until next time."

xx

Kind of an odd ending, but I always suck at them lol so sorry.

-Part Two-

Taglist: @bubblesreplies, @halesandy, @why-am-i-sad

[foli-vora]

hold me down: two.

[saturday night]

drummer!din djarin x f!reader

masterlist | series masterlist

Summary: The last thing you expected upon agreeing on a night out with your friend was to be swept up by the drummer of a popular band and his sweet boy Nico. They’re only in town for the weekend, so you need to make every little moment count before saying goodbye.

Word count: just over 8.1k

Warnings: mentions of drugs & alcohol, swearing, super brief mention of murder, fluffffff, din 'king of consent' djarin, SMUT SMUT SMUT 18+ ONLY: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, hand job, rough protected sex, overstimulation

A/N: I do apologise for the unexpected delay with this story. It was on track and then life seemingly went nah fuck you, but anyways, we're here now, and I hope you enjoy! x 

The buzz of excitement doesn’t leave your system, curling and twisting in your stomach even as you fight to fall asleep, and it returns the instant your eyes flutter open to the sunlight streaming through your blinds a few hours later.

Disbelief starts to grow alongside it, a small part of your mind unable to comprehend that the early morning hours happened as they did. Was it all a dream?

Exhaustion hangs heavy in your limbs, an obvious sign that you got nowhere near as much sleep as you should have, but you’re unable to relax enough to fall back into a slumber.

Images of Din swirl through your mind, a flush of heat washing through your body when you recall the feel of his mouth moving against yours and the warmth of his calloused palm when it had cupped your cheek. 

This kind of stuff didn’t happen to you. This kind of stuff happened only in the movies you splurged on under the comfort of a blanket, or in one of Winnie’s wild tales she’d tell over drinks, but never in your life.

Your love life consisted of shit tinder dates when you occasionally found the energy to redownload the app in a wash of boredom, not this insanely wonderful spur of the moment thing at a concert with one of the musicians.

What was even happening?

It brings a thrill along your nerves, something new and different and exciting, and the small smile of wonder doesn’t falter from your face, even as you putter around your apartment through the day trying to find things to pass the time. 

Winnie appears with a surprisingly quiet knock on your door sometime after lunch, and you can’t help the snort of amusement when you see her slacken in disappointment once you reveal yourself.

“I thought you might be… elsewhere.” She murmurs, rocking on her heels with a small pout. Her brow rises in question, the barely concealed spark of curiosity and interest shining in her eyes.

You smile, stepping aside to let her stride past and into your apartment. “Nothing happened, Win.”

“Damn it. I thought for sure you were going to get your back blown out with the way he was looking at you.”

“God, you’re terrible.” You chuckle, following her through your small apartment to the kitchen.

She grins at you from over her shoulder and shrugs. “I want the best for you always, including sex with pretty people. Din Djarin looks like he fucks. Like fuck-fucks. It’s what you deserve.”

You laugh quietly, “Are you busy tonight?”

She takes your question as a subject change and makes a low noise of disgruntlement, her eyes flashing over the food in your fridge before reaching for an open packet of cheese cubes. She chews on them quietly, heaving herself onto the counter and looking at you with a roll of her eyes.

“Dinner with my parents.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You utter, fighting the twitch of a smile as you reach for the glasses over the sink. 

The faux disappointment in your tone must have perked her interest because you see her face twist in your peripheral, her head tilting as her eyes regard you from across the small space.

“Why’s that?”

And in for the kill.

“Oh, Din’s just asked me to go see him backstage tonight and I thought, y’know, if you weren’t busy that maybe you could come too, but don’t worry about it.”

She falls silent, the bag of cheese on her lap no longer rustling with her greedy fingers. You fight the urge to turn and see her face, instead focusing on preparing the drinks with the teasing growth of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. The weight of her stare stays fixed on the back of your neck and you relish in the stunned silence falling over your tiny kitchen.

“Back—” she clears her throat, her voice failing her, “—backstage? With—with all the bands?”

“Yeah, but seriously don’t worry. Your parents are impor—”

“Fuck my parents! They can complain about my life choices another day. Are you serious? Holy fucking shit. I’m so there. What time? It doesn’t even matter. Oh my god. Oh my god. Do you think they’ll let me ask for autographs? I need to get my posters—do you have any sharpies? Don’t worry, I’ll buy some. Oh my god. Fuck—”

“Breathe,” you coo gently, shooting her a teasing smile over your shoulder.

She stumbles as she launches herself from the kitchen bench, her legs weak under her as she tries to get to you. Her arms wind tightly around you and her excited giggle melts into your shoulder.

“‘Nothing happened’.” She scoffs, kissing your cheek with a loud smack. “He’s so into you.”

A part of you, still in complete disbelief, rejects her statement, the ugly thought rearing that you were just another groupie-wannabe along his travels through the country, but you fight it down before it could drown out your anticipation for the evening.

Winnie leaves and returns dressed to the nines in record timing, practically thrumming with her own excitement as she sits on your bed and refills her instant camera with fresh film, breaking open the new packet of sharpies and showcasing her collection of various merchandise she’s aiming to get signed.

Your afternoon is spent with her, her Spotify playlist filling your apartment and she cheerfully perks up with every other song, commenting on whenever Razor Crest starts playing through the speakers with a sly look towards you.

“It’s your boyfriend.” She’d tease softly.

It drags a giggle from your throat each and every time, your eyes rolling at her good natured pokes. Though she doesn’t comment on it, she sees your secret smile at a random drum solo and her heart flies at the wash of bashful adoration that fills your features.

Your excitement hits a new high when you move to change, your heart thrumming with the prospect of seeing both Nico and Din again. You leave Winnie for your bathroom, inspecting your products lining the limited shelving with a critical eye and pursed lips.

Stop thinking so much.

It’s easier said than done.

Winnie’s voice carries through the space when you leave the steamy comfort of the bathroom and check the time on your phone for what feels like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

“Gosh, I just feel so sick, daddy. I don’t think I should be around you both, I’d hate to pass this along. It’s just awful—” Winnie feigns into her phone, flicking through the magazine spread across her lap in disinterest, throwing out a pathetic little cough for effect. “I know. I was so excited to see you.”

You snort quietly at her, grinning when she throws a devious little smirk your way. Silently, you hold your arms out and spin with a questioning raise of your brow, showing off the outfit you’d thrown together after going through every article of clothing in your wardrobe.

It's only basic, your taste in the current fashion trends painfully lacking, but she still makes a face of dramatic approval, her playful support bumping up your confidence and sending you into embarrassed giggles.

“I know—no, I didn’t catch it from work. Yes, I know you don’t approve. No, I don’t want to work in—okay. Yep, I’ll take that on board. Okay, bye.” She throws her phone to the bed with a roll of her eyes, mimicking her dad’s voice before throwing the magazine aside and focusing on you.

“You look hot. He’s gonna love it. What have you got going on under it? Matching set?”

“Oh my god, Winnie—”

“Don’t even try to deny it.” She returns with a salacious grin, shifting onto her front and kicking her platform clad feet in the air. “The white set?”

You shift in front of the mirror, eyeing her in the reflection with a guilty smile as you touch up the lipstick coating your lips. “The red one.”

“Ooh. Babe, he’s gonna bend you over his drum set. Do you think he's ever used his drumsticks?”

“Winona!”

—

The crowds are already thick outside the venue, and you take your place patiently in line, the borderline ridiculous bag filled with her merch slung over Winnie’s shoulder brushing against your arm. The anticipation makes itself known with a vicious wave of butterflies filling your stomach, anxiety creeping along the back of your neck as doubt starts to poke at your mind.

Would he still want you here? How humiliating would it be to get to the door and find out that he hadn’t bothered to mention you to them? And then you’d have to turn and walk away with the harsh feeling of rejection that would surely follow the denial of entry. The disappointment would be bitter after spending the day hyping this evening up.

“Hey.”

The word suddenly cuts through your thoughts and you blink in surprise, turning to see Winnie already frowning at you, concern swimming in her eyes.

“I can feel that negative energy. What’s wrong? Are you having second thoughts? Do you want to go home? I can get us a cab—”

You soften, linking your hand with hers and giving it a firm squeeze. “No, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just nervous, I guess. I’m fine.”

“Well if you want to leave just say the word. I’ll get us out of here, okay?”

The anxiety fades when you get to the woman at the door, who smiles when you give your name and speaks into her small walkie talkie, and Boba appears within the next minute.

It's small but he smiles when he sees you, nodding politely to Winnie before turning and leading you to a door splashed with ‘staff only’. The crowd lingering by the door parts the second his small frown falls on them, his presence alone enough to get them to quieten and move out of the way for you to pass and go through the door. 

“You’re a scary man, Boba.” You comment as the door slams loudly behind you, grinning when he chuckles lowly.

“That must mean I’m good at my job.” He returns deeply, leading you down the surprisingly quiet hallway littered with various people both rushing around and lounging against the walls in soft conversation.

“Jesus fuck, it’s Poe Dameron.” Comes Winnie’s hiss when you pass a delightfully good looking man with a dark curl hanging over his forehead, a sleek black guitar streaked with orange hanging from his shoulder. A small dog sits at his feet, perking up at your passing but staying dutifully at Poe’s side.

“That’s his puppy—BB. Cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. He plays for the Resistance. His instagram? Full of his dog.”

You grin at Winnie’s excitement, glancing at her next to you as her eyes eagerly take in your surroundings. Boba leads you through the hall until he stops outside a room, politely sweeping a hand towards the closed door.

Nerves build in your stomach and stick uncomfortably in your throat, but Winnie’s gentle, supportive hand curls around your waist and gives you the small bit of strength needed to open the door.

It’s instant the moment after you walk through.

A tiny body hits your legs and you stumble back into Winnie at the strength of it, laughing as Nico grins up at you in pleasant surprise. 

“Hi buddy,” you greet softly, brushing away the curls falling into his eyes and grinning as his grip tightens around your legs.

“I didn’t tell him you were coming—thought it would be a fun surprise for him.”

The voice is warm and familiar, and your eyes immediately fly to Din who stands just behind Nico. Your heart jumps into a wilder, heavier beat against your chest as he smiles, your own lips curling shyly in response.

“I’m glad you came.” He mutters quietly, and your stomach twists pleasantly at his words.

“Me too.”

Winnie clears her throat softly behind you and you grin, stepping to the side and winding an arm around her waist.

“This is Winnie.”

She sniffs impassively, her hands digging into her pockets as she lets out a nonchalant ‘Hey’ before gazing around casually, and you briefly wonder how much effort she’s forcing in order to keep her cool in the presence of her favourite band. You could practically hear her thoughts screaming ‘be cool’ and you squeeze her side.

Din grins, sharing a look with you before bringing you both forward to formally meet the band and sweat starts to bite at your palms after the mortifying end to the night before. He fixes them each with a stern glare, the frown deepening when Cobb sweeps forward and wraps you into a warm embrace that’s all peppermint and cigarettes.

“Hey sweetheart. Drummer boy’s been pacin’ a track into this carpet waitin’ for you.”

“Vanth—”

He steps away the second Din growls his name, his grin wide and roguish as he backs away with his palms playfully held up in surrender.

The scarily intimidating woman from the night before—Fennec, as Din announces—gives you a small wave from where she perches on the arm of an armchair, her fingers fiddling with the tuning keys on her electric guitar. The few others in the room don’t seem all that interested in your presence after giving you small polite smiles when Din calls their name, and you're thankful for it.

“You guys want a drink?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you reply quietly, smiling when he throws you a look over his shoulder.

You take the hand he holds back out to you, painfully aware of the excited finger poking incessantly at your back as you follow him to where Nico’s backpack and its contents are strewn over the ground beside a large aged leather couch.

The room feels relaxed and comfortable, and is a stark difference to the growing energy out in the stage/bar area. You weren’t too sure what you were expecting if you were being honest. Maybe something darker, louder. Rowdy people, lots of alcohol, cocaine lining the tables… maybe it was stereotypical, but now that you actually think about it, of course they wouldn’t. You were certain Din wouldn’t have Nico around if they were into that kind of thing.

Din sees your curious eyes wander the room and smirks, almost as if sensing your thoughts.

“Not what you were expecting?”

You smile guiltily, “Not really.”

“We’ve calmed down over the years. I won’t lie and say we were angelic—it was messy for a while in the beginning.” He chuckles, a hand smoothing over Nico’s curls as he passes the boy diving down to kneel on the floor with his belongings.

The hand wrapped around yours loosens and makes a gesture to the couch, and both you and Winnie sink into the leather as Din moves to get your drinks. You accept the forest green plush frog shoved into your hands with a quiet giggle, scrunching your nose playfully at Nico as he makes himself comfortable beside you on the floor, ensuring to keep his colouring in your view.

“Hey—” Winnie hisses softly in your ear, and your head turns just enough for her to whisper in your ear, “—do you think I can get my camera out yet, or is it too soon?”

—

Nico doesn’t last long on the floor, and neither does Winnie’s restraint. Once you casually mention the thing or two she wanted signed by the band to Din after being unable to convince her to ask herself, she was let loose. Her usual confidence returns and she moves about the room conversing with everyone, shameless in her admittance of being ‘their biggest fan’ and wrangling each member into a polaroid selfie.

“She came prepared.” Din notes with a grin, watching as Winnie hovers over Mayfeld’s shoulder as he quietly scrawls on the poster she had pulled from her bag.

“She’s going to be talking about this for months.” You giggle, smile widening when Winnie catches your eye and mouths her excitement. “Thank you for letting me bring her, Din, and thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course,” he replies, smiling warmly at you from over Nico’s curls before his features soften, his dark eyes falling to the book spread across Nico’s lap before letting them roll back up to meet yours. “I meant it before… I’m really glad you came.”

Your smile is automatic, pulling at your lips until you drop your gaze shyly. “I’m glad I came, too.”

The familiar comfort that settled over the three of you the night before returns, and your time is spent helping Nico piece together a small frog puzzle on the floor, colouring in or listening to Din’s deep timbre read aloud from one of Nico’s many books as he nuzzles into his side.

Music soon starts and bass vibrates through the walls, but no one pays it any mind and it’s surprisingly easy to ignore. You don’t even realise just how quick time is going until a man walks in, giving the warning of fifteen minutes before vanishing again.

You do your best to stay out of the way as people start to move about and get ready for the show, some already leaving for the stage. You watch as Din lowers to a knee, carefully manoeuvring the huge green headphones forever present around Nico’s neck until the snuggly cover his ears. The boy watches him with a shine in his eyes and the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips, which widens when Din delivers a soft flick to the tip of his nose.

Din makes a few gestures with his hands—I’ve got you.

Nico beams at him, nodding and making a small gesture of his own—I know.

It’s enough to send your heart back into a wild frenzy.

Nico stays dutifully close as Din gets ready himself, and you watch in interest as he fishes something from his jacket pocket.

“What’s this?” You tug playfully at the piece of dark, soft cotton he ties around his neck, a wild flush of warmth spreading throughout your chest when his lips spread into a small sheepish grin.

“I don’t show my face on stage. It was just something fun in the beginning… something different, but it became more of a permanent thing when we started really taking off. I don’t like the attention—that’s more Cobb’s thing.”

“So fans don’t ever see your face?”

“Most of the time, no. Not on stage, and I usually sneak out with Nico whenever we’re touring so no one ends up seeing me leave. I do the photo shoots and whatever, but they know I don’t like it and usually stick me somewhere in the back. Only the more dedicated fans bother to remember my face.”

“Winnie knew who you were immediately.”

He chuckles quietly, “Is that meant to surprise me?”

Speak of the devil and—

“Oh my god.” Winnie gushes, appearing at your side with a sparkle in her eyes. She wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes. “Can you believe this? I’m backstage. I’m fucking backstage. I have so many autographs, it’s not even funny. Jyn Erso was passing by outside so obviously I had to ask her for one.”

“Obviously.” You return playfully, trailing behind Din and Nico as you leave the comfort of the room and out into the busy corridors, careful not to hit anyone rushing to get past as you head towards the stage entrance. 

“She’s so lovely. She signed my shirt. Too bad her boyfriend’s not here—he is fucking gorgeous. And I saw the back of Ben Kenobi’s head. Can you believe it?”

You snort, “I can’t believe there isn’t a person here you don’t know.”

Winnie grins, bumping her hip with yours. “Oh babes, I’ve got all the juice. You want the goss?”

“Always.”

“Okay. Who have we got… okay, see that dude there?” Winnie asks quietly, looking pointedly at a man talking to Poe Dameron.

You glance to where she aims her attention, eyes rolling over the frame of her topic of conversation. “That’s a tall man.”

“That’s a fucking tree. Ben Solo, he was in this band—First Order, they’re… questionable. Actually, they’re shit. Anyway apparently he had major anger issues. Like he trashed sets and broke a whole bunch of shit like every show…”

Din makes a low noise of agreement, glancing over to where Solo stands with a barely there frown. “Hated playing after them. Their fans are… a lot.”

“Fucked, Din. Fucked is what their fans are. It was bad, like bad bad, but then he hooked up with this chick Rey—who’s totally loner but not like sad loner, she’s like cool loner and lives in the desert and sometimes plays with Resistance—and then he left the band and now he’s all peace and love and shit. Meditates and everything. Plus there was a rumour he tried to kill his dad, but I don’t know about that one.”

“His Uncle used to tutor Nico, before we started travelling more.”

“Luke Skywalker—used to play for Blue Milk back in the day.” Winnie sips at her drink, her head tilting as she studies Solo, oblivious to the amused look both you and Din share at her extensive knowledge of his fellow bands and their family members.

“Attempted murder charge or not, the man’s hot. Poe looks like he has time to sign my hat, right? Would that be weird? We have time, right? I’m doing it. I’m going in—hold my drink. Shit, where’s my camera—”

She rushes away and you juggle her drink in your hands, melting into the arm that wraps around your waist. Glancing up at Din with a small smile, your chest tightens at the little show of intimacy. It brings a wave of tingles along your skin and you let your head rest on his shoulder as the rest of the band materialises around the entrance.

A head, distinctly not Winnie’s, suddenly comes to rest on your shoulder and Din grunts lowly, smacking a hand out and catching Cobb on the chin. He startles from your shoulder and stands straighter.

“Hey now, I just thought we were gettin’ cosy over here.” He drawls in defence, a playful smirk pulling at one side of his lips. “How about a kiss for good luck?”

“Leave her alone, Vanth.” Din warns lowly.

“I was talkin’ to you, sweetheart.” Cobb grins, gently slapping Din’s cheek before moving away.

You giggle at his antics while Din just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, fixing up Nico’s headphones and ruffling the few curls falling over the boy’s forehead. Winnie returns just in time, with the door opening and the band and its various backstage crew entering with them.

It’s dark and incredibly fucking loud, but the music rattling through your chest is nothing compared to the butterflies swimming through your system at Din’s touch. He keeps you close, pressed into his side with Nico standing just in front of you both. It’s impossible to talk with the music being as loud as it is, but you’re still able to share an excited smile with Winnie as the lights momentarily flash over you.

The band on stage draws to a close and the energy of the crowd feels so different from backstage than it did in the midst of it the night before. The lights die, giving the band onstage a chance to slip off and Razor Crest to slip on. Nico stays dutifully by your side when Din eventually lets you go with one final squeeze to your waist and fixes the bandana across his face. 

He pauses halfway to his drums, before spinning around and striding off stage to where you stand next to Winnie, ripping his bandana down and quickly pressing his lips against yours. You melt into him immediately, the feel of his moustache tickling the skin above your lip sweet and strangely familiar despite still being so new, and your stomach twists at the feel of his mouth against yours.

It lasts only a second before he backs away with a small smile, fixing his bandana back over his mouth and striding away to where the drums sit in the darkness. You exhale shakily, unable to quite wipe the smile completely off of your face as Cobb greets the crowds loudly, screams picking up the second music starts roaring through the venue.

“I’m in trouble.” You sigh wistfully, lips tingling with the ghost of his kiss as Winnie slings an arm around your waist, her low delighted giggle melting into your shoulder as she agrees quietly.

—

The quiet beep of the hotel suite lock seems deafening in the silence of the brightened corridor, and Din politely gestures for you to enter first once the heavy door swings open. You glance over your shoulder and laugh quietly as Nico quickly ducks his head from where he sits on Din’s wide shoulders to get through the doorway without injury, his hands looped softly around the underside of Din’s jaw.

“Pyjamas first, and then you can eat.” Din instructs softly after putting the boy down and setting the bags of take away on the coffee table.

Nico runs off and his bedroom door clicks shut softly, arms soon looping around your waist once the door closes. Din spins you softly until your front presses into his and you sigh lightly when his lips press against yours, your body quickly melting into his broad chest as your hands grip his leather jacket.

The kiss is soft and sweet, followed by another, and then another, until hunger trumps innocent and his tongue is seeking yours. Heat washes through your system and settles low in your gut as his hands roam your lower back, dragging you closer until you’re tight up against him.

It’s cut off much too quickly for your liking, with Nico all but ripping the door open and you inhale sharply to steady the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears, both you and Din breaking apart as Nico launches for the food, a few large plush frogs stuff under one arm.

You settle on the floor, smiling at the relaxed, almost domestic feel that falls over the room. Nico is content to watch cartoons on the absurdly large screen as he eats, leaving you and Din to fall into quiet conversation beside him.

It’s easy talking to Din—comfortable. Over the meal you find yourselves getting closer, until your thighs brush up against the others, and the notes of his cologne settle in your nose, sending butterflies through your chest. He talks about his love of music and finding a fast love of drums, finding his first band mates and starting out as just a small boy with a dream, before moving on and finding something better with Razor Crest.

You grin when you notice he drums his chopsticks absentmindedly, his eyes watching the bright flash of the screen during a quiet moment between conversation. You nudge him softly, nodding to where his hands move.

“Can you do the thing?”

Din’s face twists in curiosity as he chews quietly, his gaze moving to yours. “What thing?”

“Y’know, the thing—” you attempt to twirl your own chopstick around your fingers like you’ve seen so many drummers do with their drumsticks, and it clatters to the surface of the coffee table when you fail miserably.

A deep laugh rumbles from his chest and it warms your insides.

“Oh, this thing?”

The chopstick spins perfectly around his fingers and you cry out in playful delight, cheering when he flips it into the air and catches it with a practised swipe.

He tries to teach you, his fingertips so warm and rough against your skin that you forget what he’s even trying to do, instead relishing in the brush of his hot touch and smiling when he chuckles at your obvious distraction.

A quiet snore steals your attention, and you both turn to where Nico slumps into the couch, his open box of rice dangerously close from tipping over his chest and fork dangling from his fingers, spilling a few lone grains onto the carpet.

You stifle a giggle before it could wake him, grinning at Din as he chuckles and rises to sort him out. Warmth settles in your chest as you watch Din fuss tenderly over the child, brushing Nico’s wild curls away from his face and making gentle noises of reassurance when his arms wind around his little body to pick him up.

Nico stirs momentarily before nuzzling into the soft cotton of Din’s t-shirt, his arms coming to wind heavily around Din’s neck before falling back asleep. They disappear into the bedroom and you move to clean the small spill on the carpet, closing Nico’s take-away back into its bag and organising the food spread across the coffee table to bring some kind of clean order back into the lounge area.

A small stirring of anticipation starts to grow in the pit of your stomach at the realisation that you were now truly alone with Din. No Nico, no bandmates barging through the door—it was just the two of you, left with nothing but each other and the all consuming shadow of attraction that had been hanging over you since you met.

Sweat starts to bite at your palms and you quickly smooth them along your legs, trying your best to temper the sudden increase of your heart drumming against your chest. You wanted this—no doubt about that—but nerves still roll through your system at the possibilities of all that was to come. Insecurities soon bubble to the surface and churn uncomfortably at the forefront of your mind; doubt at your experience, uncertainty at your appearance and how he would perceive it…

“You don’t have to do that.”

You glance up at Din as he re enters, a small smile curling your lips. “I know, I want to.”

He’s in front of you by the time you manage to stumble to your feet, fingers tight around the flimsy plastic bags holding the takeaway boxes, and your breath catches when he reaches to take the bags from you, his fingers hot and rough as they slide over your skin. His eyes don’t waver from yours as he discards the bags to the side, uncaring as the containers hit the coffee table and topple over in the plastic.

The small action and his undivided attention is enough to throw the pleasant warmth curling and twisting in your core into overdrive, the hunger swirling in his gaze causing a shiver to run over the skin of the back of your neck and trickle down your spine.

A part of you wants to play coy, to tease, but then his thick fingers are pinching your chin, tilting your head just that perfect amount for him to slot his lips over yours and all thoughts of playful seduction leave you. He steals your breath and thoughts, leaving you melting into his broad frame and chasing the taste of him as his mouth soon wanders, brushing softly over your jaw and down your throat.

Your hands are left to their own devices, unsure of where to find anchor as they move up along his arms and across his wide shoulders before twisting into the short waves at the base of his skull. Your fingers tighten in his hair when the blunt edge of teeth nip your skin and he exhales sharply against your throat, his breath hot and heavy as his nose traces back along the path he made previously.

He pulls back an inch, the heat of his hand encompassing your cheek as his thumb brushes the skin beneath your eye.

“Is this okay?”

You can’t help but lean into his touch, practically drunk on the way he makes you feel as your heart beats wildly in your chest. The nod you give in return is rushed, eager, and he lets you pull him back into a fiery kiss while his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. You barely notice your feet moving, too caught up in the way his tongue slides teasingly along yours and how his hands feel through your clothing.

His skin is soft when your fingers find their way under the hem of his t-shirt, ghosting along the waistband of his jeans and feeling his stomach muscles jump from your touch. Your hands go higher, taking the soft cotton with them as your fingertips smooth over the bottom of his rib cage until he moves to finish your task, parting from your lips and tugging the shirt up and over his head, quickly granting your greedy hands full access to his bare torso.

It’s a tangle of limbs and shared breaths as you move into his bedroom, the soft click of the door barely noticed over eager hands and hungry mouths. He makes quick work of your clothes, the chill lingering in his room biting at your skin as fabric hits the floor in muted heaps. 

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush when he gives you a gentle push, your body toppling onto soft sheets and leaving you to blink up at him from where you lie on your back, your eyes tracing along the tattoos curling around his arms and the few dotted across his chest and hips.

So wide. He seems broader standing over you now, his figure highlighted by the moonlight shining in from the floor to ceiling window along one wall. The way he stands tall, strong, gazing down at you with those beautifully magnetic eyes, is almost intimidating. The thrill of it only adds to the wild need pooling in your core and your thighs close on instinct, desperate to seek some sort of friction to calm the ache.

His eyes trace the bright red lace sitting against your skin with a keen interest, his tongue slowly sliding along his lower lip as he takes it in. 

“Open your legs,” he demands lowly, the deep timbre of his voice seeping into your ears and settling low in your gut.

You do so shyly, slowly parting your thighs until he gets the full view of your underwear and where you’ve soaked through the thin fabric. The twinge of embarrassment that had started to grow quickly fades when he makes a low noise of appreciation, your stomach flipping as his eyes flick back up to yours.

“Show me,” he murmurs, something playfully wicked stirring in his gaze, “but leave them on.”

Heat washes up from chest and fills your cheeks as his words settle around you. There’s a tremble in your hand when you move it, a shiver following the light path your fingers make as they trace along your side and down your stomach. His unwavering focus follows your hand, his breath hitching when you rub lightly over your covered cunt before hooking a finger under the sideband of your underwear and pulling them to the side.

He watches your movements intently, exhaling sharply when you shyly brush a finger over your exposed pussy and through your arousal before circling softly around your clit.

“Fuck.”

He’s on his knees before you even realise, his large hands curling around your thighs and hauling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your hands scramble to grab at the sheets in surprise, your gasp at the sudden movement quickly morphing into a whine as his fingers tug your underwear back to the side.

You don’t quite get the chance to catch your breath. His fingers spread you open and his tongue dips to run along your slit, the heat of his mouth enveloping your clit as a groan dissolves against your cunt. He’s relentless, and all you can do is take it.

Your hands tangle in the sheets, fingers clawing at the soft feel of them as he loses himself against you, your body thrumming and nerves practically alight from the feel of his mouth working at your pussy. 

His devotion feels endless. He takes you to the edge, tongue rolling and swirling and circling over your clit until you’re breathless and practically right there, before slowing and letting it ebb.

It’s when you start to beg, voice weak and barely there that he gets greedy about it, pushing his tongue deep into your cunt and relishing in the way your hips jolt and grind against his face before winding his way back to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nerve and sucking sharply.

“Din, it’s—I-I’m—”

The words die on your tongue, the tight feeling growing and growing in your core until your toes start to curl, the threat of it about to snap taking the last of your coherent thoughts. He doubles down in his efforts, forcing your hips to still under his forearm as he works you up and over the edge with a new surge of intensity.

Your back arches from the bedding when it hits, the sound dying in your throat as the last of your breath leaves in a gasp, but he doesn’t stop. His hold tightens to the brink of discomfort, his mouth keeps working, and you’re left to hold on as he drags your orgasm out. You try to breathe, try to calm your mind enough to focus, but all you know is Din and how his tongue dives to collect the cum and arousal from your pussy before circling back up to your sensitive clit.

He still doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, even as you start to squirm under his hold. Your hands fly to his head and tangle into his hair and you’re not sure if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away. Your chest heaves, the heat flooding your body bringing a sheen of sweat across your skin.

It’s all too much, and yet not enough.

“I c—I can’t,” you whimper, your brows pinching and eyes fluttering closed with the more blissful torture he gives you.

You swear you feel his lips curl into a smile against you. He shifts, and for a moment you think he’s finally pulling away to give you a break, but then two thick fingers swirl around the entrance to your cunt and slide in without resistance, gently dragging along your walls as he pumps them in and out before sinking them in further.

It’s exactly what your body needs.

The pressure of his fingers curling and rubbing so deep within you mixing with the ruthless work of his tongue over your clit throws you headfirst into another orgasm, your hips moving on their own accord as they roll against his hand. You fuck yourself on his fingers as you shatter around him with a broken cry, your pussy clenching and flooding his skin as you move.

He breaks away after another torturously long moment, turning to softly bite the skin of your thigh as he gently pulls his fingers from your tender cunt before sitting back onto his heels. He’s quietly watching you when you eventually have the strength to look at him from over your heaving chest, your body slackening back against the bed when he rises to move over you.

“Still okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, your lashes brushing against your cheeks as your eyes close. “I just—fuck. I need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs reassuringly, kissing the space between your brows before moving, the mattress dipping next to you as he lets himself fall back onto the bed beside you with a soft exhale.

Your head lolls to the side as your eyes slowly open, tracing the contours of his side profile and relishing in the comfortable silence falling over the room. Your stomach somersaults at the noticeable glisten of the short facial hair covering his chin and the way his tongue runs along his lower lip, no doubt gathering what was left of you on his mouth.

He must sense your gaze and lets his head turn towards yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as your eyes meet.

“What?”

You smile, “Just thinking.”

His brow rises in interest as he rolls onto his side, his elbow digging into the bed spread as he rests his head on his fist. His eyes follow along your features, his hand rising to brush his fingers along the skin of your jaw.

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“Kissing you.”

You repeat his own words from the night before back to him and he grins, sending your heart thundering back into a frenzy. God, what is happening? 

“Funny,” he mutters, dipping to bite along the underside of your jaw, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Your giggle is quiet and soon muffled by his lips, his own smile melding into yours. The kisses are soft and languid, stoking the warmth still curling in the pit of your stomach with no real rush into anything further. He follows your pace, loosening under the hand you press against his shoulder until his back meets the bed and you’re pressed up against his side.

There’s not a part of him you don’t trace. Your fingers tangle in his hair and move along his throat, feeling the gentle drum of his pulse under your touch. Your nails scratch lightly through the patchy scruff covering his jaw before moving down to his chest and over the softness of his stomach, smiling when you feel the jump in his breath when you finally meet his belt.

“Still okay?” You whisper against his lips, your eyes opening to meet his gaze.

You’re so close, his face only a mere breath away, and you can't help but let your nose lightly run along the arch of his, watching the way his lashes flutter at the soft feel of it.

“Yeah,” he returns just as quietly, his tongue poking out to run across his bottom lip as your fingers pinch at his belt.

It comes away after a few minutes of fiddling, your fingers shaking as you finally unhook his jeans and slide the zipper down enough for you to wiggle a hand underneath. Things aren’t easy one handed though, and your clumsy hand gets stuck under the waistband of his boxers from trying to pull his thick cock out. Typical. 

He breathes a chuckle when you make a quiet noise of annoyance, his hand brushing along your wrist as he pushes his jeans and boxers out of the way and frees your hand wrapped around the solid feel of him. He throbs under your touch, his skin velvety soft against your palm as you give a few experimental pumps of your hand.

You duck your head to press a series of soft kisses to the expanse of his throat, feeling the bob of it as he swallows as you brush the pad of your thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting the bead of precum and smoothing it over him before picking up the pace, tightening your fingers and squeezing him softly as you jerk him. 

He paints a beautiful picture, dark hair ruffled with a few sweat slicked strands falling over his forehead as the two dips between his brows deepen. Your eyes run over every crease and crinkle of his face while he’s lost in your touch, heart wild in your chest with the realisation that you were making him feel this way, you had him tightening a hand in the sheets and his breath catching in his throat.

It’s impossible not to kiss the vacant patch of skin on his jaw, breathing him in and fighting the ache building in your arm as you push to dangle him along the edge of bliss like he had done to you—

A rough palm covers yours, immediately putting a stop to your movements, and worry is your immediate response.

“Did I do s—”

He pushes up and smothers your question with his lips, dousing the flicker of anxiety with the hot slide of his tongue along yours. You weaken against him, letting his large hand cup the space beneath your jaw and tilt your head until he has his fill of your mouth.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your lips. “Get up there—now.”

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up. You scramble back along the sheets, painfully aware that it’s probably not as sexy as you wanted, until the thick pillows hit your back and you’re able to admire him fully. He rids himself of his jeans and presses a knee into the mattress, his dark eyes rolling over you pressed into his pillows with nothing but a bit of red lace covering you.

You’re shameless as you spread your legs now, beckoning him to settle between your thighs, and his cock jumps at the view. His hand falls to his cock, his thick fingers wrapping around the base of it and giving it a firm squeeze as you shift restlessly against the pillows.

“On your knees, pretty girl.”

Your body responds immediately, turning on the soft sheets and shifting until you’re on your hands and knees, the wash of impatience mingling with anticipation intensifying with the longer you don’t feel his touch.

“Din,” you whine softly, feeling movement behind you and picking up on the slight crinkle of a wrapper. 

“I know,” he soothes, a hot hand sliding along the curve of your ass and dipping down your leg.

His fingers ghost along the inside of your thigh until they press against the heat of your pussy, rubbing against your covered entrance and up along your ass. A finger hooks around your panties and pulls them to the side, quickly followed by the blunt head of his cock running along your slit and it’s enough to steal whatever breath is left in your lungs.

He gives a few shallow thrusts, sliding against you and covering the length of him with your cum before he shifts and sinks into your cunt, the hand that’s curled around your hip tightening with every inch that disappears into you until he’s pressed up hard against your ass.

“Tell me when, pretty girl.” He pants softly, keeping still as you adjust to the length and thickness of him. 

You shift against the weight of him, pushing back against him and jolting at the sharp, borderline painful shock that shoots up your body. The shock gives way to a whole new wave of pleasure and your body thrums from it, your cunt clenching around him as you start to shallowly fuck yourself back on him.

“Now,” you breathe, back arching.

He’s slow as he pulls back, fingers briefly loosening on your hips before moving for a better hold and you just know you’re done for. He slams his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you before pulling back and repeating, every brutal slam of his hips against yours hitting the spot that has your cunt fluttering around him. 

If you struggled to breathe before, it's downright impossible now.

Your moans are broken and incoherent as he ruts into you without abandon, the harsh fill of him hurting in the best of ways you know you’re going to feel for days to come. It’s not long until your arms start to give out and soon your chest meets the mattress, the new angle of your hips allowing him to hit impossibly deeper and he grunts at the sudden change.

“You feel so fucking good, pretty girl. Shit—”

The noises that fill the room are obscene. The echo of skin against skin mixes with the slick sound of your cunt as he drills into you and you’re left to cry out into the bedspread, hands scrambling and clutching at the sheets. His pace soon falters and with one final thrust, he spills into the condom with a low filthy groan that has your toes curling.

You turn and rest your head against the sheet to breathe properly, your chest heaving as he carefully removes himself from you and slips away from the bed. It’s a relief to let your body relax fully into the mattress, each muscle unwinding with every passing minute.

Din’s gentle fingers soon return to work your bra off and your underwear down your legs, smoothing his rough hand along your thigh to coax them apart as soon as the soaked scrap of lace hits the floor. A warm cloth soon presses against your tender pussy and you hum softly, your lashes fluttering against the skin of your cheeks.

He chuckles quietly and presses a kiss to your sweaty temple. “Come on, pretty girl. Get under the sheets.”

It takes a few moments to get your body to respond, each limb feeling heavy, but soon enough you’re tucked into Din’s chest, his skin hot against yours and his arm resting around you, his fingers dancing over your skin.

“How am I meant to go home if I can’t walk?” You mutter into his chest, smiling tiredly at his low laugh.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay.”

You chuckle quietly, repositioning your head against him and sighing, almost longingly. “Don’t tempt me.”

-

everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @doin-stuff, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @h-hxgirl, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @mandocrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @karlawithacapitalk​, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist​, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday​, @what-iwish-you-knew​, @princess-djarinn​, @totallynotastanacc​, @girlofchaos​, @pjkimrn​, @bangaveragewhitewine​, @trickstersp8​, @rominaszh,

din djarin tags: @a-reader-and-a-writer, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @xjsteph, @stardustingold, @androah​, @wildmoonflower​, @naughtynecromancer​, @flamesocks​, @quica-quica-quica​, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola​, @notagamersdey​, @yt-adriana, @dins-cyare, @clydesducktape​, @eatommo​, @ms-loverman-066​, @serini-ty​, @chaoticevilbakugo​,

hold me down tags: @jettia, @altarsw, @readsalot73, @quica-quica-quica, @chasingdreamer, @the-feckless-wonder​, @what-iwish-you-knew​, @mysticalpersontaco​, @peaches-roses-sins​, @captain-jebi​, @chasingdreamer, @readsalot73,

[happypopcornprincess]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Pairings - Tony Stark X OC Zara Malik

Premise –  Under circumstances, he could not control, Tony lost his parents, his mentor, and his best friend/former lover. Will he have to lose his love as well?

Word Count - No idea, I'm going absolutely blind on this one.

Warnings: age gap, angst, Canon-level violence, allusions to smut, mentions of blood, explosions.

a/n - Thank you @swaraleeeeeee for this amazing request about Tony and a Desi Reader!!! I am thrilled and excited to share this with everyone yayy! plus, this fic is set in the Age Of Ultron AU universe and is set on the day of Tony's party at his penthouse.

There are references to a specific Horror Series and the story is somewhat inspired by the song Dancing With Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift. Hope y'all like it :)

Main Masterlist || Requests are open! Keep ‘em coming 😏❤

I loved you in secret

First sight, yeah, we love without reason

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know, and

My, love had been frozen

Deep blue, but you painted me golden

Oh, and you held me close

Oh, how was I to know that

- (Dancing With Our Hands Tied) Taylor Swift

/---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---/

Tony looked around at the party exiting the lab. The Ultron project was complete. JARVIS was now analyzing the AI while keeping an eye on it, and he had successfully convinced Bruce to be a part of it. He needed his help, and extra hands in his lab never hurt.

Now, it was time to party.

He had debated having the party downtown in some fancy hotel but what better place to get wasted than your newly renovated penthouse? He buttoned up his blazer and stepped into the crowd of guests. This brought back memories of college, sneaking out and getting wasted with people he had never met before. Maybe if he was lucky tonight, he'd get to poke at Steve and have a jolly time with Rodney.

But he froze on the stairs looking at the flashes of a familiar emerald-colored fabric in the crowd.

"Stark! There you are!" If it wasn't for Clint slapping his back, he would have walked up to her then and there, and the ruse would be up.

"I… was in the stuff, doing the lab." He babbled, trying his best not to sound obvious. Even though he could be the unafraid playboy billionaire for the entire world, she made him lose his shit. In simple words, she drove him crazy.

Clint made a disgusting face and gestured to him to come along. "You gotta meet Dr. Malik! She's Dr. Cho's colleague. She talked about some crazy biotechnology that I have no idea about but I just know you would love it so…"

He zoned out of what Clint was saying. His entire focus was on her, the smell of jasmine invading his senses. 

She was talking to Natasha and Bruce, both listening to her with rapt attention. He stood just behind her, looking at her back. Her long hair was loose, falling on her back and shoulders, and the loose end of her saree - the same one he bought her - was gracefully tucked on her shoulder, the pleats perfectly symmetrical.

"...and Dr. Cho has been kind enough to let me be a part of her latest research, based in New York." Her sweet voice was what brought him out of his trance. He couldn't believe she was here. "We are working on repairing skin cells for burn victims, a sort of regenerative process that will allow the skin to heal itself without surgery."

"Dr. Malik, I see you haven't met our host." Tony's heart did a somersault at Clint's words, panic written all over his face.

Well, this is really happening.

She turned around fully, facing him and Clint.

No matter how many times he saw her in that damn green saree with the stupid black blouse that blurred the line between decent and sensual. His mind would go blank.

And she had red lipstick on.

She was trying to give him a heart attack.

"Ah, Mister Stark. The Iron Man himself." She gave him a blinding smile, the one she had practiced and prepared for the public.

He realized she was in on it. She was fine with it.

And the ruse continues.

"Just Tony for you, Dr..." He extends his hand and she shakes it as she steps towards him.

"Zara. Zara Malik."

Tony had to fight every fiber of his being not to hold her closer. As if he was meeting her for the first time, he had to play the role.

Don't be a fool, Tony. Let's stay professional.

It was a far cry from their first meeting.

2 years ago, Mexico

Tony took a breath of relief and looked around him, smiling.

He had always made sure to give a fair share of donations to people in need. Currently, he was standing inside Stark Industries' first free medical center for orphaned children and LGBTQIA+ youth in Mexico. His mother's old friend, Miss Herrera, was willing to take over the project and assist the research students at her alma mater. And Tony was glad to help.

He heard laughter coming from the end of the hallway. Happy was close behind as he opened the doors and entered the room.

Inside was a huge room with at least twenty beds, all empty. In the middle of the room, there was a group of kids, teenagers, and even some adults hovering around a woman wearing her lab coat. Her head was buried in her notebook.

In front of her sat a kid, no older than 15, and another woman stood next to her. This woman would later become known as Dr. Helen Cho. She was rapidly speaking numbers.

His eyebrows shot up as he realized that it was a contest.

"...plus fourteen divided by six, and the entirety multiplied by Nineteen. Go!"

Both the woman and the kid scribbled like crazy in their notebooks and seconds later the kid screamed, "249!"

"It's correct." The woman spoke up, and cheers erupted all around them.

"Oh come on!" The woman competing threw up her hands, but you could hardly guess she was even upset about losing, as a huge grin was plastered on her face.

That was when she turned to him, and Tony saw Zara for the first time.

But she wasn't the only one to notice him, as the entire army of kids and teens ran to him, looking at the legendary Iron Man.

After what felt like hours of answering their endless questions, he finally got to talk to Cho and Zara.

Cho jumped on the opportunity to tell him about the research they had been doing and volunteering for the kids in their free time. She couldn’t control her excitement about meeting the legendary man behind the iron mask. Zara, on the other hand, was calm and steady. She had a pleasant face. She answered some questions for him and spoke where Cho stumbled, but otherwise remained silent. Tony admits he didn’t fall for her at that moment.

He did when she asked him out on a date. 

He was 38. She was 25.

His first reaction was, “I’m sorry, what?”

She smiled, fidgeting with her hands. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but I would love to grab dinner with you sometime.”

Happy’s jaw was hanging open. And Tony was flabbergasted.

“I… Uh… I would love to, Zara Mali- Zara. Zara. Can I call you Zara?” He blinked.

She blushed, “sure, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, it’s Tony. And yeah, sure, I'll see you tomorrow night?” He smiled, fumbling with his hands as he backed out of the room, almost colliding with Happy in the process. However, he somehow made it to the elevator.

“Holy shit.” he breathed out. Happy handed him a napkin.

It was then that he realized he was sweating, his heart racing. It was the first time in a long time someone asked him out, not the other way around. He was so used to asking people out that he had completely forgotten what it felt like to be on the other end.

It felt nice.

Zara felt overwhelmed, being around people she had heard about so much that she knew like old friends. Tony would never shut up about his teammates, the latest updates that he did on their weapons and suits, and their habits that annoyed him.

Oh, Tony.

Zara knew Tony was scared for her after what happened with Pepper. After Killian's fiasco, they remained friends, but Zara understood that a part of Tony would always love Pepper. She was his first love. They had mutually agreed to keep their relationship a secret. JARVIS and Happy were the only ones who knew about her, and Rodney found out after accidentally waking in on one of their intense ‘love-making’ sessions. 

He was standing right next to her, in the charcoal suit she helped pick up. It felt weird to talk to him as she had never known him at all. It hurt him too.

His face was expressionless as he slowly sipped his champagne. He looked at her occasionally but averted his eyes as soon as someone else noticed.

Bruce spoke to her after the group had scattered to find a refill for their drinks. "I would love to hear more about this project Dr. Malik. This is promising work."

"You flatter me Dr. Banner" She spoke, “but of course, you are welcome to Seoul anytime you wish.” He smiled and strode ahead to Natasha, who was now behind the bar having a chat with Thor.

“Zara.” she smiled as she turned to Tony, “a heads up would have been great, I almost died watching you here.”

She grimaced apologetically, “Cho practically dragged me here. I denied but she was dead set on taking me as her plus one, and I tried to call you so many times today that you didn’t pick up. I’m sorry Tony I-”

He nodded with a gentle expression on his face. “I was in the lab the entire day. My phone was off. And I should be the one who is sorry. I know how horrible you must be feeling right now. I just," huffed out a laugh, “I really want to climb up this building and scream at the top of my lungs how much I love you.”

Zara tilted her head as she gazed at him. “I love you, Tony.”

“I love you too,” he smiled and raised his brows at her saree, stepped closer, and said in a low whisper, “and I can’t wait to take this off tonight.”

Her lips parted in surprise as he stepped away smirking.

“Is he bothering you?”

She jumped as she heard Rodney’s voice coming from behind her.

“holy shit, you scared me.” she laughed, and Rodney laughed along with her.

“It’s been a while,” he says, smirking, and flashes of how they met the first time involuntarily invade her mind.

She grimaced, closing her eyes, “uh, yeah, the last time we met wasn’t exactly the most ideal situation to have a chat. But nice to see you, Rhodes.”

“Chill, it’s fine. I didn’t know you had taken it public or I would have-”

“No!” she stops him before he says anything further, “uh, I’m here by coincidence. We’re still under wraps. I just want Tony to feel comfortable talking to people when he wants to.”

“Well, he’s been a bit off for a few days. Just keep close to him.”

“Will do.”

“Hey, we’re having an after-party. Cho's been invited by Thor. Wanna join?” he asks, sipping his scotch.

“Why not!”

“cool, see you around.” Rodney smiles and joins Tony at the bar.

She pulls out her phone to contact Jarvis, a desperate attempt to let Tony know she will be here longer, but she couldn’t. She tries again, but Jarvis seems unresponsive.

Tony might have put him on some sort of update.

She doesn’t think twice about it, instead opting to have a drink to calm her nerves.

All while being unaware of the fact that just meters above their heads, the AI was fighting for his life against something that would change everything.

I could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets

Picture of your face in an invisible locket

You said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

I had a bad feeling

and darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis

People started talking, putting us through our paces

I knew there was no one in the world who could take it

I had a bad feeling

/---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---/

One month ago, in Seoul, South Korea

"You seem tense.” Zara hummed as she caressed his chest, right where his arc reactor used to be. She scooted closer, her warm body pressing against his, as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Thinking about this new hydra base we are attacking next week,” he replied, playing with her hair. He enjoyed doing that a lot. He would braid it sometimes, or he would just run his fingers through it. They were always so soft, and they smelled really pleasant. He smiled as he remembered once begging her to tell him how she had such crazy volume. She just shrugged and said it was genetics.

“I’m scared,” she mumbles.

“Hey,” he turns his head to her, taking her face in his hand, “I’ll be fine.” he smiles.

“I know, it’s just,” she props up on her elbow, hovering over him, “you have this thing about saving others before yourself. You think about everyone before you,” she brushes a strand of his hair. “I want you to promise me something.”

"Anything, Z," he replied.

"You'll come back. Okay, you will come back to me no matter what.” She looks at him with such concern that it breaks his heart.

“I promise, Z, I will.” he squeezes her hand.

She breathes out, “And I know you survived a wormhole in space and a psychotic Norse God but you have to do this, for me.” she smiles, a strand of her hair falling on her face.

Tony tackles her on her back, kissing her fiercely, grabbing her waist to press her tightly against him.

He can’t lose her. He won’t lose her.

But we were dancing

Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied

Yeah, we were dancing

Like it was the first time, first time

Yeah, we were dancing

Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied

Yeah, we were dancing

And I had a bad feeling

But we were dancing

/---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---/

The after-party

"Are you even pulling?”

“Are you on my team?”

"Just represent! Pull!”

Zara couldn’t help but laugh as she witnessed Tony and Rodney trying to lift Mjolnir. Truthfully, it was a desperate attempt with their suit gauntlets that were almost smoking.

The champagne in their systems did not help at all. They gave up, at last, Rodney punching Tony's arm for being dragged into this mess.

And this time, instead of taking his seat, he plopped down next to her.

He rested his head on the backrest of the couch, pouting. “It’s rigged," he said.

“It’s magic,” she replied.

“Point Break is cheating.”

She laughed out loud, “no, he’s not”

As she reclines in her seat, she looks at him through hooded eyes. Her head was fuzzy even after just two drinks, and he was so close, with his tie loose, his sleeves rolled up, smiling at her. A kiss to drive him senseless was all she could think of.

He raised his hand, swaying his palm in front of her. “Dance with me?”

She took a sharp breath, watching from the corner of her eye how Clint nudged Maria to look at them.

“Are you sure?” she asked, raising her brows.

“C’mon,” he smiled, blinking at her like she was the only one in the room.

She placed her hand on his, and he pulled her to the clear space behind the couch they were sitting on.

And the speakers blasted Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield.

Zara laughed out loud as Tony shimmied his shoulders to the beat. She heard a hoot and saw others joining in. Bruce and Natasha danced as a couple, and Steve somehow joined Clint and Maria in a conga line.

She felt strong arms grab her waist and pull her forward, meeting her chest with Tony. Zara grabbed his shoulders as they swayed to the music. He bopped his head as he held her arm and swayed her to the music, spinning her and holding her close. 

Zara could see Natasha eyeing them suspiciously, but she didn’t care anymore. Her boyfriend smiled lovingly at her as she looked into his eyes. His cheeks were pink.

Was he blushing?

She was lost in his eyes, the feel of his hands on her waist, and the way his breath fanned her face.

She almost missed the disembodied robot coming towards them. 

It was only when she heard its chilling distorted voice and felt Tony tensed up that she realized this was not going to end well.

Tony's first instinct was to pull Zara behind him, and as soon as he realized JARVIS was gone, his grip on her hand tightened. Upon hearing his voice through the tiny speaker in its body, his mind kicked into overdrive.

So much for armor around the world.

He saw how Cap stood discreetly next to the wooden coffee table and how Thor grabbed the handle of Mjolnir.

He could feel the tension in the air as his teammates tried to buy some time before it rained down.

He had to get Zara out of here fast.

“What better way to cleanse the world than starting with the annihilation of the Avengers? And as with the battle of New York, a few collaterals like Miss Zara won’t hurt anyone.”

Tony’s entire body turned cold as soon as he heard that.

Ultron hasn’t just killed JARVIS, he also absorbed his database, including the knowledge of Zara and what she is to him.

He had only a second to look at her blood-drained face when the walls collapsed, his own robots dead set on killing them all.

That’s when a lot of things happened all at once.

Steve kicked the table as two robots flew into it.

Thor began to thrash as many as he could.

Clint and Hill started shooting, while Natasha tried to save Bruce.

Tony pushed her harshly towards the grand piano and ran towards the nearest robot.

It was chaos all around her.

She tried crawling behind it, but she met a dead end. She turned around to see Steve crash into a glass wall. Her heart raced, her body kicking into survival mode. Her eyes scanned the room for a place to hide. Her eyes followed Thor as he blasted a robot with lightning, and for a split second, she saw it. The clearing under the staircase was obstructed by a pillar in front of it.

Adrenaline took over, and she dashed towards it with all her might.

It rained glass, something was on fire, and the smell of burning wood surrounded her, but her only focus was on her goal.

And she would have made it if it wasn’t for the torso of a robot flying right in front of her.

Its arm was raised and she met the glowing palm of its hand on her face.

Zara jumped to her right, behind the couch, and onto the broken shards of glass.

HYDRA base, Sokovia.

Tony overlooked the destruction unleashed in front of his eyes.

The Chitauri army invaded, setting the planet on fire.

The Avengers lay dead on the rocks. Steve’s shield was broken, Natasha's face was bleeding, and Bruce wasn’t breathing.

He staggered back, wondering for a second about how he ended up here when he was just standing near the scepter seconds ago. His mind begged him to see if it wasn’t real.

He felt something on his leg and he looked down.

He hoped he never did, for he saw Zara on his feet.

He fell to his knees as he held her lifeless frame, her eyes closed, her face covered in blood, and a glass shard prodding out of her chest.

He screamed, shook her, and begged for her to open her eyes but she just lay there.

Dead.

Tony found Zara staggering away from the glass around her. Her hair was caked in blood, and glass wounds covered her entire right arm. He immediately held her, helping her stand up. She groaned as she got up, glancing at her right arm to see it covered in blood. And then she looked at Tony.

She held his face in her palms. "Are you okay?” Her voice was dripping with worry.

He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips. “shouldn’t I be asking you that?” his fingers ghosted over her injured temple, and he swallowed hard, his heart racing as he realized how seriously hurt she was.

“Zara I-” he started as he got interrupted by Cho, “젠장 (shit; in Koren) Zara you’re bleeding!” Zara gave her a nod as Cho let out a sigh of relief.

She then looked at him, still shocked at what had happened, and froze.

Her eyes traveled between Zara and him, and the way they were holding each other.

She opened her mouth to say something but Steve's voice interrupted her.

“Stark,” Tony turned around to see Cap standing behind them, along with the rest of the Avengers. “Care to explain what the hell was that?"

“This is roomier than my first apartment.” Cho looked around the laundry room in Tony’s penthouse.

Tony had led her there with Cho, as the others were in the adjacent conference room. He had handed them a first aid kit and was now having a shouting match with his team. Their muffled shouts could be heard from inside.

Zara had gotten rid of her saree, was wearing one of Tony’s t-shirts she found in the folded laundry and was sitting on the toilet with its lid closed. Cho knelt in front of her, cleaning her wounds.

“So, you and Stark…” she asks, dabbing her wounds with a sterile cloth.

“Yep.” she breathes out, looking at her.

“You could have told me Z.” Cho pouts, “I thought you were getting catfished when you told me about your long-distance boyfriend from New York. Did he force you to not tell anyone?”

"Helen, come on!" Zara laughed. "We mutually decided not to disclose anyone. We were taking it slow. Plus, you saw what happens when it’s discovered I’m dating Tony.”

Cho smiles, continuing to clean her wounds. “He really loves you, you know, I can tell by the way he almost cried watching you hurt.”

Zara squeezes Cho’s shoulder. "We just wanted to keep it private. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who he was.”

“Oh it’s alright, you told me the rest” Cho laughs, “like the fact that he’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” she smirks as she rolls off her bandage.

Zara bites her cheek, desperately trying not to smile.

“Oh god! He is?” Cho exclaimed.

“I’m not going to say it.”

“It’s written on your face.”

“Helen!”

“What? I’ve known you since sophomore year Z. I could sense the sexual tension between you while we were dancing and I knew something was up.”

Zara smiled, and Helen added, “I want a tub of ice cream, masks, and a girl's night. You're gonna start from the beginning and tell me everything about dating Tony Stark.”

“Yes ma’am” she mocks saluted her, and they burst into laughter, forgetting for a minute what was happening outside the doors.

Tony rubbed his temples after the team started to depart. His mind raced at the highest speed to figure out how to handle the situation. Bruce slapped his shoulder before walking away with Natasha. Tonight had taken a toll on everyone around him.

He had to figure out how ULTRON managed to kill JARVIS and infiltrate the internet. and then he had to wipe Zara out of his database before he becomes sentient.

AI or not, he was about to outsmart him. He made him after all. 

“Tony.”

Her voice made him snap out of his trance, and he saw Zara standing next to him.

She was wearing one of his band shirts, and a pair of black sweats. The bandage on her head and the numerous cuts on her face and arms just motivated him further. She hugged him, her arms wrapping around his torso as she hid her face in the crook of his neck. He hugged her back, careful of the cuts.

“I have to return to Seoul and evacuate the labs. I’ll be back once it’s done.”

“Helen,” Zara was about to say something to her but she cut her off, “Zara, those people are under my supervision. I need to get them to safety.” she squeezed Zara’s hands, and then looked at Tony, “keep her safe.”

“Zara,” he retreated as he cupped her face, looking her in the eyes, “as much as it hurts me to say, you need to get out of here.”

“What?” her face contorted with confusion.

“He’s right.” Hill added as they turned towards her, typing furiously on her phone, “ULTRON knows who you are. And he will use you to get to stark, and the Avengers.”

He could feel her stiffen under his touch, Tony turned her face o look at him, “Z, look at me, hey,” he caressed her face, “It’s gonna be okay, Clint is gonna be with you. You’ll be completely safe at this place.”

“What about you?” she held onto his wrist, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I have to take care of this.”

“You’re going to fight this thing?” her lips trembled, and her grip tightened on his hands.

 It physically hurt him to see her about to cry, “I made him, Zara. This is my responsibility.”

Zara gulped, looking at Clint from the corner of her eye, “You remember our promise?”

“Yeah.”

“If you die, stark, I’ll kill you.” tears fell from Zaras eyes, and Tony held on to her tightly, managing to give her a sad smile..

“I love you.” he said.

“I love you more.” She hugged him tightly, and just for a second, Tony fiddled with the idea of not letting her go.

“You’ve never been on a Quinjet?” Clint asked from the control panel of the Quinjet. 

“Nope.” Zara answered with a wavered voice. It was her first time in the futuristic jet. She had listened in rapt attention about all the design advancements Tony had done on the jet one day while making breakfast. But it was less thrilling to go barelling through the sky in an aircraft known to be attacked mid air numerous times.

“It’s hard to believe Tony never took you on a joyride in this.”

She huffed out a laugh, “he tried, but I chickened out last minute.” Clint laughed out loud.

“So, where is this place?” Zara asked, clutching her body straps in a death grip.

“well,” Clint turned to her, the jet on autopilot, “Tony’s not the only one among the avengers with a secret relationship.” he smiled, confusing Zara even more.

He akes out a pack of UNO card game from his infinite pockets of his pants, “up for a game?”

I'd kiss you as the lights went out

Swaying as the room burned down

I'd hold you as the water rushes in

If I could dance with you again

/---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---//---/---/---/---/---/---/

10 Days Later

When Clint mentioned a secret relationship, Zara expected a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Not a wife who was a former SHIELD agent and two kids younger than her distant cousins, not to ignore the fact that Laura was pregnant with a third. Since she met Clint’s family, they had taken her in as one of their own. At first she tried to keep her distance, given the fact that just by staying at their home she was putting them in danger too. But Cooper and Lila wanted to know everything about her job at U-GIN. And when they found out she loved horror movies, she had turned into their favourite person.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Laura and she had decided to have a small picnic on their porch. “Dr. Malik look!” Lila jumped continuously until Zara turned to her. She excitedly handed her a drawing of a butterfly, overflowing with all sorts of vibrant colors.

“It’s beautiful! Thank you, Lila.” she says, smiling as she tucked the drawing neatly inside a file.

“Lila there’s a Resident Evil re run gong on hurry!” Cooper called from inside.

Lila stood up hastily, and ran away, “don’t start without me!”

“I’m sorry if they bother you too much.” Laura says, leaning on the armchair beside her. She was subconsciously rubbing her belly, baby Nat will be here any day now.

“No, no, I love kids. Got some little cousins back home who are always a delight.” she smiles. In the past days Laura has become somewhat like her elder sister. She kept her calm for the first few days when her nerves were all over the place, and she didn’t let her lift a finger and rest while she and the kids did all the heavy work around the house. She was almost 9 months in for crying out loud.

Just then she heard a distant rumbling. A jet engine.

“oh my god! they’re here!” Laura spoke up.

Zara got up from her seat, helping Laura to get up too.

The Avengers were successful in getting The Cradle from ULTRON, taking it back to Stark Tower and making Vision. They stopped an attack on Sokovia, Vision helping them determine what was about to happen with the help of the twins. ULTRON planned on making the city fly, and make a blast so powerful that it would have wiped out all the humans on earth in one go.

Thankfully nobody got hurt, and they stopped the attack before it happened, evacuating the city and killing ULTRON.

Clint told them everything the other day, telling them that he would return soon. When Zara asked about Tony, Clint said he was busy with all the legal stuff with the government that centered around ULTRON. He said he was sorry that he couldn’t talk to you, and also told them how he hasn’t slept in two days. She almost rolled her eyes if it weren’t for all the crying she had been doing with Laura listening to their story.

The Jet was nearing, and now even Cooper and Lila were out of the house. Before either one could stop them, they ran across the field towards the fence.

The Quinjet landed just outside the fence, and out came the Avengers.

Zara helped Laura down the steps, as Clint ran to his kids. She laughed with Laura when they tackled him to the ground. Natasha followed him, and she could see Steve, Thor and Bruce making their way awkwardly towards the family.

She halted on her steps when she saw the figure descending down the stairs of the jet.

He buttoned up his blazer, taking off his sunglasses and giving her the smug smile that stole her heart in the first place.

Zara didn’t realise she was running until she was halfway through the yard. but she sped up as Tony opened his arms, jumping right into them.

He picked her up, spinning her round, laughing through the tears of reunion. He set her down as she wiped her eyes, and his too.

“Told you I’ll come back to you.” he smiled at her softly, resting his forehead against hers. She breathed him in, caressing his face, careful of the small cuts scattered across his face.

“we got matching cuts.” she laughed, pointing to the scar on her temple, and to a somewhat similar cut on his head.

He laughed along with her, holding her close and kissing her forehead in return.

He was home.

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Any and all requests, headcanons, and drabble requests about this AU is mostly welcome. Love y'all, Take Care!

Requests are open! Feel free to request anything.

Taglist

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenbb @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty @swaraleeeeeee @perpetuelledaydreaming

[tamurilofrivendell]

The Royal Ball | Thranduil x OC Wife

one shot using this prompt

pairing: Thranduil x Caleniel (wife OC)

summary: Caleniel attends a ball with her very good friend Prince Thranduil at the behest of his father Oropher. This is a usual occurrence as Oropher seems to have made her his son’s official ‘fake date’ for these sorts of functions.

A/N: I dunno what this is but it popped into my head when I came across the prompt so I had to entertain it lmao.

Caleniel looked around the elegant ballroom, a cup of sweet wine in her hand. King Oropher was standing at the back of the room talking to his Captain of the Guard, Algar who was Caleniel’s father, and his Butler, the two being who he most trusted. A bunch of council members were milling around trying to get the King’s attention. Caleniel looked around, wondering what was taking Prince Thranduil so long to arrive. He usually would have escorted her to these types of functions but tonight he had had duties that lasted late and she had insisted she was fine with meeting him here. However, she was now bored.

Not long after she’d entertained this thought and had another two sips of the wine, the doors opened and Thranduil made his grand entrance. She smirked slightly as she watched him stride in, head held high, donned in the most glorious robes she had ever seen on him. She swore he had a better clothing collection than she did. His hair fell down his shoulders and across his broad chest, unbound as usual, and he wore an intricate silver circlet on his head.

Caleniel looked around at all the elleths who were eyeing the prince from the side of the room as he entered, batting their long beautiful lashes as she could see them wishing for his attention. If he so much as spared them the minutest of glances, Caleniel knew that they would probably almost faint right on the spot. The idea made her want to roll her eyes. It was absurd and she knew that Thranduil wasn’t the type of ellon to fall for that sort of thing. Thranduil was gorgeous but he was not skin deep. Caleniel knew that he would prefer a partner he could connect with on a deeper level, someone who challenged him, and none of these elves had captured his attention. Still, she wondered when one would... and promptly shoved the thought down viciously, a flash of jealousy flickering through her.

Thranduil’s gaze found her in the crowd and he made a direct beeline towards her, smiling as he came up beside her. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You look handsome.” Caleniel returned the compliment with a little bow, chuckling. As usual. This, she refused to say out loud, knowing it would only furiously stoke his already huge ego and she often liked to refuse him that satisfaction.

Thranduil got himself some wine, drinking in gulps that had Caleniel eyeing him with amusement. “Are you so bored of my company already that you wish to get blind drunk?”

Thranduil smirked at her, raising his eyebrows as he watched her over the glass. “Mhm. Perhaps.”

Caleniel faked a look of shock and gently smacked his arm. “Rude. You wound me, my lord.”

Oropher was watching, as was Algar. The two of them had been pushing Caleniel and Thranduil together for many years now, though it hadn’t taken much work on their part. Their children had become great friends by themselves, meshing well together, though nothing romantic seemed to have come from it... however, the two fathers saw that the feelings were there. Thranduil and Caleniel were simply dancing around it, as though they didn’t look at each other that way, but it was obvious to almost everyone who saw the two together. For a time now, Oropher had taken to setting the two up for feasts and festivals and the like. He wanted his son to be happy and be with an elleth whom he loved, who would be good for him. Caleniel was a Sindar elf from a good family and the two were close and already worked well together - she was perfect. It was taking longer than he had thought, however, and he wondered if perhaps he had been mistaken. Still, he was patient, he would continue to let this play out and he would allow the pieces to fall where they may.

Caleniel and Thranduil talked and laughed the night away. Thranduil eventually led her to the dance floor and twirled her around as everybody watched. They moved together like a waterfall, perfectly and fluidly in step. Oropher didn’t miss the looks of longing and jealousy from elleth and ellon alike as the couple danced, looking at each other like they were the only two in the room. The music stopped and the food was served, and things began to wind down. After dinner Thranduil pulled Caleniel to a balcony. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, and all he could think was that she looked so beautiful like that.

The two of them were silent for a while, simply looking up at the stars in the sky above them, and smiling every time they made eye contact. Caleniel eventually glanced over her shoulder as she finished her wine, catching sight of Oropher and her father both turning their heads away, though she could have sworn they had been watching the two of them. She frowned softly, tilting her head in mild confusion. She knew that Oropher tended to insist that she accompanied Thranduil to these events but she had never really been able to figure out why he was so keen on it. Surely he could make it so that his son could dance with any elleth he chose, surely he would want him to some day pick a future queen... she wondered when it would end, when his father would decide it was time, and she couldn’t help the bitter feeling that fluttered in her stomach. She was distantly aware how much it would hurt when it happened and she found herself feeling slightly irked with Oropher for this. “Why is it always us... who has to play a couple?” She mused out loud, not even truly meaning to.

The soft smile on Thranduil’s face twisted into a smirk as he heard her. He had long ago figured out his father’s scheme to get him and Caleniel together properly but he hadn’t been planning to push it. He was content with things continuing as they were for however long they would. He wasn’t truly sure if Caleniel looked at him that way... though he certainly hoped so. Being quite drunk by this point seemed to loosen his tongue as she turned her gaze back up to his own. “Maybe they sense our unresolved sexual tension and want to help out.”

Caleniel’s eyes widened just briefly as she met Thranduil’s gaze, not having expected anything of the sort to pass his lips. Her eyebrows rose as she scanned his face and her lips turned up into a smirk to rival his own. “Is that so?”

“Indeed.” Thranduil’s voice was low as he looked back at her, gaze darkening just slightly. A silence blanketed the two as they stood there, suddenly in a snowglobe of their own making, the party completely forgotten. His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth as her tongue flicked out across her bottom lip. Then he leaned, closing the distance between them, and pulled her into their very first, long overdue, kiss.

From the ballroom, Oropher and Algar raised their glasses in a silent cheer, nudging each other as they grinned in victory. Better late than never.

[yaminerua]

A little hurried because I have to get a bunch of other stuff done tonight but it's done;; I have no medical knowledge lmao

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Today's prompt was Injured, and boy is that an easy thing to be when your ship's prone to getting pursued by hostile enemies

Words: 2942

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Lister would die one day. It was an undisputed fact, an inevitable, cold, hard truth of the universe. Lister knew it. Cat and Kryten knew it. Rimmer knew it. Hell, he frequently cracked jokes about it at every chance he got, making light of it all. Hardly a day could go by without him commenting on Lister’s shoddy self-care (or lack thereof) and atrocious diet and waxing lyrical about the catastrophic cardiac event that would one day put an end to a lifetime spent drowning in beer milkshakes and curry sauce and tobacco.

It was an established fact at this point, though, that when Lister died, Rimmer would too. It was just the nature of their relationship. Rimmer had been brought back for the sole purpose of keeping Lister from losing his mind to the soul-crushing loneliness of being the last of his kind, the only human heart left beating at the edge of existence. It stood to reason that once Lister was gone Rimmer’s reason for existing would be gone too and their lights would flicker out together, whether Rimmer wanted them to or not.

It wasn’t something he liked to think about. He had already died once, over 3 million years ago when he had been barely into his thirties, from an accident that he had had an unintentional hand in causing. As far as he was concerned he didn’t want to have to ponder the uncomfortable reality of having to die again someday, just because Lister had to go and be fragile and mortal and human.

It was an uncomfortable truth and Rimmer coped with the existential dread and creeping unease of it all by dragging Lister down into the misery with him. Maybe if he kept reminding him how deeply unpleasant his fated heart attack would be one day, he’d think about trying to do something to delay it as long as possible. Fear was, generally speaking, a fairly effective deterrent for most things, and a pretty powerful motivator for others. It was just unfortunate that Lister seemed to be immune to its effects. It was either that or the apathy had set in early and he just didn’t give a smeg anymore.

The important thing was that Lister’s inevitable, natural demise was largely, thankfully, a future problem, something he could safely just brush aside and not have to think about in the here and now, a bridge he would only have to confront the idea of crossing when he finally got to it in maybe another thirty or forty years. It was far off, distant, not an imminently pressing concern and therefore something Rimmer could quite happily poke fun at in the meantime and continue to avoid having to ponder too deeply.

Unfortunately, there were plenty of other ways to die, and although physical health and wellbeing were something that could be monitored and – to a certain extent – controlled and managed, there were other things out there that were far less predictable and far harder to account for.

Starbug lurched violently to the side as a blinding flash of light filled the cockpit, a thunderous boom crashing somewhere in the back, rocking the entire vessel and nearly throwing its inhabitants right out of their seats.

Hands splayed out bracingly over the navigation console, gripping on for dear life, Dave Lister huffed out a startled, hurried breath and straightened up in his seat, eyes wildly searching the various screens and scanners for a read out on what on Earth had just happened.

“What the smeg was that?” he cried, flicking switches to silence the emergency alarms that were blaring aggressively in his face from seemingly all sides.

In the back of the cockpit, Kryten quickly surveyed a screen to his right, a grave look of dismay on his robotic features. “We’ve been hit, sir,” he said.

Well, that much was obvious but Lister wasn’t going to be the one to say it. “What by? Who are they?” he asked, peering out into the vast expanse of space in front of them, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of their pursuers. “What do they want?”

“Let’s just hope it’s not Listy’s in-laws looking to put the death in ‘til death do us part’,” Rimmer sneered grimly behind him, his face pale and strained, adam’s apple bobbing with anxiety.

“Ha ha. Very funny, Rimmer,” Lister bit back flatly, though there was a nervous edge to his tone that belied his true feelings on the matter. He really hoped Rimmer was wrong. “Kryten? Any clues?”

“A simulant ship from the looks of things, sir. It was probably waiting for someone to approach the nearby derelict.”

“Gotcha. Any damage from that last hit?”

“Just superficial for now, sir, but we’d best shake them off before they can do any worse.”

“With you all the way on that one, Krytes,” Lister nodded and then glanced to his right. “Cat—”

“Already on it, bud,” Cat cut in, inputting the commands necessary to give Starbug a fighting chance at escaping. “Engaging re-heat right now,”

“Okay. Rimmer, keep an eye out for anything incoming. Kryten’s right,” Lister said, shaking the tension out of his shoulders and flexing his fingers on the controls. “We don’t want to risk any direct hits.”

Rimmer nodded grimly and swallowed hard, his gaze fixed nervously on the screens, jaw tense and mouth drawn taut. “Why does no-one ever accept a good old fashioned surrender these days?” he muttered bitterly. “The sooner we shake them off the better.”

A few deceptively quiet moments passed wherein nothing of note seemed to happen, which only served to worsen the burgeoning anxiety over the situation waiting apprehensively for whatever the next move would be. It was something akin to the deeply unsettling quiet before an oncoming storm. The simulant ship was a small but agile vessel, looming somewhere behind on the starboard side, dipping in and out of view so frequently Rimmer was having to constantly switch between different display readouts to keep track of it.

According to Kryten there was a suitably large debris field from the nearby derelict ship they had been planning to investigate that might be able to provide them some cover long enough to give them a chance to formulate a better plan of evasion so Cat and Lister were easing Starbug round to make directly for it, fingers ready to swerve out of danger at the slightest indication of it.

To a certain extent they were somewhat used to this by now. They had escaped from GELFs and simulants multiple times in the past so there was a wealth of experience there to draw upon but it never quite stopped the roiling dread from stirring itself up into a tempest in their guts. Every encounter had an element of unpredictability about it and relied strongly on a discomfiting mix of skill and luck. Luck may have been on their side up til now but there was always a risk that one day it might run out.

On the scanners, the simulant ship suddenly veered sharply to the side and disappeared. “Smeg,” Rimmer cursed, flicking frantically through all displays in search of it. “I’ve lost visual on it. Kryten?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost them too, sir. They’re probably preparing to—”

The whole ship quaked as a second blast hit out of nowhere, the navigation console sparking dangerously with the energy surge the shock sent through the system. Above them, a panel fell loose and dangled freely over Lister’s head, held on by little more than wires.

“The whole place is gonna fall apart on its own before we even take a third hit,” the Cat cried, attempting to steer away from their current trajectory and out of lock-on range. “We’re deader than crocs and those things never should’ve existed in the first place!”

“Easy, Cat, man,” Lister said, holding a hand out, trying to steady both the Cat’s nerves and his own. “We’ve got out of bigger scrapes than this. Just keep evadin’ them. I have to sort this.”

Standing up, he grabbed hold of the loose panel and tried to reaffix it back in place. Behind him Rimmer rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, leave the smegging thing, Lister!” he snapped. “You can fix it later when we’re not at risk of becoming space mince.”

“It’ll just take a second, Rimmer, don’t be so—”

BOOM!

A third, far more powerful hit rocked the ship, throwing Lister violently off balance. He jerked forwards, unable to steady himself, his head colliding sharply with the solid metal of the overhead console unit before falling backwards, his body falling heavily, limply over the back of Rimmer’s navigation station.

“Lister?” Rimmer cried out in alarm, a sickening, bottomless feeling opening up in his gut as Lister failed to immediately respond.

“Mister Lister, sir?” came Kryten’s concerned voice to his right but Rimmer could hardly hear him, the blaring alarms of Starbug beginning to fade into distant, crackling static.

 His eyes were fixed, wide open and horrified, on a weeping gash on Lister’s forehead, thick rivulets of dark crimson flowing steadily out from it and trickling alarmingly down over his unresponsive face.

Lister was hurt. Lister was bleeding.

Rimmer couldn’t breathe. Tension had gripped his chest, cold and tight, and even though he didn’t necessarily need to breathe anymore, the pressure that was rapidly building in his simulated lungs felt about as realistic as if he did.

Starbug had all but faded into nothingness around him now, little more than a hazy blur of flashing lights and undefined shapes. There was a hollow ringing in his ears, high-pitched and piercing, and anything else that might have been going on had become muffled, as though his head had been stuffed full of cotton. It felt a little bit like passing out but without the unconsciousness.

The only thing that remained in crystal clear focus was Lister. The only thing that mattered—

“…sir! Mister Rimmer, sir!”

“What?” Rimmer blinked, startled back to reality by a hand clamping down on his shoulder.

He felt unmoored, faraway, a strange wobbly tremor running through his whole body, anxiety thrumming under his skin like electricity. He didn’t really feel like he was piloting his own body.

He dragged his eyes away from Lister’s unconscious body to stare, panicked, into Kryten’s gravely serious face.

“I said you need to get Mister Lister to the Medical Bay,” Kryten said, a detectable note of concern evident in his voice. “I’ll fill in for him here and see if myself and Mister Cat can’t navigate ourselves out of this sticky situation.”

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up on that one, bud…” the Cat muttered anxiously, tilting the joystick in his hands in fervent hope that it would steer them away from danger. “My nostril hairs can only do so much to help figure out where these dudes are at. It’s gonna take a miracle to get outta this one.”

“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic, sir!” Kryten insisted, manoeuvring himself round to the front and hooking an arm underneath Lister’s frame. “We’ll be fine. Mister Rimmer, sir, a little help?”

“Oh, right.”

Feeling decidedly detached and a little unsteady, Rimmer shakily got to his feet and hurried round to assist Kryten in lifting Lister up and away from where he had collapsed across the navigation console. Little by little he felt that he was coming back to himself, immobilising fear giving way to a distressed, frenzied rush of adrenaline bringing the rest of Starbug back into sobering sharp focus. As Rimmer shifted to take the full brunt of Lister’s dead weight, Kryten let go and slipped past him, sitting himself down heavily in the vacant seat and taking hold of the controls.

Rimmer was thankful his hard-light drive granted him slightly more physical strength than he would have had otherwise but even so he did not appreciate having to drag Lister by himself out of the cockpit and down into the medical unit. Even under perfectly normal circumstances doing that would have been difficult but doing so while Starbug was being buffeted by enemy fire and swerving sharply to perform evasive manoeuvres only made it harder. The relentless tilting was enough to make even the hardiest stomach feel seasick and the lack of consistent balance nearly had him topple over onto the central table and chairs at one particularly jarring impact quake.

By some miracle, Starbug was still holding itself together by the time he made it to the medibay and after one particularly strenuous heave to get Lister up on the medical table and safely secured Rimmer had to lean heavily against the wall to gather back his breath and steady his nerves.

Looking down at his hands, he found them trembling slightly, the sight of dark red blood smeared across his fingertips an unwelcome reminder of just what was at stake here. Lister’s face didn’t look any better, the wound on his forehead still leaking steadily, the deep crimson meandering down the curves of his face making him look worryingly pale under the medibay’s harsh lights.

Never had Lister’s fragile humanity seemed more stark and obvious than now, when all the bravado and self-assured confidence and untameable vitality was stripped back to reveal the vulnerable mortal body it masqueraded around in. It made Rimmer feel overwhelmed with a sense of aching helplessness.

Checking Lister over as quickly and comprehensively as he could, given the circumstances, he was relieved to find that he was still breathing, that his heart was still beating, that at least for now he was alive and still maybe had a fighting chance at survival.

As another violent swerve tilted the ship, Rimmer grabbed hold of the bar at the back of the medical table and hooked his arm tightly around it to stabilise himself in the event of another hit. With his other hand he pressed the palm firmly against the gash and applied pressure, hoping at least to get the bleeding under control. The medicomp was still performing a more in-depth scan so the full extent of Lister’s injuries for the moment remained to be seen but Rimmer hoped fervently, prayed to whatever god there might be out there – whether he believed in it or not – that it wouldn’t be serious, that it was nothing more than a superficial flesh wound. Head injuries always bled heavily, after all. They always tended to look worse than they might actually be. Maybe this would just be like that. For Lister’s sake (for his own sake, of course, how could he forget?) he hoped it would be.

He didn’t want to think about the alternative.

It felt like he was standing braced like that for an eternity. Lister’s head was warm under his palm, which was a tremendously reassuring comfort, and when he finally peeled his hand away to check if the wound had stopped bleeding he was utterly relieved to find that it had.

The quaking of the ship had largely stopped now and the sound of the engines had died down to a quieter rumble, which to Rimmer’s mind suggested that they had managed to get away somehow. He breathed a tentative sigh, not letting his guard down quite yet until he heard news from the cockpit but the encouraging quiet did allow him to loosen the crushing grip he’d had on the examination table and straighten up a tad.

With a little more stability, he was able to properly assess the medicomp’s readouts and relax a little at the assurance that Lister would likely only come away from this with something of a concussion and a treatable head would. Lady Luck was still smiling down on humanity’s last stubborn survivor, for now at least.

Free to move around now, he quickly located some supplies and proceeded to carefully clean the blood from his hands and from Lister’s face, careful not to aggravate the wound as he did so.

He wasn’t sure if it was just because he wasn’t bleeding profusely from his head anymore but Rimmer swore that a little colour had started to return to Lister’s complexion. It now actually looked like he was going to be alright and the immense rush of relief that Rimmer felt flooding through him at that realisation was almost enough to floor him, all that frenzied, anxious energy threatening to drain away through the soles of his feet all at once and render him an exhausted but deeply relieved husk of a man.

The hand that had been dabbing away the blood hovered, just for a moment before he retracted it, over Lister’s left cheek, the backs of his fingers lightly grazing the skin before a pulse of something strange and fluttery flared alarmingly in Rimmer’s chest and prompted him to quickly pull it away.

It was self-preservation, he told himself firmly as he wrung his hands together nervously, anxiously,  waves of some unfamiliar, strange emotion washing over him, setting off the frantic, rapid beating of his heart again. Self-preservation – nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t mean he cared about Lister on a personal level, on any level at all! It was just a means of survival. He had to give a smeg about keeping Lister alive because it kept himself alive by extension. That was all it was. That was all…

As he looked down at Lister’s face he tried, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time, to suppress that pestering little voice in his mind that told him that that wasn’t all it was, and that he knew it.

[alreadyblondenow]

A not so Cinderella story

“I’m the only one in this room that knows you don’t have panties underneath this beautiful dress”

Pairing: football play! Jeno Lee x female cheerleader! reader

Genre: SMUT, FLUFF, enemies to lovers

WC: 4,507k

Warnings: mentions of food, as requested the reader here is a cheerleader so the character is fit. Please dont come at me. Public oral sex (female receiving) (inside school classroom), swearing, unprotected sex, mentions of rough sex, the sex was just inspired by Diggity Jeno hahaha, a lot of cliché moments here, mentions of bruises and dislocated bones (bc athletes) NOTHING DESCRIPTIVE IT WAS JUST MENTIONED

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD. I’ll fix it once I get my internet connection back. Part of Request Party. Also Jeno has been wrecking me lately.

—————

Peanut butter and jelly. That’s the perfect way to describe you and Lee Jeno.

The famous sandwich is known with its unbalancing tastes of flavors where the tastes of peanut butter and jam always fights in your mouth, but that’s what makes it so delicious. Something so unfit, unbalanced, contradicts, but still they’re better together. And just like the sandwich, you and Jeno are two different mixing flavors.

As the captain of the football team, and you as the captain of the squad, people around you expect that you ‘mix’ well with each other to the point that they expect you to be dating by this time.

“Nope. Not gonna happen. I hate him, he hates me. Let’s just accept that,” you whine to your friends as they ask you to take Jeno as your date for the dance this weekend. “It’s an exciting masquerade party, please let me enjoy my night without that dick ruining it,”

“And speaking of Jeno’s dick. Look at the size of that... Mmm,” one of your friends said and pointed to the side of the field where the football team are practicing and Lee Jeno’s shorts are just... so thin that his big dick is obvious.

“RIP to that pussy he’s fucking after dance...” another one comments.

“Okay, continue your drooling after practice. I need your full attention now. Let’s go! Move your asses!”

And just like that the captain in you is out in no time, earning respect from your friends and even impressing the guys from the football team. Of course everyone admired your leadership, skills and well... hot body. That’s why Jeno’s focus is nowhere to found the moment he heard you shouting from across the field and seeing your nice ass and-

“You can always say that you like her,” Jaemin disturbs Jeno’s thoughts with heavy breathing, sweating handsomely and waving at the students who calls him.

“Yeah, It’s not that simple,” Jeno said.

“Psh. Of course it is. HEY Y/N!!!! JENO SAYS YOU’RE SEXY!”

Jeno’s eyes went big and tried stopping Jaemin but its too late. You heard him already. Everyone, heard him.

“Stop staring at my ass Jeno, go back to practice” you said sternly and rolled your eyes at him. That was hot, Jeno thought.

You see, just like peanut butter and Jelly, you’re two different amazing beings. Each has unique personalities and charm, but you can’t see the good things in Jeno because you’re always blinded by his cocky attitude. But for Jeno, whenever you’re mad at him, annoyed to the core or whenever you talk back at him, he always finds it sexy. Until one day he fell for you, by just looking at you long and hard one perfect afternoon at the cafeteria while you’re busy reading something.

As the school dance commence and everyone had unique masks on their faces tonight, to be honest you quite enjoy it because somehow you feel invisible. You don’t feel popular and people are just so comfortable with talking to you, not knowing that you’re Y/n. And the only people who knew it was you was of course your friends, and you are having a great time.

“She’s the one wearing a white ball gown,” Jaemin whispers to Jeno under the loud party music and howling teenagers, “you owe me captain, it’s not that easy to make her friends talk,”

“Psh. Of course it is, you’re Na Jaemin,” Jeno pats his friend’s shoulder as a thanks and walked towards you with a smile in his face. Confident that you won’t shoo him away because you don’t know that he’s Jeno.

“Looks like I found my princess,” he said with all his might. Looking so handsome and perfect even with his mask on. You can’t help but accept the compliment and flirt back. So you turned towards him, flashing a big and excited smile and so thrilled that someone finally had the guts to call you princess.

“I thought you’d never show up! Now, dance with me!” you reached for his hand and the masked prince immediately twirled you.

Everything was suddenly beyond perfect that you felt like every second was a beautiful well written scene in a fairytale book.

It’s the way he holds you while dancing, telling you the right words that goes straight to your heart and immediately give you a smile. A kind of smile that only the right person can give you. But of course, you don’t know that yet.

As the night became even more perfect for the two of you, not knowing each other’s names just makes everything more thrilling and interesting but you promised to each other to stay true to each other when the clock strikes midnight and everyone has to take off their masks.

And to maximize the fun, you and Jeno ended up making out in one of the empty classrooms while everyone is busy dancing and enjoying the program. And by the way, it was a passionate kiss, not like those innocent kissing-a-stranger type of kiss that you see in movies. You both didn’t care at that moment whether you know each other or not.

“Fuck- I have to go back before midnight, I kind of... have an important duty during the event,” you said. Careful not to tell him that the captain of the cheerleading squad is needed to crown the voted prom queen.

“Understood,” Jeno says because he is the one crowning the voted prom king. “Does your lips always tastes sweet?” he asked with a very sexy tone, lifting you effortlessly with his incredible strength and making you sit on the desk. He reaches dow to your dress and went under it, completely startling you with the way he holds your thighs and kiss your knee, inner thighs, until he reaches your clothed pussy. Kissing the wet center and drownig with the feeling of his tongue shamelessly ruining your panties.

Bravely, Jeno removed your panties without breaking the soft kisses he’s giving you, putting your panties straight in his pocket for safe keeping and to make sure that you have no choice but to go back to him after midnight.

“Oh fuck-“ you moaned softly, covering your own mouth while the man in between your legs is giving you kitten licks on your pussy but intensifying everything when he spread your folds and focused on your clit. Licking it fast and kissing it like it it was your lips. It was unbearable, and this time two hands are covering your mouth to muffle you moans because you knew that what you’re doing right now can jeopardize your cheerleading career.

“Close- ooh, fuck. Right there please, faster. Ahh!”

You don’t know but Jeno is smiling right now, happy and contented that he get to do this with you. And in a matter of seconds, your legs are shaking and wanting to be closed so bad, but Jeno is giving you oral like he had never licked a pussy in a year and stopped your legs from closing to torture you further with his tongue.

Then suddenly, you heard your name being called and you made Jeno stop and quickly went down from the desks with weak legs, not having any other choice but to face everyone even after having a nice orgasm just a few minutes earlier.

You feel sorry for your prince of course because you literally kicked him and bolted away without any other words, not even a smile.

“Sorry I’m late, I was in the comfort room handling my tummy ache,” you cleared your throat and did what you had to do. A few minutes later, Jeno is now crowing the voted prom king and you didn’t bother looking at him because you knew he will look so handsome tonight. So you just stood there in the corner of the stage focusing on your weak legs, and feel Jeno stood beside you afterwards. Watching the the prom king and queen dance at the corner, both with tired smile and hearts yearning to be with each other again, suddenly Jeno spoke to you.

“I’m the only one in this room that knows you don’t have panties underneath this beautiful dress” he whispered beside you with a small smirk that only you can notice.

And the moment you lift your head to face him, you see you le prince.

Jeno is your prince. The prince who just gave you a mind blowing orgasm just a few minutes back.

“Lee Jeno- what the fuck. What have you done,” you said quietly, trying to control your reactions in front of the entire school.

“Date me and I’ll give it back to you”

“No thanks, you can keep it- just please dont tell anyone what happened to us.”

And just like that both of your happy endings are cancelled for the night. He felt broken, you felt guilty. But he can’t just finish this night without a fight.

“Fine. At least let me drive you home” he said bitterly.

“Fine”

The drive was quiet as expected. No one saw you get inside Jeno’s car, you made sure of it. To be honest you wanted to apologize to him for the kick earlier, but you figured it will make everything even more awkward. So forget it.

When he had finally pulled in front of your house, neither of you started moving as if you didn’t want this night to end badly than it already is.

“I had a great time...” you started, hoping that it’s okay to even say ‘thank you’

“Can’t you see that I’m trying my best here?” he said and it turned quiet again, “I like you Y/n,”

“Are you sure?” Are the only words that came out from you.

“A hundred percent sure. If you don’t let me date you even just for a short period of time to prove my feelings to you... I might cry while driving home,”

“And that’s fucking dangerous. Okay okay,” you were panicking at this moment “I accept your offer. Please, just drive safe. You’re making me nervous,”

Jeno smiled from ear to ear upon hearing your decision. Even though you didn’t actually accepted his offer because you wanted to date him too,it’s fine. Jeno is willing to work hard for you.

Day after day Jeno ask you if you’re free for the most awaited date but you try so hard to avoid him. It was not easy to hide your ‘relationship’ and to be honest it’s starting to annoy you.

One awful day after practice, it was the weekend and only the squad and the football team is in campus for practice. It was a tough and ugly day, so you decided to wait for everyone to finish showering before you start cleaning yourself.

The water was nice and the warm feeling of the showers just relaxes you to the max and enjoy the running water. You take this opportunity to sort out your thoughts...but someone disturbed your peace again.

You feel him hold you by the waist and encircle his arms around it, head rests by the crook of your neck and even by just feeling his embrace, you knew that Jeno is tired too. That he had a bad day too and you didn’t want to make things worst for the both of you.

“The door was open, I locked it for you” he said quietly. The tiredness was even obvious through the way he speaks.

And knowing that Jeno is using you to comfort himself, you just let him do what he wants as a way to give back to the comfort and company that he’s giving you now.

Wet kisses were place on your shoulder and neck, his strong arms kept you close to him until your ass is so close to his cock that it’s poking your ass cheeks but you just let it be. To be honest you love the feeling of what’s happening now, you feel so close to Jeno just like the night during the dance.

You turned around to face him, only to find his face full of dirt from practice, exhausted expression and silence. He was never silent when he’s around you, and that’s how you confirmed that it was indeed a bad day.

“Want to talk about it?” You offered and Jeno just rests his forehead on yours, letting the water run through your naked bodies. Hands all over each other, no funny business just providing comfort. You took initiative to clean his face with your soap and pour shampoo on his hair, washing it gently as he lets you do what you want.

And finally, you see a hint of smile from his face and you cant help but to smile back.

You didn’t do anything stupid in the showers with Jeno, you just literally had shower with him while he keeps you close but it felt that you did something so intimate together. Like a couple who passionately had sex in bed.

After cleaning yourselves Jeno reached for your towel and wrapped you nicely, looking at your boobs without feeling ashamed because you’re looking at his cock too. If it was a normal day, you’d have sex right then and there, but you both don’t want it as of the moment.

“Wait here don’t get dressed yet,” he said when you’re back in the locker rooms.

And when he came back still wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, he dropped on bended knee as if he’s going to propose. But instead of reaching for your hand he reached for your leg, and made you wear the underwear that he took from you during the dance. “I washed it myself,” he said and placed a quick soft kiss on your waist before he gets up.

It was a sweet gesture. Not normal, but it was sweet and you liked it. He got up, turned his back and left you to finish putting your clothes. You wonder if he’ll wait for you outside because truth be told you don’t want this to end yet.

After you finish drying your hair and making yourself decent again, hoping that someone is waiting for you outside already. You saw Jeno waiting for you outside the school beside his car, looking so handsome on fresh new clothes with the cutest smile. Of course he waited.

“How was your day?” he finally asked you.

“Bad,” you answered and took a big bite on your hotdog sandwich. “I pushed my team so hard today that everyone just hated me during practice,”

“Same thing happened to me, me and Haechan almost got into a fight in the middle of practice earlier. I guess this what happens when we don’t practice at the same place,” he joked but his intentions were cute. “I’m not sure if were going to win this season. If we don’t, I would have to wave goodbye to my dream college”

“Jeno, we’re aiming at the same college, and knowing what they look for an athlete, it’s impossible that you won’t get scouted. I mean, you’re the reason why we keep winning. College football is no joke, so hang in there just do your best”

“College cheerleading is no joke either, you have to get in for me. I’m not taking cheers from a stranger it had to be you,” he made you giggle and let out small laughs that echoes around his car. You just nod at him and wiped the ketchup from his lips.

“Thank you and I’m sorry I’m always an asshole when it comes to you,” you said perfectly ruining the mood but Jeno did not let that happen.

“And for someone who used to hate each other, we sure are better when we work together,” he said, leaning closer to you for a kiss that you didn’t avoid. “Watch me win you fair and square,”

You smiled at what he said and returned the kiss to shut him up. And the next thing you know, you’re making out with Lee Jeno in his car in the middle of an empty fast food parking lot.

“You’re the first boy I ever kissed, Jeno, and I want you to be the last.... I mean you’re the first sincere kiss-“

“I get it, I get it,” he said and continue kissing you again.

After that fateful day, you’ve been each other’s rocks and support system. Meeting under the bleachers, showering last so you could shower in peace together after every weekend practice, and have secret dates whenever you want to. It was a beautiful time even though you’re not yet officially together. And that proper date he was meaning to give you, finally happened and you feel bad for avoiding this amazing moment to happen.

“Okay, I think we should stop” Jeno cut the kiss when you’re both getting too carried away. Knowing that his parents are away and you have the house all for yourselves just makes everything even more dangerous now. But instead of stopping you pushed him on his bed and went on top of him. Putting both of your legs on each of his sides and earning a cute giggle from him. “Alright, if this is what you wanted”

Jeno then traded places with you, putting you beneath him effortlessly and kissing every exposed skin he sees while slowly lifting your shirt and unclasping your bra effortlessly. Cupping your boobs and kneading them gently while he makes you crazy with his touch and the way his tongue swipes on your lips and dominates the kiss with that powerful tongue.

When he removed his shirt, you expected to see a very hot body, a perfectly sculpted abs, and his strong arms. You were prepared to see that. What you didn’t expect to see were the scars and bruises he got from practice and from his past games.

“Hey, don’t mind the scars. They don’t hurt anymore,” he reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. Even though his body was all ruined like this, he looks so happy in life and this current moment. You then realized that Jeno is more than football and his cocky attitude. He’s a man who loves the game and is willing to do everything for his dream.

And that.... fucking turned you on that you attacked him with kisses and quickly removed your pants, Jeno did the same with quick movements until you’re both wearing only your underwear and ready to do it for the first time. He was the first one to remove his boxers briefs and thats the time when you remember how your friends drooled over Jeno’s big dick. It was true.

And that’s going inside you. Every inch of that veiny, thick cock of Jeno.

He removed your panties next, kissing your legs as he swiftly pull it down you thighs and expose your pussy to him. Whispering sweet words, comforting and filthy ones to balance this beautiful moment. You smiled when he pulled away from kissing you and finally lining his cock to your entrance.

Pumping his cock in between your opened legs and in front of your wet pussy, he started to tease you with the tip of his thick cock. Up and down, Jeno made you feel how raw he’s going to fuck you tonight. He started kissing and touching your body, slowly pushing in your tight hole and stealing your breath away, making you breath so heavily and grip his strong shoulders as he oh so slowly put his entire cock inside you.

“Does it feel nice?” You struggled talking but you managed to let out decent words. He nodded and rolled his hips, making you both moan and hold each other tightly. That’s how nice Jeno feels around you.

He gave you a few gentle thrust, stretching you good so won’t get hurt when he starts fucking you hard. You watch his cock go in and out of your pussy, and you can’t help but feel proud that it fits perfectly. “I love seeing your smile,” he said when he caught you smiling. He kisses the top of your breast, softly and just making you feel crazy with his soft lips around your nipples. Suck it good and twirling his hot tongue around it until your nipples are hard and swollen.

You didn’t notice that he has been fucking and giving you harder and faster thrust that his bed is starting to creak so bad and your bodies are slightly bouncing from the mattress. The pleasure was so nice especially its you that he’s fucking now, that his mind just went blank and started kissing your breast wildly which made you part your lips and furrow your brows. You then reached for him because you can’t take the pleasure anymore and made him kiss your lips instead.

But just as you thought that the he will go slow, no. When his chest hit your breast, and you’re now bodies to bodies that he’s putting his entire weight on top of you, Jeno became wild again and pinned your legs on the mattress and started fucking you hard.

Thrust and thrust you feel the impact on every inch of your body, and feeling the sting and hurt on your cunt as he continues to fuck you so good and the pleasure did not stopped from there. He lifted your left leg, using your flexibility wisely and placing your leg on his shoulders, earning a kiss on your leg when he saw that you got excited with the new position.

Jeno went back to fucking you again, putting his left thumb on your clit to draw small circles while his other hand is holding your leg safely as he fucks you good again.

“Jeno- ahh! Fuck, not on the pill” you informed him with heavy breaths and delicious groans. Gripping his sheets tightly as you slowly feel your orgasm build up and made your toes curl. Pushing Jeno away and closing your legs immediately so could curl in a ball and enjoy your orgasm. You didn’t noticed that he came on your body the moment he pulled out, painting your skin with his hot and thick cum.

Suddenly it was quiet and only your heavy breaths can be heard.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized immediately and placed soft kisses on your shoulders while you still curl and shiver.

“No it’s perfectly fine,” you reached to him for a kiss and then Jeno proceeded to cleaning up his mess. Kissing your sensitive body while he wipes it and putting you both in the mood again for a second round, but stopped yourselves and just enjoy the night while you talk naked in his bed.

“Can you please play more safely? I see you go to the nurse’s wing every after game, but I never understood why until now. I though it’s just simple bruises.... and not, dislocated bones and-“ He cut you off with a soft giggle and caught him blushing like crazy. Who is this man? Is this really Lee Jeno? “What?” You added.

“Nothing. You’re just so cute when you worry for me. I remember back then you told me you wish I break my ankles during one of our morning practice because we had the field that day first,”

“Yeah... I’m sorry about that. You’re just so, annoying sometimes and I just hate you so much,” you gave him a hug as a sorry for what you said back then, which he gladly accepted and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“How about now? Do you still hate me now?” He squeezed you butt cheek to remind you of what happened earlier and how you loved every second of it.

“I most definitely, still hate you Jeno Lee” but of course, Jeno did not buy it and started kissing you again. Touching all the right places and whispering the right words. Until you two fucked again that night and he had to drive you home a little later that usual. This was the first night that you realized, you never wanted to be apart from Jeno.

“Y/n,” he called you just before you enter your house. You turned around to face him and gave him a sweet smile.

“Jeno Lee?”

“I love you,”

“I love you too,”

And just like that he made your heart jump again without any warning. Leaving you safely and driving away from you with both happy hearts.

When Jeno’s most awaited game finally came, by this time around you’re both still seeing each other secretly.

“There’s my favorite cheerleader,” he grabs you by the waist and admire you in your cheer uniform. You rolled your eyes at him and raked his long hair away from his face. Reminding him to play safely tonight.

“Win for this pussy,” you said with a smirk. You haven’t had sex with Jeno for some time now because he was so focused with practice and you think, tonight is just perfect.

But the handsome guy has something more in mind, “uh uh, Im winning for something else, this game is big I need a motivation,”

“Well, name it lover boy and I’m happy to give it,”

“Your heart. If we win this game we will be officially together and of course, the sex is just a bonus. What do you say? My place?” he’s waiting for an answer that will give him the energy that he will need all throughout the game.

You kissed him on the lips and encircled your arms around him and said, “Deal” then placed another one, “Now go win because I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else”

“You just had to set the bar high right before a game, huh?” He smirked and asked for another kiss. Completely transferring your balm to his soft, addicting lips.

Of course you and Jeno were excited and all for the thrill that night. The game wasn’t easy to win, but he worked hard inside the field while you worked hard outside the field, making sure that the people will have faith to Jeno until the end of the game, win or lose.

And speaking of win or lose, of course you’ll still make him your boyfriend after tonight. You just couldn’t let his heart break two times in one night.

But no worries, because as you wave your pompoms and screamed for Jeno’s name to take the winning shot, everyone celebrated with you.

“THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!!!” You shamelessly shouted and came running towards to Jeno together with the others and Jeno caught you in his strong arms and lifted you off the ground. Kissing you in front of everyone which made their jaws drop.

That night, you have never been so flirty around Jeno, and he had never been this sweet to you. Maybe, you two were just holding it in and now that nothing is stopping you, you’re ready to love each other with everything you got.

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[s-brant]

Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)

(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)

Summary: Hurricane Agatha approaches Kildare Island during the aftermath of the eventful Fourth of July party. JJ and Y/N are determined to continue avoiding each other after what happened at the party, but John B has other plans for them.

Warnings: Smut, strong language, angst, implied physical abuse, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, and sickeningly sweet fluff.

Word Count: 24k

A/N: Here we goooo! To celebrate the trailer dropping today, here’s part two to Devils Roll The Dice. If you haven’t read the first part, I suggest you read it and come back so this makes sense. This one has all the drama and spice, so buckle up! Thank you for the love and support on the first part. Let me know if you enjoyed this and have fun, cause I had a blast writing it.

Hurricane Agatha.

It was the first thing she heard about as soon as she woke up yesterday to the sound of her phone blaring with an obnoxious tone that reminds her of waking up too early in the morning for work or school.

Her sleepy eyes couldn't make out who was calling, so she pressed the button to answer and lifted the phone to hear her mom's voice squawking through the speaker at her about the hurricane projected to hit the island in the middle of the night tonight.

The problem is, her parents are out of town this week, leaving her all alone to prep the house and endure the storm alone. And for someone who flinches whenever she thinks she hears the sound of thunder in the sky, that is the worst it can get.

It's a fear her friends are conscious of. One time when they were out on the HMS Pogue, a quick summer storm started to drift overhead and it took all of her self control to not fall into a blind panic when thunder began to rumble above. John B was already steering them back in the direction of the Chateau but she knew it would do nothing to calm her nerves until she was back inside of the house.

The anxiety was starting to become too overwhelming when JJ sat down beside her and threw his arm over her shoulder. It was their first month of knowing one another, so the casual friendly gesture made her jump at first and turn her head to look at him, but he acted like everything was normal.

The next person to notice was John B. With JJ currently out of commission, the only person she thought to call to help her prep the house for the incoming storm was him. Since they never got hurricanes up where she used to live her whole life, she needed someone who's been through a couple to help her while her parents weren't home.

That's how she ended up here. Sweating bullets in the front yard of her house as she unloads the contents of the van with John B was not how she envisioned her Saturday night to go, but she's glad she has someone who's willing to help.

In the past five months of being with the Pogues, she's learned that it's lovely to have friends. She never used to have any before she moved, so in situations like this or when she got so drunk at the party, she never would've had anyone to be there for her. It's quiet moments of kindness and companionship like this that make her realize how much better life has been on the other side of uprooting everything to move here—self-inflicted boy drama and all.

The sandbag on her shoulder sends a growing ache through her back muscles with every step she takes to follow him up the length of unpaved dirt path up to her front door. As usual, he makes it look way easier than it is, and it almost makes her want to laugh at how different they are.

Most of her new friends are effortless, naturally picking up anything they decide to try at while she is inept by comparison. It's part of what attracted her to JJ in the first place. He may have his insecurities the same way every other individual does, but in her eyes, he has nothing to be insecure of. Even when he wipes out on a wave and appears out of the water with sand clumped in his salt-kissed strands of blonde hair, he manages to make it look cool.

"What are you smiling about?"

John B's laughter makes her look up from where she concentrated on the dirt path to see him looking back at her. He stands at the entrance to her house with the rest of the sandbags they carried up placed meticulously in front of the door to prevent water from entering the house. They did the same thing with the back door an hour ago.

Is she smiling? She hadn't even realized her expression changed from one of exhaustion and fear at the dark clouds closing in above to a grin, so her face instantly drops in guilt. After running out on JJ for the second time two days ago to go to work, any mention of him from their friends has left her drowning in shame.

She can't recall the bulk of her memories from the night of the Fourth of July party, but she fills in the gaps between those flashes of memory with what their friends told her about it.

Thanks to her overindulgence, there are holes poked in the fabric of her memory.

It jumps from her last fully sober moment of seeing JJ across the room with the kook girl to dancing clumsily with Kie to the floral scent of her makeup wipes that she can't attach a specific visual image to.

Then, she can remember waking up with a start in the middle of the night to throw up in a pot beside the bed while he held back her hair. Before John B explained it, she was quite confused after waking up about how she somehow got from being jealous over JJ flirting with another girl to waking up in the same bed as him.

She grunts as she plops the last sandbag down into place and decides to take a seat on the steps leading up to the door.

"It wasn't anything special," Y/N says and watches him come down to sit next to her, "I was just thinking about taking something so I can pass out and avoid having a panic attack over this stupid storm."

Unlike JJ, she isn't that skilled of a liar. It's obvious to anyone who knows her well when she does it based on the way her eye contact begins to drift away and her voice raises in pitch when she speaks. She's too honest with her friends to handle keeping secrets from them, which is why it's been so difficult for her with everything that has happened recently. Not only does she lie to the Pogues, she also avoids them by association in the process of trying to avoid JJ.

Regardless of how obvious her bluffing is, John B doesn't call her out on it. Instead, he focuses on a different part of what she said.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone? I know your parents are out of town till next week..." he trails off into concerned silence.

The tip of her sneaker hangs off of the edge of the bottom step and absentmindedly digs a line into the dirt as she takes in his question.

Being alone when she's prone to panicking is a recipe for disaster. Anxiety and loneliness have a relationship similar to that of a weapon and ammunition. It takes very little for her to fall down the rabbit hole of obsessive thinking and break down into a hyperventilating, fearful mess, especially when no one else is there to tug her out of those dark thoughts.

Most of the time, the people who help her with that are her parents. If they're home during one of these episodes, she'll come stumbling downstairs to them from her room for help, and they'll do everything they can to bring her down from hysterics. Her friends, on the other hand, have yet to witness her have one of those moments.

"Having people with me helps, you know? But it is what it is, I'll just try to cope the best I can and hope for the best."

He nods, and though he's a portrait of understanding, she wonders if he finds it as juvenile and stupid as she does.

Logically, she knows that this anxiety is something many people experience. She understands that it's something that is mostly out of her control but can't help but tear herself apart over it.

She thinks to herself, What kind of weirdo can't sit inside during a thunderstorm or hurricane without losing their shit? Why am I not the one in control of my own mind when this happens?

Do her friends think similar things? Do they think it's as pathetic as she does, or is she just paranoid that they pick her flaws apart as much as she does? And, of course, she wonders what JJ would think if he saw her panic like that. He may have seen her start to become anxious on the HMS Pogue, but he hasn't seen her panic panic before, not in the way that her parents have, and she wonders if he'd think less of her for it.

Right when she's about to change the topic and steer him away from a chance to think of how ridiculous she's being about the approaching hurricane, he says something that makes her look back over at him.

"Then come spend the night at the Chateau. I can distract you. We can play board games and shit."

"Really?" she asks.

The idea of anyone wanting to waste an entire night playing board games and possibly signing themselves up for having to talk her down from a panic attack makes her heart melt.

"Yeah, why not? You need a friend tonight. You know any of us would do anything for you. You're like my little sister, dude, we'd all probably hack off a limb if we thought it'd help you. Especially JJ."

John B's last second name-drop is designed specifically for where he wants this conversation to go. Underneath the need to get his friends back to normal, he does feel a little guilty for having to do this. She thinks he's only offering to let her stay with him to help her—and he is, even if there weren't a rift between her and JJ, he'd still offer—but he has a different reason.

"Right," she says softly. "Speaking of which...is he gonna be there tonight?"

With how often he escapes his house to spend a night or two in temporary safety at the Chateau, it's not an unfounded assumption. He and John B spend more time together than any of them because of this, and when she goes over to hang out, she knows that he and JJ often come as a package deal.

He tries to play it cool and not give up anything that could make her suspicious of him, looking off at the van parked in the driveway as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It's never easy for him to deceive people he cares about, even if it's for their own good. It wasn't easy when he invited JJ to spend the night a few hours ago with the knowledge that he'd soon invite Y/N too either, but he managed.

As always, Pope is the brains behind this operation. He was the one to suggest inviting them both over to wait out Agatha together when the three of them put their heads together to come up with a solution to their oblivious friends' drama. After JJ stormed out of the house the morning after the party, they knew they had to do something about it. This was what it came to.

"Nah. I offered but he said he's staying at home until this whole thing blows over."

He isn't sure why she buys into it.

She knows JJ well enough to know that he would literally rather eat glass than be trapped in a confined space with his dad for an entire day. Perhaps it's only because it's what she wants to believe. She wants to believe that she won't have to see him again tonight after everything that happened. How can she handle having to tell him why got so drunk that night and made an ass of herself? She can't bear to tell him all of that unnecessary drama started because she was jealous.

What right does she have to feel that way? He isn't hers. They aren't together, and she thinks it's quite obvious that he doesn't want a relationship out of whatever it is they have together. It was one night. She has no right to be mad at him for flirting with other girls because of it.

"Then I'll definitely be taking you up on that offer. Thank you," she says.

The old wooden stairs make a squealing sound when she stands to make her way inside to gather her things for the night, but the feeling of a warm hand gripping her forearm stops her mid-step. Her eyes follow down the length of her arm back to where he sits, glancing at her with this knowing look in his eyes that makes her want to turn and hide.

"When are you gonna talk things out with him, Y/N?" he asks. "He misses you."

Since the party, no one has had the courage to burst her bubble of pretending not to care until now, but now that someone has, all of her bottled up emotions stir inside of her at a simple concept she hadn't considered yet.

JJ misses her.

For the first time since they began this stupid game of cat and mouse, she is confronted with how desperately she misses him back. So consumed with the task of concealing everything that happened and trying to avoid him, she hadn't acknowledged that all she ever really wants is to be with him lately.

She misses his jokes and the way he looks at her when she giggles at them. She misses his smile when they play fight on the HMS Pogue. She even misses when he dangles her over the edge of the boat as a means to end the wrestling match, making her squirm in his strong hold as he threatens to toss her overboard.

But what she misses most of all is how he never lets her fall in. It's something about the way he looks at her as he pulls her back onboard, how time itself seems to stop in the moment between when he's still holding her and when she feels her feet touch the deck again.

Then, they'll suddenly want nothing to do with each other for the next half hour.

JJ will make himself busy forgetting the way her hands felt holding onto his shoulders for dear life, burning the memory of her palm prints into his skin for the next few hours. And she'll try her hardest to forget that charming smile and the feeling of his arms around her. But it won't work, not really, and when they're both laying down to sleep at night, they'll have one thing keeping them awake.

She takes a second to internalize what he said and avoid exposing the effect it has on her to hear it before asking, "Did he tell you that?"

The sky overhead grows darker and darker by the second, but she has yet to notice it due to the topic of their conversation. With JJ involved, her attention shrinks to a tunnel leading only to him. There's no room for anything else but the audacious idea planted in the back of her mind that he might miss her as much as she misses him.

"No, he didn't," John B admits, and right when she's about to say more in response, he cuts her off, "but hear me out. I've known him since we were kids, so I can tell when things aren't right with him, and ever since your relationship with him got complicated, I picked up on some weird vibes."

Y/N doesn't give anything away with how she reacts. He can't tell if she's about to bolt like JJ did or stay to talk and open up to him. All she does is cross her arms over her chest and lean back against the railing.

"Weird in what way?"

"Weird in a way that makes me think you two have to talk it out before you ruin your friendship. I've never seen him act this way over a girl."

That doesn't surprise her. He has a reputation for chasing after any girl available to him, something the Pogues have gently teased him about, and it factors into why she doesn't want to have this dreaded conversation with him. She doesn't want to sit there and listen to him tell her that she was just another one of those girls to him.

Going for broke and being honest about what he thinks of their situation is a better strategy for trying to get her to talk to JJ than the other way around. John B can look back on what happened the morning after the party and see where they went wrong in their approach of trying to get him to talk, but she's less unpredictable and turbulent than he is. The fact that she's hearing him out is enough proof of their differences.

She sighs.

"I know we need to talk sooner or later, but it's hard, you know? I'm so embarrassed of how everything went down at the party, even though I was too fucked up to remember most of it, and I just—" There's a brief second that lapses between when she stops and when she starts again where he can almost see her working through it in her head. "I don't wanna get hurt."

John B's face falls at the mention of the party and her feelings surrounding it.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You drank too much but who cares? The only person who should be embarrassed about that night is the guy that tried to take advantage of you."

That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.

She can remember what led up to it and the moment she saw JJ pull him away from her, but she can't remember anything about the interaction itself. It wasn't as if he did anything to her—not yet—but the thought of it alone makes her skin crawl because she's seen that before. She's been the JJ in that situation, pulling a wasted Touron away from someone who thought nobody would be looking out for other people at the party, and she knows how quickly those situations can escalate past "harmless" flirting.

The sound of JJ shouting at Tyler echoes in her mind as she reaches for any remaining memories left from the party. He said it right after he punched him, when he was starting to rush forward to follow him onto the ground and pin him there.

"If I see you near my girl again, you're fucking dead! You got that?"

She doesn't remember realizing that he called her that at the moment. She was confused and upset and all she wanted to do was stop him from getting himself in trouble, so she pulled him away from hitting Tyler again without realizing what he said. And even now, she tries to avoid acknowledging it. She reasons with herself, telling herself that he was pissed off and didn't mean it, because if he did, why hasn't he told her how he feels yet?

Y/N looks up and sees how dark the converging clouds have gotten in the time since they began working on prepping the house for the hurricane, so her next words are shakier than usual.

"I guess you're right." She pushes off of her spot against the railing. "But can we not talk about JJ tonight? I kind of wanna hang out and forget about the rest of the stuff I've got going on right now."

This makes him feel a pang of guilt inside of him for the ulterior motive he's kept hidden from her for the duration of the conversation, but he knows it's for the best. Even if her and JJ's inevitable conversation goes in the wrong direction and they don't end up mending fences, it's better that they let it out sooner than later. If they wait any longer, it'll make it worse, and he knows that they're stubborn enough to keep this childish game going for another week or so.

So, he keeps her in the dark for now and offers a kind, "Sure, that's cool with me," despite knowing how messy the night will soon become.

A smile pokes at the edges of her mouth, making the sides of her eyes crinkle, and she extends a hand to help him up from where he sits.

"Now," she says as they make their way inside the house for her to pack a bag, "are you ready to get absolutely crushed in Monopoly?"

It started to rain before they left her house, and by the time they pull into the driveway of the Chateau, it's pouring down on them with violent winds whipping droplets at their faces hard enough to hurt.

The rapid pace of her pulse beats with such an intensity, she can feel it in her head. They shouldn't have taken so much time at her place before heading over here. While she was packing, they talked and dilly-dallied the whole time, and now they pay the price for it.

If she knew that it would start this soon into the night, she probably would've hurried things along sooner, but it's too late. She's already starting to feel that tightness in her chest and each breath of air feels less satisfying with every inhale. It's not so bad that she loses complete control of herself, but it's getting there, and she can't express how badly she doesn't want to lose her shit in front of John B.

The passenger side door is slammed shut by the force of the wind behind her, the noise becoming swallowed up in the rest of the budding storm, and she stifles a sound of surprise that escapes her in reaction to it. They're lucky they made it here in the first place. Any later in the night and they probably would've had to take refuge at her place until it blew over.

She decides to focus on how the edges of her white sneakers are swallowed up by the muddy earth on her way through the front yard to distract herself. It stains them a deep brown color and simultaneously washes them clean from the rain coming down from above, which she'd probably be annoyed about if she weren't such a nervous wreck. But, because she's too busy keeping her backpack raised over her head to shield herself from the rain on her way up to the front door, it's not high up on her list of priorities.

Since both the screen door and the door behind it are unlocked, she doesn't hesitate to come bursting into the house as she usually does.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, feeling that telltale tension in her chest and shoulders, and laughs at the sight of John B running in as she kicks off her shoes. His t-shirt is speckled with rainwater, and his hair is saturated enough with it to stick to the sides of his face after he crosses the threshold into the Chateau.

The sound of her laughter makes JJ's heart stop from where he stands in the kitchen.

"There was an umbrella right on the dashboard, why didn't you take—"

Her heart might as well have stopped just as abruptly as the sentence she was in the middle of saying when she turned and saw him standing there.

Maybe they're both a tad too dramatic, but it takes a full few seconds for them to stop staring at each other in surprise. He looks like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide with surprise like he was caught doing something he shouldn't even though all he was doing was grabbing a beer from the fridge.

It's been two days since they last saw each other. For him, the last glimpse he got of her was when he peeked through the blinds to see her pedaling away on her bike to go to work, but hers was somewhat different.

The last time she saw him, he was asleep. Their legs were tangled together underneath the sheets and his face was smushed against her chest, allowing her to feel the soft puffs of his exhales on her skin every few seconds. It's a wonder that she managed to slip away unnoticed once she remembered she had work that morning. He was holding her closely, so closely that she found it hard to discern where she ended and he began in the dazed, hungover headspace she woke up in.

It's when the conversation she had with John B on the front steps of her house comes back to the forefront of her mind that she puts together what's happening right now. Now that they're here, it's far too late to leave. With how aggressively the wind and rain batter the area surrounding the house, it's obvious that they're not going anywhere.

It seems to click with them at the same time, because JJ turns to look at him only a half second after she does.

Y/N says, completely serious, "If you did what I think you did, I'm gonna kill you."

Before either of them can think of doing anything, John B shoots out from the doorway and runs past her in the direction of the hallway where his bedroom is.

"Gotta catch me first!"

They both chase him, JJ hopping over the back of the couch to run after him, but they end up coming to a screeching halt at the shut door right when they hear the lock turn and click.

Neither of them knows what they were planning to do when they caught him, cause it isn't like they'd hurt him, but they bang on the door nonetheless. The sound is drowned out by the sound of the wind and rain pounding the outside walls of the house, picking up speed, and for a second she wants to kick the door open.

She shouts, "John B! Open this door!"

The last thing she wanted tonight was to be trapped in a house with the one person she didn't want to see. Doesn't John B realize how embarrassing it is for her to be around him when she knows that he's gonna reject her? He may have said something about JJ never acting so weird over a girl before, but he's wrong. There's no way JJ actually wants her...right?

"I can't hear you, this storm's kinda loud!" he yells back at them through the locked door. "Maybe try again later!"

Neither of them wants to acknowledge the other. In fact, they don't even want to look at each other right now, so all they can do to stop themselves from acknowledging the elephant in the room is continue trying to get answers out of John B. What does he think that locking them together in the Chateau for the night will accomplish other than make them ignore their own drama and team up to plot their revenge on him?

Though he's significantly less angry than she is, JJ pulls the doorknob enough to make the door whine on its hinges and pleads with their friend, "This isn't funny, John B. Open the door."

"Not until you guys stop being immature and talk to each other."

She furrows her brows at him even though he can't see her, saying, "It's none of your business. You can't just trap us here cause you think you know what's best for us."

The sound of thunder rumbling above the house makes her flinch, hand shooting out to latch onto JJ's arm on an instinct she couldn't consciously resist. Feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palm and the fingers clutched around his wrist sends shocks of familiar electricity up her body. Touching him always makes her feel hyperaware of herself, leaving her to wonder if he can sense her pulse picking up or notice how her breathing pattern turns uneven.

With that being said, it's safe to say that the night they spent together took that sensation of electricity and hyperawareness to a height it hadn't reached before.

That time, it wasn't a brush of their hands or an arm over her shoulder, it was the epitome of physical closeness. She couldn't handle it. He was so sickeningly sweet with her, yet, at the same time, he knew all of the right times to be commanding and in control too. There were awkward moments at first, sure, but once they became comfortable with each other, it was game over.

And whenever they've touched since, she hasn't been able to get those memories off of her mind. It's less prevalent now, since she's only holding onto him out of fear, but it's still there underneath it all—the unfiltered desperation of the lust in his eyes, the low noises that escaped his parted lips, and the strong pair of hands that pinned her hips down on the mattress to give him the leverage to really give it to her at the intensity she begged for.

It's pathetically easy for her to be sucked right back into the vortex of emotions, memories, and fears that haunt her whenever they touch, but he brings her back out of it just as easily when he speaks.

"You okay?"

John B was as good as forgotten by him as soon as he felt her jolt next to him and grab onto his wrist like she was hanging from a ravine and he was the only thing preventing her from falling. It makes him feel like a fool, but even when they're ignoring each other, the urge to comfort and protect her from anything that displeases her never disappears. He'd literally fistfight Zeus if it meant there'd be less thunder to scare her.

If he weren't hiding behind a locked door to avoid their wrath, JB would probably be calling him a simp right about now.

The concern on his face is so pure and unaffected by any of the chaos that surrounds them, both physical and emotional, that it makes her stomach turn with a sick feeling. God, he really does care about her. Why does that scare her? Why doesn't she want to believe that he cares? Why is she so set on believing that he wanted nothing more than a quick fuck from her?

Her eyes turn down to see their connected hands, realizing all in one moment what she did and pulling her hand away as if she were burned.

"I—Yeah," she stops, looking up at him, then back to the closed bedroom door, "I'm fine. You know how it is, it's just the storm."

They're both left with no choice but to face the music after days of avoidance that had no good reason behind it other than the respective doubts and fears they have. Yet even now that they're standing here, unsure of what comes next, they're hesitant to say or do anything that might disrupt the illusion they've created in the week and a half since they first ruined their friendship for good.

It feels as though the tension that has been boiling between them is coming close to turning explosive and all it will take is one tremor of their self-control for it to spill over.

Every feeling they have feels so contradictory. They want to but they also don't. They almost do it, then hesitate and decide to ignore each other for days. At the party, this tug of war game was at its peak for JJ when she was telling him about her jealousy and cuddling up to him, but he couldn't do it then, not when she was drunk. And by the time he had a whole night to think it over and see her biking away, he didn't want to risk it.

She looks away from him, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" may ring true for once, and says to John B through the door, "Whatever, have fun. I won't hold JJ back when you finally come out of there though."

He won't actually do anything to him, maybe just a non-serious fight that'll end with her walking in on them rolling around on the floor trying to wrestle each other, but she likes to fuck with him anyway. For the dick move he just pulled, she thinks he can withstand a little teasing.

Without anything else to say, Y/N turns and walks off to make herself useful elsewhere—anything to distract from the buzzing, anxious energy that surrounds her from both the hurricane and being forced to confront JJ. She tries to play it cool though she is anything but at the moment, allowing herself to grimace once her back is turned to the blonde boy still standing against the wall in the hallway.

Maybe if she keeps pushing this false sense of normalcy, it'll work. It worked when they both started pretending things never happened between them initially after they had sex, so who's to say it can't work now?

All they have to do is get through the next 12-24 hours without talking and all will be well. Right?

They tried.

They truly tried to get through the night without inciting chaos within the Chateau, but, for these two idiots, not inciting chaos is a task easier said than done. Not only was John B much more stubborn with staying in his room than either of them bargained for, he didn't even attempt to speak to them for the first five hours and they were left with nothing to do but find new ways to avoid talking to each other.

It was simple in the beginning.

She went off on her own and sat with her headphones in to drown out the sounds of the storm.

With her eyes fluttered shut to block out anything but the sound of The Cure blasting into her ears, there was no reason for her to have to worry about anything once her nerves began to settle. Since the songs drowned out any sound and all she could see was darkness behind her closed eyelids, she was able to drift away with the distraction of the music.

The thing is, after a while, she started to see pieces of him in every song she skipped to. She made it a full minute into Just Like Heaven before a supercut of her most treasured memories of him began appearing in her head. Fade Into You? Skipped as soon as the first dreamy lyric flooded in through the tangled cords of the headphones. Cloud 9? Forty seconds in. By the time Dirty Little Secret came on, she decided that her playlist was mocking her.

The headphones were out of her ears, hastily wrapped up, and stowed away in the small pocket of her overnight bag before the chorus of the song could hit. Thankfully for her, JJ wasn't looking when she ripped the headphones out and put them away in a huff, so by the time he turned to see her again, she was laying down on the couch to "nap"—meaning she laid awake for another hour and cursed John B for making her endure this.

While she was daydreaming of a John B voodoo doll, JJ was worried about her.

Yes, the topic of their relationship/friendship/situationship/whatever-the-fuck-it-is was bombarding him against his will every five seconds, but not without him coming back to his concern for her. A small sound of thunder on an otherwise perfect day was enough to make her zone out and start getting antsy that day on the boat, so he didn't want to know how bad it could get during a time like this.

He tried to play it cool, and, in all honesty, his remaining scraps of sanity lasted a lot longer than hers. Four and a half hours passed, then, as the storm began to do its worst on their town, the power flickered out and left them in complete darkness. At that point, John B was passed out in his bedroom, so he didn't care nor notice when they had to find a few candles and stumble through the dark.

Somewhere along the way, having to search through the dark house for candles to light and place around the living room led them here...he isn't quite sure how.

JJ can hardly open his eyes enough to see through the rain that pounds against him the second he runs after her through the back door. The wind is so aggressive and unrelenting, it almost sends him stumbling a few steps when he follows her blurry figure a few paces behind where she tries to flee the house in a panic.

"Get back inside!" he shouts as he picks up his speed to catch up, "Y/N!"

The part of him that isn't focused on the pure physicality of trying to see and move through the stormy weather is utterly overwhelmed with fear. Not for himself but for her. She's deathly afraid of mild storms, let alone hurricanes, and yet she ran through the back door when he tried comforting her through an anxiety attack. One would think that she wouldn't want to go directly into the thing she fears the most, but what sent her running for the hills wasn't the panic itself, it was him.

It's hard for her to think rationally in this state, but all she knows is that he was there, he was saying all the right things and holding her, and she couldn't do it. The fear began to blend to one centered around both him and the storm. The hours of useless distractions and ruminating in her thoughts built up to this point of contention, then it snapped.

Between the thunder, his voice, and the voice in the back of her head that was urging her to confess her feelings and do as John B advised them to, it became too much. Maybe it was the most idiotic split-second decision she made without any regard for logic or reason or her safety, but she bailed. For the third time, she couldn't handle the pressure and ran from him.

The only difference is that he couldn't let her leave this time.

He gasps for air against the streams of water flowing down his face, soaking his hair and making it hang in his eyes to obstruct his view more than the weather already has. It happened so fast, neither of them are wearing shoes. His feet sink into the muddy yard with every stride he takes in his frantic pursuit of her and it frustrates him no end because of how it slows him down.

There's endless dangerous possibilities with her being out here. She could be knocked over into the marsh by the wind, or stuck and hurt by a piece of debris—merely thinking about it makes him call out her name louder in the hopes that it'll wake her from her panicked trance.

After trudging through the mud all the way to the edge of the yard, he finally manages to get to her.

"What are you doing?" JJ shouts, turning her around and grabbing onto both of her arms as if one gust of wind would sweep her away if he didn't, "You're gonna get hurt!"

Stumbling backwards in the direction of the screened-in porch that surrounds the back door, he uses their difference in strength to tug her away in the direction she came out in. The rain makes it difficult to keep a firm grasp on her, and she almost slips away a couple of times when the wind picks up enough to make him too unsteady to hold on.

His arms slip around her waist for a better grasp on her the closer they come to reaching the house. The last thing he wants is to almost get her back inside and lose her at the last second. She isn't thinking rationally right now with the panic she feels taking full control of her responses. He knows firsthand how it feels to be thrown headfirst into a panic attack, he's been in her shoes before and knows better than anyone the lengths your irrational mind will go to if it means survival. And for whatever reason, her response is flight, not fight.

The door to the screen porch takes all of his effort to open against the power of the wind blowing it back against the house.

He grits his teeth as he forces it open, one arm secured around her midsection, and helps her in before he slips inside too. The second he lets go of the door, it's sent slamming back into place and rattling in the frame behind them, but he doesn't spend anymore time on it other than the few seconds it takes to lock it. As soon as it clicks with him that they're safe—most importantly, that she's safe—he whips around to face her with a cold rage flowing through his veins.

"What the fuck?"

She stands in front of him with water pouring off of her in rapid drops onto the rug, and there are no thoughts in her head outside of the ones telling her to leave. Her tears blend in with the droplets of rain so seamlessly that he wouldn't know she's crying if not for the sound of it.

In between her rapid breaths and sobs, she yells back at him, "I was scared, okay?"

"Why'd you run out into the storm if you—"

"I wasn't afraid of the storm, I was afraid of you!"

The silence that follows is louder than anything they've experienced. Nothing can rival it, not the thunder, the rain, or anything can drown it out while he stares at her in shock. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted as he reaches for something, anything, he can say in response to that, but there's nothing. For once, he is absolutely speechless.

Things got awkward between them in the initial aftermath of last week, but not like this. There was never an instance where he felt like there was nothing left for him to say to her to fill the uncomfortable silence that always brought forth memories of them together until now. Until she said the last thing he wanted or expected to hear.

His anger subsides as he picks over what he did in his head for anything that could've made her feel unsafe.

Before it evolved into him chasing after her through the hurricane, he noticed how terrible it had gotten for her when he lit the first candle. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her chest began to rise and fall faster with each second that passed. He could see it on her face that things were getting worse, but, now that he thinks of it, it got worse once he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

It felt like a dream sequence in his head, so hazy and faraway now that it's over, and he was so stunned by what she was doing, he didn't run after her until a few seconds later. There was a delay in which he stood there in surprise and tried to process what the hell just happened to no avail. Though it wasn't very long, he remembers it feeling like eternity tucked into the cramped space of four seconds.

JJ's voice is softer than she's ever heard it, asking into the void of the near-darkness that encloses them, "What'd I do?" And it breaks her heart in half to hear him sound so concerned, so terrified of the idea that he did something to hurt her when all he did was try to help. "I never meant to scare you, I swear. I know how bad it can get sometimes, and I know we haven't been talking but I'd never try to hurt you if that's what you thought..."

His thoughts run rampant with the possibilities of what she was thinking at the time, and he realizes that he can't stand the idea of her thinking anything badly of him. He never cares about what people think, but, fuck, he loathes the idea of her having any ill feelings toward him.

Y/N immediately starts shaking her head, her face scrunching with the emotion and incessant tears.

"I know you'd never hurt me. I was scared because..." she stops herself mid sentence, catching it right when she was about to admit the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't.

But the need to say it doesn't go away this time. Usually, once she catches herself she comes to her senses and realizes how foolish it would've been to confess, but this time is different. This time, the urge to speak her mind and tell him everything sticks around. The words left unsaid creep up her throat, thrashing and begging to let out after months of being pushed aside.

The look in her eyes is strangely reminiscent of the way she looked at him the night they hooked up, almost yearning in its nature, and he couldn't be more confused. She's scared of him, but she's looking at him like she did when she was two seconds away from jumping his bones. And if he didn't do anything wrong, why was she afraid enough to face her worst fear in order to avoid him?

"Because what?" he asks.

That frustration from when they first stepped into the porch hasn't vanished, it only took a backseat once she said she was afraid of him, not the storm, and he can feel it stirring up again. He's tired of not having answers. He's tired of mixed signals and loneliness and unrequited love. Most of all, he's tired of her running away all the time. At this point, he questions whether or not it's worth it to expose his feelings to her and suffer the consequences.

John B was right. This isn't healthy for them, nor is it healthy for them to put their friends through this along with them, and it might be better to not be friends than to stay this way forever. At least that way they wouldn't be wishing for answers that would never come for the rest of their time together.

She decides at this moment that this has to be said before it gets worse, before she runs away again like a scared, immature child and ruins everything.

"Because," she has to shout over the lightning that cracks down on the earth down the street, something she would be trembling in fear over if she weren't so focused on him, "I've been in love with you for a couple months and it scares me more than anything, even this stupid fucking storm! And I've tried so hard to ignore it because I know you don't feel the same way, but you touched me and I just"—a soft cry escapes her—"I couldn't do it anymore."

There it is.

After months of ruminating over it and hiding everything, he knows, and her immediate feeling after she says it isn't what she thought it would be. She expected trepidation and regret, but what she finds on the other side isn't either of those, it's relief. Her dad often tells her when she's nervous about something that the anticipation is worse than the thing itself, and that has never been as true her as it is now.

However, some of the nerves return with the time that passes after she spoke in complete silence. Much like the delayed reaction he had to her running out of the house, it isn't as long as it feels to her. It's a short span of time that it takes for her words to process with him, but it feels like an eternity that he stands there with his head facing the floor in quiet contemplation.

Her heart sinks.

This means he doesn't feel the same way, doesn't it? If he were the one telling her he loved her, she likely would've leaped into his arms and said it back, but he stays where he is.

Then, after what feels like forever, she thinks she sees him start to smile and feels like she's losing her mind. It's quite dark out here, so there's only a limited amount of light to allow her to see his features, but there's no doubting it when a flash of lightning floods the porch with a split-second of harsh light.

Oh God, why is he smiling? What does it mean?

Much to her frustration, the first thing he says after her confession isn't much help in making her understand his feelings either.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

Why? The voice in the back of her mind asks incredulously. Is he seriously asking why? He ignored me too. He didn't want to talk about it either, so what else was I supposed to do?

Maybe she was undeniably worse when it came to the avoidance and lack of communication, but he could've reached out to her too. They both could've. Instead, they spent day after day waiting for the other to make the move and pushed the tension further and further until it finally broke. Now she's waiting for him to hurry up and reject her so she can move on with her life.

She shivers from the wind blowing at her wet skin through the screens separating them from the outside world, crossing her arms over her body to hug herself. His eyes follow her movements down to the breaths that are slowly evening out without her realizing it. It turns out that confessing your love for the guy you've been crushing on since the day you met him is a hell of a distraction.

"I thought you wouldn't wanna hear me being all emotional and shit over a one time thing. You've literally never had an actual relationship before. And that's fine," she rambles, "I'll be okay eventually, but that's not who you are and there isn't a problem with that. I just caught feelings when I shouldn't have."

In her defense, she isn't making baseless assumptions about him, he hasn't had a relationship before. His love life hasn't ever really revolved around love itself, it was mostly comprised of random chicks he'd meet at parties or at the beach during the summertime when tourists come to visit the island. Out of all of them, he's the last one the Pogues would expect to fall in love with someone and commit to a relationship, but then...

He looks over at her with a swell of emotion within him that he's never felt before. It wasn't like he hadn't known before now. He did. He even said it out loud to himself that morning after the party, but this is when it feels the most real. Now that she's said it to him, he doesn't feel so stupid for toying with the four letter word in the back of his mind for the entirety of the past week.

In all honesty, he was the last person he would've expected to fall in love with someone this quickly too. He thought he knew himself better than this. He thought he could keep himself hidden away and not let anyone close enough to see him—the real him, faults and feelings and vulnerability included—but she proved him wrong. In walked Y/N with her pretty smile, teeny bikini bottoms, and oddly strong opinions on Ratatouille, and he stood no chance.

This sudden crescendo of emotion only continues to grow when he watches her shiver, soaked to the skin, across from him and decides that he never wants to deny himself of her again. Those feelings of inadequacy that forced him to question his relationship with her may not have gone away, not by a long shot, but they can't stop him anymore. Nothing can.

Like a light flickering to life in this swirling, stormy darkness, she hears JJ's voice asking her, "What if it is who I am?"

It was said so softly, she nearly lost it beneath the rain and wind. But it was not said with a lack of certainty, which is why she questions if she heard him correctly. He sounded so sure of himself that it feels too good to be true. After his reaction, or lack thereof, to her telling him she loved him, she accepted what was coming and this was not it.

"What?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

"You heard me." There's a pause. "Maybe I needed to meet the right girl."

There is no way he's saying what she thinks he's saying because if he is...if he is then that means the tears and frustration have all been for nothing because he loves her back. But if he loves her, then what was with the kook girl? Was it to make her jealous, or is she misinterpreting him right now and he was flirting with that girl because he doesn't have real feelings for her?

"JJ..." she trails off, looking down and thinking to herself how thankful she is that it's too dark for him to fully see how nervous he made her, "don't do that."

Partly, he should feel offended that she'd think he'd toy with her feelings like that, but he isn't. He's too busy wondering what on earth made this poor girl so insecure to think that someone has to be joking to confess their love to her. It makes him wonder if anyone wronged her before she moved here, and he feels that switch of impulsive anger inside of him flip at the thought.

But that anger has nowhere to go, so it shifts into something different—a need to spend every waking moment of the rest of their time together proving to her that she doesn't have to be so afraid. Does it make him a hypocrite? Probably. It wasn't too long ago that he was telling the Pogues how much he didn't deserve to be with her, but he doesn't see himself the same way he sees her. In his head, he has reasons to believe he doesn't deserve her love, but how could she ever think that herself?

He steps closer to her, the movement something so natural and unconscious to him that he doesn't recognize he does it until he hears her breath hitch in the back of her throat. They were already close enough to reach out and touch each other if they wanted to, yet now it's the kind of closeness that wipes the slate of her mind clean with nothing else but the thought of him there to stay.

He starts to say, "I'm not fucking with you, dude, I'm being serious—"

"Then prove it."

Oh.

The sound of his unfinished sentence lingers on the tip of his tongue as he blinks away his surprise at what she said, though it was less of a statement and more of a challenge. What the challenge is, he isn't too sure, but he thinks there could be a couple of meanings there.

The fire in her eyes when she looked up at him is one he recognizes very well, it stars in one too many of his daydreams that center around their secret night together. She rose to the occasion without fail and matched his chaos every time, and that steely-eyed stare is reminiscent of it.

Yet, the sexual undertone isn't the only part of it to be discovered. There's a clear meaning there for him to actually prove it, to put his money where his mouth is, grow a pair, and tell her how he feels with no room for confusion. No more miscommunication, running away, or insecurity getting between them, just a clear cut confession like hers.

His hand runs through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes and keep the wet strands from dripping down his face. It helps him see her a little better too, grounding him to the moment and calming him at the dimmed sight of her expectant, wide eyed gaze.

There were a million versions of this whenever he let himself imagine admitting it. He only let himself picture it on the worst days, days like the one two days ago when he went home to his dad, ending the night by cleaning his own cuts and inspecting his own bruises in his locked bedroom. He did it to distract himself from wanting to storm out of the room and finally kill the son of a bitch after years of suffering in silence.

JJ closed his eyes, shaking with anger, and dreamed of how he'd tell her. There were versions with long speeches that were far too sappy to exist outside of the realm of his imagination. There were versions with him burying the words between friendly jokes to play down the extent of his feelings too, but he thought it worked best in its simplest form.

So he puts it as simply as it gets, lips fighting a soft smile as he crosses the space between them and rushes in to kiss her. It's charged with an accumulation of the pent up love, anger, and sexual desire that has been repressed until now, resulting in something utterly explosive.

He stops for a second to whisper, "I love you too," into her parted lips, and she finally lets herself go at the sound of those words.

Forget that they've only known each other for five months, when you know you know. This is the real deal. This is the kind of feeling that possesses every accessible inch of her heart and she'd never be open enough to admit that to anyone but him at the moment, but neither of them minds that. It's such a new, rapidly developing feeling that they want to protect it and keep it close to them for the time being.

His arms twine around her waist, tugging her the last bit forward and leaving no space between their bodies this time. The sudden movement draws a sharp gasp from the back of her throat and sends her hands out to brace themselves on his shoulders. The sound of the gasp that disappears into their connected mouths only fuels him on more. It makes him more eager with how he touches her with his hands drifting down the plane of her back, one of which playfully slipping beneath the hem of her soaked shirt in a way that makes her smile into the kiss.

He knows exactly what he does to her. He can sense it in the small reactions that would often go overlooked if it were someone less familiar with her.

It's easy to tell by the way she completely surrenders herself to him, letting out these soft little noises she doesn't even realize she's making when he takes control of the interaction and kisses her like he's starved for it. In a way, he is starving for affection and attention from her. He never knew it was something he needed so badly until he got it, and now he never wants to go without having her again.

That's why it doesn't surprise him when she starts getting antsy after a moment or two, especially after keeping away from him for days.

Her hands run down the length of his chest over the soaked t-shirt, taking a quiet victory in how his stomach flinches inward in response to her exploring touch, and she could swear his next exhale trembles as she continues lower. Never once does she break the kiss, which, by the way, has gone past the point of being passionate and straight to downright needy, but her concentration does falter. The perfectly paced rhythm of her mouth moving with his is interrupted when she touches him over the fabric of his shorts.

Those plushy soft lips go on an exploration of their own too. Leaving him with the first opportunity to catch his breath in minutes, she dips her head beneath the sharp edge of jaw in pursuit of the sweet spot she remembers reducing him to a grabby, moaning mess the last time they did this. It doesn't take her long, not if the tightening of his arms around her and the satisfied hum of a moan she feels vibrate beneath her mouth has anything to say for it.

He loses himself in it for a second or two...okay, fine, maybe ten.

The separate sensations combined spark a flame inside of him that burns so hopelessly for whatever she'll give him. His mind sends him images of them together, both real memories from their first time together and imagined fantasies he only let himself visit in his dreams, and he realizes how thinly spread his self control has become lately.

First, it's the thought of her from last week, thoughts of her gasping, writhing, and begging beneath him that makes his cock throb under the teasing contact of her hand through his shorts. But then he's brought elsewhere. Then, though he hasn't thought of it since the day after the party, he thinks of the mix of jealousy and anger he felt when he saw Tyler with her.

He remembers being sane one moment and charging across the room like a madman the next. He remembers how it felt to watch another person's hands slip under her dress, how it felt to see someone else try to kiss her the way he had, and this raw wound of a memory is all it takes to spur him into action.

It happens so quickly, she doesn't even notice what's happening until he has her scooped up in his arms with her legs around his waist. She doesn't even have the chance to voice her surprise or crack a joke at the expense of his neediness before he reconnects their paused kiss with enough force to make her teeth ache in the collision.

JJ's rings are colder than ice, digging into the flesh of her thighs as he holds them with a tight grip and blindly takes the few steps necessary to reach the back entrance of the house. His wet handprint smudges on one of the cracked-open glass doors and sends droplets of water dribbling down the surface. The teardrop of rain zig-zags at the swinging motion of the door on their way in, only changing course again when he nudges it shut behind him a little too loudly.

"Wh"—her question is cut off by him laying her down on the rug-covered floor in between the couch and coffee table—"What if John B wakes up?"

His first thought was to bring her into the spare bedroom, but then he realized that it shares a wall with John B. Then, he considered the pull out couch but realized that would be louder than the room adjacent to their friend's. His only conclusion was this.

It isn't nearly as romantic as either of them would've pictured, but they're not exactly picky either. They're so desperate for it, they'd likely do it on the porch in the middle of a hurricane if there weren't another option. And in their own weird way, they make it romantic.

There's no one else she'd rather risk rug burn for, and that is the peak of romance.

"John B sleeps like a fuckin' rock," JJ says, "and it's own his fault for trapping us here anyway."

He follows her down onto the floor without a second thought, not even looking up to see if they woke their friend with the sound of the door shutting behind them.

Hovered above her, he looks particularly captivating in the flickering candlelight. The fire burning in one of the three-wick candles they scoured the bathroom cabinets for brings out the warm hues in his blonde hair and highlights every edge of the angular face that looks down at her. The porch was far too dark for her to see him in all of his near-perfection, but this is enough for her to notice a multitude of things.

His slicked back, wet hair allows her to see his features better and the way he looks at her...it's enough to make anyone feel red in the face. How hadn't she see it before? She knows it was denial, but, somehow, she used to overlook the small hints along the way like how he looks at her like she's the only thing that makes sense to him. For the first time in a while, she allows herself to embrace the idea of being loved without looking for something to justify her fears surrounding it.

The sound of her voice brings him out of the mesmerized trance he fell under at the sight of her.

"I've missed you," she says softly, "like a lot."

The sweet admission slows him down for a second, making him stop to ignore the distracting desire that she sparked to life a moment ago and take the time to cherish this moment of rare serenity with her.

It's a wonder that she hasn't even acknowledged the storm raging on outside since they've come back in. It's all thanks to him, of course, since she's been too focused on everything happening between them, but it surprises him. It makes a sense of pride flare up in him on her behalf for being capable of forgetting something she fears so much.

But, on the other hand, it reminds him of how distraught she was right before their conversation/argument on the porch shifted from her panic to the topic of their relationship, and he can't help but hesitate a little.

"I missed you too." The hand he isn't using to support himself above her cups her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Are you okay though? You were just crying and I don't wanna make you—"

"Yes."

It was so said so quickly, there was zero hesitation. It's not that it doesn't surprise him that she's as eager as he is after what started to happen out on the porch, but it does make his eyes widen a little. His mouth curls with a slight grin. It's the kind that never fails to make her stomach fluttering and light with butterflies.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, and I promise I'll let you know if I'm not," Y/N clarifies.

"Okay."

There's a short moment where all they do is look at each other with a complete loss for words to convey what they feel right now. It isn't as awkward as it would've been prior to tonight. Before they confessed their feelings, they wouldn't have been able to look at one another for any longer than a few seconds without needing to walk away to break the tension. Now, things have changed. They don't feel the need to conceal how much they care anymore.

They're still the same bickering duo they've always been with the added fun of being head over heels. She never used to understand how some people could let their feelings for another person drive them crazy, but it's done more than make her crazy this past week. It made her jealous, obsessive, and somehow happy too, and no one has ever made her feel so many varying emotions in her life.

Her fingertips graze the stretch of skin between where his cargo shorts sit on his hips and his shirt rides up the side of his torso, and he swallows thickly at the feeling.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.

Her lilting, smooth voice is enough to soothe any nerves he could possibly have. It's as if hearing her ask that paired with the hand teasing the waistband of his shorts pulled him back to the place he'd been before when she was teasing him over his clothes.

He answers honestly, his head going fuzzy with the crushing desire that courses through him, "Not as nervous as I make you," and closes the space between them again.

The cheeky comment doesn't go unnoticed by her, not one bit. It makes her face heat up in embarrassment that is purely instinct after having to hide her feelings from her for so long. Maybe after they've been together for longer, it won't make her blush every time he acknowledges the effect he has on her out loud, but that day isn't today. Today, she goes hot in the face from a sole second of his attention, let alone this.

JJ lets his hand climb up the length of her torso as they kiss as if they have all the time in the world, as if their best friend isn't sleeping less than twenty feet away from them, until it flattens at the base of her neck. It doesn't curl around her neck and squeeze, nor does it do anything but remind her how much she loves the feeling of him touching her, the large palm of his hand simply stays draped over her throat to flaunt his ability to sway her nerves.

She's pretty sure if it were anyone else, it wouldn't work, but he's JJ for fuck's sake, and the quiet display of dominance sends an exhilarating little thrill rumbling through her. It isn't anything over the top or exaggerated like some people would do in an attempt to stake a claim over the person they love, just a simple gesture that they both know the meaning of.

She's his. After five months of friendship, two months of silent pining, and a week of sexually confused hell, she's his, and he'll never let her forget it.

The wind rattles the windows over the couch with its force and she notices that his hips grind into hers at the sudden sound. Even in the midst of such a heated moment, it's downright cute how he still makes an effort to distract her from what she fears. And, boy, does it work.

Their panting breaths in the brief seconds they allow themselves to break away from each other are the only sounds audible in the small living room. The storm drowns it all out for now, including the noises that start to leave them from the steadily building pleasure of their bodies moving together.

She can feel how hard he is through the layers that separate them with every absentminded thrust that brushes the fabric of her panties up against her clit each time. It leaves her breathless and wondering, despite already knowing, what it'll feel like when he finally slips inside of her again.

They both fantasized about it in the time they spent apart. Neither of them would dare deny it, least of all JJ. It actually became frustrating after a while because she started to become the only scenario he could conjure to get himself off when he had a rare moment of privacy. His fantasies, all stemming from the night that was so perfect, he began to question the reality of it, linger in his head.

The best part of his fantasies were the parts of them based in truth, and if he knows anything about her when she's in this state, it's that she's needy. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip in a silent urging to let her deepen the kiss, and he complies without a second to spare, willing to entertain her every whim so long as she keeps being so good for him.

He revels in her muffled squeak of a moan when he presses down on the sides of her throat at the precise moment his hips grind down to meet hers. She can't keep herself still for any longer than a half-second, always meeting his movements halfway and unknowingly doing another thing that will be the death of him.

She leads his shirt up his body without having to second guess herself, knowing that he's always on the same wavelength as her no matter what. This was how it was the last time too. Anything she did, he was already one step ahead, and tonight isn't much different. By the time her hands ball up the dripping cotton fabric, JJ is lifting the hand off of her neck to reach for the neckline of the shirt and help tug it off.

There's a sense of urgency in everything they do. Charged up with frustration and jealousy that brewed within the days they spent apart, there's nothing to stop them from reducing themselves to a pair of panting, impatient lovers too consumed in each other to care about the outside world.

The sopping wet fabric is thrown beyond her line of sight and lands on the hardwood floor with a 'thwack' that accompanies their cacophony of moans and gasps, and she whimpers at the sight of him. It may have to do with the fact that he's guiding their bodies together at a cadence and pressure perfect enough to make her legs tremble, but seeing him like this does nothing but aid the sensation.

Golden skin glistening under the candlelight, tendrils of half-dry blonde hair falling into his face with the lazy effort of his movements, and a stray raindrop that squeezed from the wet shirt dripping down his chest...she's not gonna make it out of tonight alive, is she? In her memory, she knew he was a sight to see in the midst of a heated moment, but, fuck, memories do not hold up beside the real experience of it.

Y/N is so caught up in his seemingly endless beauty, she doesn't notice him peeling her damp denim shorts off of her hips until they're halfway down her legs, and the only reason she does notice is because he must shift his position to do it. Suddenly, the budding feeling that stirred from their needy antics is plucked away and left to ache for more in the absence of him between her thighs.

Her middle and index fingers hook around the front of his necklace to pull him back down to her, but he doesn't budge at first. He's too busy trying to rid her of her shirt to care.

It was too much of a distraction while they kissed for him to resist slipping it off of her when he got the chance to. Much to his frustration when he first realized they were trapped with each other, she's braless underneath, and it's only worse now that the t-shirt is soaked to her skin and clinging to every delicate curve.

Once the clothing gives way to the canvas of her bare skin, he submits to her urgency and follows her down by the fingers hooked around his necklace without any qualms.

As soon as they resume, it's as if they never stopped to begin with, and they start to realize how seamlessly they fit together as the seconds elapse. Neither of them are actively thinking about it while he dips his hand into the front of her panties, but it is in their subconscious.

It's a revelation of sorts, an ah-ha moment where it hits them both in a sweeping realization that it was obvious from the day they met. They should've known sooner, they should've dropped their pride and admitted it as soon as the first inklings of desire began to pop up, but they didn't. Instead, it washes over them now and they let the current take them away together.

Her mouth falls open against his cheek at the feeling of his fingers swiping through the arousal that pools in her underwear for him, dragging the wetness over his fingertips and spreading it up to brush fleetingly against her clit. It's a split-second of a touch that it makes her hips lift up off the floor on their own accord to seek out more. It makes her dig her nails into the skin stretching over his taut shoulder muscles in a wordless plea for more that he doesn't indulge her in at first.

He makes her earn it from him without having to say a single word. He touches her, but he doesn't touch where she wants or ease his fingers into her to satisfy the need she feels yet. It's a blessing and a curse that he manages to turn her on to such an extent. He does it for her like nothing else can, so much so that she's noticed a distinct difference in how it feels when she's alone versus when they're together. When she's alone, it can tend to feel like active effort, but when she's with him, it's as natural as the urge to breathe.

His smirk is felt against her skin the entire time she begs for it through the revealing actions of her body—her hips jerking up toward him, her chest pressing tightly to his, and the sound of her murmuring, "Please," in a breathy tone that could stop his heart.

"Tell me what you want," JJ says, every word constrained and tight in a way that tells her he's a lot less composed than he lets on, and "accidentally" swipes his thumb over her clit again. "Talk to me, baby."

She almost forgot in their time apart how much of an effect he has on her, but this is the best reminder of that she could possibly imagine. If she could, she would find a way to bottle the feeling he gives her and keep it with her forever so that, no matter what happens between them, she'll never have the misfortune of forgetting him.

What he said simultaneously melts her heart and frustrates her to no end because he knows! He knows damn well what she wants from him and won't give it to her unless she asks for it, and she hates herself for loving it. She hates herself for enjoying the flushed-face embarrassment it brings to her cheeks to be so open with him about what she needs.

She swallows the lump in her throat and tries to focus through the clouded landscape of her head to speak to him. It's hard to concentrate when he's above her like this, touching her, calling her pet names, and looking at her like that.

With his lips worshiping the sensitive skin along her neck, she finds it hard to choke out the words, "I want you," into the humid air that has infiltrated the house.

It's not a lie. Anything regarding her wanting him or any related feeling is no longer something she can hide anymore, but they both know it isn't exactly what he wanted. No matter how it took his breath away to hear her say it, he was seeking something more specific. He was aiming to make her ask, maybe even beg, for it. They're both too impatient to wait and based on how wet his fingertips are from barely dipping into her, he can tell she's as eager as he is.

It's been thirteen days too long since the last time they allowed themselves to meet this way, and neither of them wants to let it happen again.

She was nearly trembling with the urge to go to him whenever they were together in the company of their friends, unable to think about anything except for how badly she wanted him. All the while, he appeared so unbothered, especially on the night of the party when he flirted with someone else, that she didn't even believe he felt the same way back. Thankfully for her, she couldn't have been more wrong.

He clicks his tongue and says, still teasing her with light touches that never linger in one place for too long, "That wasn't very specific."

Part of her should know that he's about to do something based on how he withdraws his head from its cherished place in the crook of her neck, but she's too caught up in the anticipation and seeing his face for the first time in a minute to think about it. How dare he look so good? She could cry in frustration, although she might actually already be tearing up a little with the rush of neediness hitting her in its full force.

Never has she felt so turned on by so little physical contact before. It usually takes longer for her to get to this point, whether it be alone or in the past with previous partners, yet all it took was being kissed, touched, and being given his undivided attention and now...She realizes she's in trouble. He has her in an emotional and sexual chokehold at this point, and she fears that no one can compare.

"I want—" her voice is snuffed out in an instant when he eases two fingers into her, "Oh!"

So that's why he pulled away from her neck to look at her.

It was worth abandoning the mark forming on her neck just to see the expression on her face shift. She gets this cute look when anything overwhelming starts to happen where her brows scrunch a little to create a soft wrinkle between them as her mouth drops open in a moan. And after ten steady minutes of doing nothing but some over the clothes action and painstaking teasing, this is as overwhelming as it gets without it crossing the line to being too much.

It never occurred to her how much larger his fingers are compared to hers until now. This type of pleasure is like an itch only someone else can scratch to her, she feels virtually nothing when she does it to herself, but when he does it, it's like an explosive being set off inside of her. Especially with the thumb that sneaks up to circle her clit without stopping to tease her again, she is putty in his hands at this point.

Every smooth stroke of his fingers into her reaches a spot she can never quite find on her own, and she can feel the cold bite of rings when they're buried into her to the knuckle.

It's a surprise every time, even when she knows to expect it. Like a delightful chill running up through her body and down her spine exactly how it's intended to. It strikes an idea in her head for when he eventually pulls them out of her, conjuring the image of her sucking them clean for him just for the sake of imagining what it'll do to him.

With that idea tucked away in the back of her mind, he's the center of her world right now. All she breathes, thinks, and feels is him. Whether it be the sight of him, or the feelings he's giving her, or even the taste of his kiss that still lingers on her tongue, it connects to one common thread.

"What were you saying?" JJ asks, and she wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.

It's virtually impossible for her to piece together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence detailing every filthy idea she has for him, but she tries. It takes another moment or two of her succumbing to the rapid incline of pleasure that he gives her, watching her in wonder through any greedy buck of her hips or gasping inhale that makes her head loll back onto the floor.

At first, what she wanted to say was that she wanted him to touch her, to do anything more than the fleeting touches he gave before. Now, she wants more than that. Now that she's drawn in closer to the eventual high that's to come, she doesn't want it to happen like this. She wants to feel closer to him than this, wants to feel him throb inside of her and fuck her with all of the urgency and desperation that has accumulated in their time apart.

That's why her hands start to grab at the belt loops of his shorts to tug him closer by them, meeting his gaze through the hazy bliss of his fingers pumping into her. It's not enough.

"Please"—she keeps pulling him closer to her, so close that there's hardly any space left to cross, and he revels in her desperation—"just fuck me already..."

Internally, JJ is losing his shit.

Though this was what he wanted, what he coaxed out of her with the teasing and the pretend sense of a nonchalant attitude on his part, it hits him harder than he expected it to to hear her say it. It's not necessarily the act of begging itself either, it's the fact that she's the one doing it. She may have been jealous of the girl at the party, but she had nothing to worry about. Not in the slightest.

Before her, he never thought he'd fall for someone this way. It's not like he had a hatred for love or anything, he understood the appeal, it simply wasn't his thing.

He was perfectly content with his only form of companionship being his friends. Then, she came along and changed it. So to hear her say something like that isn't just breathtaking, it's the kind of thing that makes his heart ache for her. It hits him precisely where she wanted it to, and he has never felt as consumed with love the way he does now.

JJ can do nothing to stop himself from pouncing on her at this point, like some animalistic form of himself has worn down the restraint he used to keep himself at bay.

The loss she feels when his fingers slip away from her is an emptiness she mourns at first before she realizes what's happening. He pulls away slightly to reach down between them for the front of his shorts, and their hands clash as they both frantically try to undo them together. The rings adorning his fingers glisten when they catch the light and remind her of the thought that popped into her head when she first felt their coldness against her skin.

That idea paired with the promise of what they're trying to accomplish in their uncoordinated attempt to get the rest of their clothes off makes her want to press her thighs together. Her hands abandon the task of undoing his shorts for the sake of ridding herself of the last layer that separates her from him.

Her most embarrassing old pair of brightly colored panties, courtesy of past Y/N's questionable decision to trust her mom to buy some on her behalf, are hardly a sight to behold. They're the kind that come in a value pack from Walmart, vibrant blue with the word, "Tuesday," printed on the front of them, and she could hide her face into the rug in shame if she weren't so determined to get them off. Of all the days to wear the day of the week undies her mom accidentally got her, of course she chose today.

By the time she reaches for the waistband, he has pushed his shorts and underwear down his thighs and comes back to her with just as much excitement as he left with, but when he helps her tug her panties down her legs, he laughs. Apparently, he had also been too eager to touch her to notice what was written on them before.

"Cute," he breathes out through a laugh, then adds as the cotton fabric slips over her knees, "Pretty sure it's not Tuesday though."

"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"

He cuts her off, "Whatever you wanna threaten me with won't work, chances are I'm gonna be into it."

Her eyes are alight with a certain fire he's had yet to fully lure out of her. Even her voice is slightly more airy and seductive as a result of it.

"Promise?"

JJ grins down at her as he finally tosses her panties aside with the rest of their clothes, "Cross my heart, pretty girl."

His hands grip her thighs and tug her down the  rug to him with a quick jolt that snaps them out of the playful nature of their back and forth teasing. No matter how lighthearted of an interruption it was, the mini-conversation might as well have never existed for how easily they fall back into it again.

She watches with her forehead pressed against his as he strokes himself a few times, then drags his tip, messy with precome, through her wet heat. And though she watches it happen, her body still arches into his when he lines up with her and sinks his hips forward.

She anticipated it, but she still gasps and digs her nails into his biceps at the sensation of him pushing into her. Neither of them bothers to worry about the obvious lack of a condom—it was discussed the first time around when he offered and she told him it was okay. He's often the one to silence the alarm on her phone warning her in its title to, "Take your birth control or else, bitch," while she searches her bag for it anyway, so he trusts her.

Both of them prefer it this way enough to risk the  minuscule failure rate of the pill anyway. It's more intimate, closer, and they can both feel the warmth of each other in a way that would've been somewhat muted with an added layer between them. It makes the feeling of him entering her all the more gratifying as she tenses up around him in reaction, drawing a groan from where his parted lips brush against hers.

She lifts her head off of the floor as much as she can to capture his mouth with her own and stifle the sonorous sound despite the storm doing a better job of it.

It seems that every blast of wind and roll of thunder is in their favor tonight, so much so that he isn't even worried about getting walked in on. It's not a thought in his head at this point, the only thought he's capable of having is this. Forgive him for being shortsighted, but he doesn't give a shit if John B notices or hears what's happening when he's buried inside of her so deeply.

His hips are flush with the backs of her thighs in a matter of seconds, and right when he pauses to give her a breather, he feels her shake her head ever so slightly against where their faces are pressed together.

The touch of her hands on his hips is not timid by any means, it's commanding. Her palm prints singe an indelible claim into the surface of his skin as she guides him to start moving without a second spared to dwindle the discomfort of him filling her up. It's less like a pain and more of a pressure blooming from the insistent presence of him, not so overwhelming that it's painful, but it's an effort to breathe evenly and the only thing that'll ease this transitional moment is to continue.

At first, their bodies start to rock together lazily as though on autopilot. They'd hardly be conscious of the fact that they're doing anything if not for the initial sensations of heady ecstasy that flash like the sparks of a lighter in response to their movements. As soon as he felt her hands coax him into action, he sighed happily and surrendered himself to the instinct of wanting to move.

The merging of their bodies is less of the aggressive rutting motions they'll surely succumb to once their current pace is no longer satisfying, but that doesn't make it any less intense. She's partly sure that this is one of the most vulnerable moments either of them has ever had when it comes to sex, and it wouldn't work if it weren't them together. No other person could consume her the way he does, taking up every unoccupied space of her soul until there's nothing left but the silent begging of her heart for him.

Their kiss is messy when it breaks to allow them the chance to suck down a couple breaths of air, saliva shining on his lips in between the seconds it takes them to come crashing back together.

It's loving enough to rot her teeth with its sweetness, a slow but impossibly deep grinding of their hips together that continually presses the tip of him into that sweet spot inside of her, but it takes a turn.

Not only do her hands shift from his hips up to the sides of his waist to get a firmer hold on him, the kiss starts to become vigorous, almost hungry, in search of something more. The dreamlike sequence of the first moment or so they spent slowly fucking under the warm hues of candlelight starts to unravel to reveal the baser instincts that guide them forward.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers the praise into her mouth.

As soon as the words are said, he can feel the effect it has on her. The hands braced on his waist pull his body closer to her at the same moment that she involuntarily squeezes down around him, making the smooth drag of his cock against the velvet-soft heat of her walls even tighter than he thought possible.

The sudden feeling of it makes his first returning thrust much harder than the last. He jerks forward into her with none of the restraint he's retained for the past few moments, and her reaction is nothing short of perfection, at least from his perspective. He watches her throw her head back in a moan, hips bucking to him in pursuit of more, and feels the tips of her fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into the unmarred skin along his waist.

"JJ!" she gasps in surprise, and if her initial reaction weren't enough to spur him on in a frenzied state of desire, this is.

He almost forgot how intense it had been the first time. Their confessions of love preceding this made them both somewhat softer and sweeter in their approach when they started, but he knows how she likes it.

Nobody would expect it from her. He's another story entirely, especially considering how much John B and Pope know about him, but her? He didn't have any in depth conversations about it with either of them, so none of their friends know how dirty she is.

But when you start to tease it out of her, she's got a side to her that makes his blood run hot. Considering how polite she is, he sure as hell didn't see it coming. For fuck's sake, she's the kind of person who'll apologize to a chair if she bumps into it. With that in mind he never thought she'd be the type to demand such things of him.

Just like that, with one moan of his name, it's like she flipped a switch in him that they forgot was there in the first place. It'll never stop surprising him how little it takes to get him going when he's with her, and he doesn't see that changing no matter how long they spend together in the future. Just a touch from her is all it takes, so it's needless to say that the sound of her calling out his name was more than enough.

Those slow, deep movements he made to sink into her again and again have turned rapid and rough, but still controlled enough to have a semblance of precision to them, hitting in all the right places.

"I bet," JJ speaks lowly, "that you want John B to walk out and see us right now."

She doesn't want to admit how much of an instantaneous effect those words have on her, but the feeling of her clenching around him as she bites back a moan completely betrays her. Partly, she worries that he'll take that the wrong way and think it has something to do with John B when it has nothing to do with him at all, but he doesn't. For the spare second of thought she's allowed to have before her mind goes hazy again, she notes how much more eager he is on the upstroke of the next thrust.

Noticing how right he was in his assumption about her liking the risk of getting caught jumpstarts his heart and makes everything he does rougher. She can sense that he's starting to lose control over himself and is acting on instinct alone.

It makes her much more sensitive to everything he does, and all she can do is cling to him and enjoy it as she takes in everything he says and does. It's hard to pick one thing to focus on between the switch up in pace and what he said.

"You want John B to know you like getting fucked like a slut, don't you?"

She could get off on the sound of his voice alone. Hearing him say stuff like that kills her, it makes the swirling bliss that builds in the pit of her abdomen with every thrust he gives her triple in its extremity.

Her legs are tightly wound around his hips to keep him as near to her as possible, her hands sliding up around his waist to keep a steady grasp on him while he pounds into her. The rug scratches at her back enough to make it sting alongside the immense pleasure building in her, but she doesn't care. When blended with the good sensations, the pain underscores the addictive feeling of him inside of her, fucking her exactly how she asked him too.

Looking up at him when he's like this is simply unreal. There's no other way of describing it in her eyes except for that. He's so stunning, she's inclined to believe that he isn't even real as a means of explaining it. This shouldn't be real. It should be one of her daydreams while she steals covert stares at him as they hang out with the Pogues, but it isn't. She can't wrap her head around it.

Those strands of hair that were damp from the rain are mostly dry as they fall into his eyes with the force of his movements. The sight of him alone, set aside from the rest of it, is enough to make her writhe beneath him and claw at his back in tandem with another thrust that sends her jolting against the rug.

He takes one of his hands up from where they both held her hips for leverage to weave his fingers into the roots of her hair.

He demands between the panting breaths and moans that flood the limited space between them, tugging on her hair, "Answer me."

She instantly blurts out the words, "I want him to see us." The feeling of him tilting her head back by the fistful of hair he has wrapped up in his hand is her persistent reminder to concentrate enough to continue, and she bites down on her lip to contain a moan before speaking again, "I want him to know..."

Her cheeks burn with the mere thought of it, let alone saying it out loud. He's the only person she'd ever let in on this intimate side of her, the side that makes her crazy when she hears him say stuff like this. The reason she feels so comfortable doing this with him is that she knows he understands her. It's as if he can read her mind without even having to try, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

It wouldn't matter if the topic of their exhibitionism were any other Pogue or a stranger, it isn't about who it is, it's about the thrill attached to the concept of almost getting seen during such a heated moment. In all actuality, John B is probably snoring face down into his pillow right now with no care for what's happening out here, but he knows what it does to her when they push the boundaries of decency this way. It's the same rush he gets from stealing random, useless things every so often, it's the thrill of getting away with something.

The hand tangled up in the roots of her hair sneaks down between their colliding bodies to rub her clit, and her mouth drops open to take in a shaky breath.

The sight of her beneath him is undoing in and of itself. Head tilted enough to expose her neck to him, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breaths, and breasts bouncing gently with the momentum of their actions—seeing her this way makes his thrusts ramp up into more of a frenzied, uncontainable pace rather than one with the same control and cadence as before. But it's mostly the eye contact that kills him. She doesn't dare to shut her eyes the entire time, as if she can sense that he'll tell her to look at him again the second she does.

"You want him to know what?" he asks, and she knows he won't let her get away with not saying it.

She whines, utterly helpless to the climax starting to build inside of her, "Please."

What she's pleading for, she isn't quite sure, but he can tell by how she's acting that she's starting to get closer, and he wants nothing more than to tease her with the impending chance of her orgasm.

"If you wanna come, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that."

Just like that, he withdraws his hand from between them and leaves her desperate, blindly grasping for the peak she was so close to reaching, she could almost feel it already.

With JJ rocking into her at a relaxed, slower rhythm, the pleasure hasn't disappeared completely. It's there, but she can sense the feeling of her orgasm receding as quickly as it had creeped up on her as soon as he slips his hand out from between them.

It's instantly clear to him how desperate she is as all of her previous shyness surrounding having to admit this to him out loud withers away in seconds. She isn't beneath begging again at this point. He could tell her to crawl across the floor to him and she'd happily do it for the chance of touching him. It's pathetic but true. As much as she has him wrapped around her finger, he has done the same to her and she isn't afraid to admit it anymore.

Her hips jerk toward him in search of the familiar frenzy they were in before that sent her to the brink of climax, but he is impressively stubborn. Despite the fact that it physically pains him to dial it back again, he tries to keep the signs of his own frustration at bay. She knew what she had to say to get what she wants, so he'll only cave when she does.

This time around, she doesn't give a fuck about how badly she blushes or the voice in the back of her mind telling her she should keep this side of her to herself. This time, the one thing she needs to do to prompt her to open her mouth and speak the dirty words he asked her less than a moment ago is look at him. One second of staring up at him and here she is, driven mad enough to say or do anything to get him to pick up where they left off.

She says between the soft noises and breaths coming from them both, clinging to him through every slow but deep thrust that sends sparks ricocheting through her body, "I want John B to know I like getting fucked like slut." Her voice is breathless, and he hangs off of each word as she pauses, looking up at him with a challenging attitude swirling in those pretty eyes. "So stop being a tease and fuck me like one."

His jaw clenches at the bratty statement, one he's too far gone to resist at this point, and right when he's about to respond to her, she speaks again.

"Either that," she says, and a deceptively sweet smile crosses her kiss-swollen lips, "or I can go ask him to—"

She doesn't even get the chance to voice the rest of that thought before he's set into motion.

The hands on her hips flip her over with such casual strength, all she can do is yelp in surprise at the sudden movement that blurs the living room in her peripheral version until she lands with her hands and knees pressing into the rug. He was so swift in pulling out of her and tossing her onto her front like she was nothing more than a rag doll, she hardly had the time to take a breath before she ended up here.

There's hardly any time between when he pulled out to flip her over and when he returns to her again, but it feels like an eternity for them. The few second transition might as well be a few years as she feels his hands guiding her body where he wants it, pushing down on her back until it arches just so, and falls down onto her arms. But as soon as she gets situated, she feels a pair of hands yanking her arms away from where they were braced against the floor and put them behind her back.

It's only then, when he has an unflinching grasp on where he keeps her wrists behind her back with one of his hands, that she is met with the relief of him sinking into her again.

Y/N's jaw goes slack, and she cries out into the rug that her cheek is pressed into as he gives her no chance to adjust or catch her breath before resuming the brutal pace they kept a moment ago. Mentioning anyone else but him doing this to her was the quickest way to get him to snap, so it's safe to say that she's getting what she wanted. After all, she did what he asked, it's fair that she gets rewarded for it.

Amidst the sounds of the storm waging war on the landscape outside of the house, the one thing she can hear over the buzzing pleasure that drowns out her senses is the sinful blend of sounds they create together. It's the sound of their bodies merging, his name falling from her lips, and the curses he makes under his breath that never fail to drive her a little wild.

The hand that isn't holding her arms behind her slides down the length of her curved back until it wraps around her throat to pin her down, and her reaction is everything he could ask for. Seeing her rock back against him to meet him halfway makes his grip on her wrists tighten enough to turn his knuckles white.

Her hair is spread in endless directions in a fan around her head, and he can only see one side of her face from where he kneels behind her, but that glimpse is more than enough. Brows scrunched in pleasure, mouth dropped open in a gape as soft 'uh's and 'ah's escape her on the upstroke of each thrust—she's a mess right now. A beautiful, perfect mess.

"Oh God, JJ," she moans between her rapid breaths and the strong hand constricting her neck, "I'm so close. Please, just let me come."

It took virtually nothing for her to be pushed right back to the edge of the peak she was at less than a minute ago. It took a mere half-minute of this and she's once again reduced to incoherent pleas for more and shaking with no control over herself. Her legs tremble with the effort to keep herself up in this position, and she isn't even the one doing most of the work. In all fairness, this change in position has made the intensity triple. It's deeper this way, and with how harshly he slams into her, it's as though she can feel it in the base of her abdomen.

It's the enjoyable type of pain, however, not the bad type. It'll surely end up with her being sore tomorrow, but she can't hide how much she loves the painful pleasure of how rough it's getting. Being denied an orgasm when she was so, so close to it was initially disappointing too, but it was worth it. If the build up to what would've been her climax before was a spark, this is a flourishing fire spreading through her with no chance of smothering the flames.

He lets go of her throat and taps the side of her jaw in a silent request that she picks up immediately, letting her lips fall open to suck his fingers into her mouth without a second of hesitation.

The taste of her arousal on them is faint, but still there, and it occurs to her that she thought about this earlier before things evolved into chaos. Her tongue swirls around the tips of his fingers as he starts to pull them away in what feels like the blink of an eye to her, leaving him to remember what it felt like when her lips were once wrapped around a more sensitive part of him a week and a half ago.

The one other time he let himself remember it was when they were on the boat with the Pogues, yet that wasn't really of his own volition. It was hot out, so Kiara bought ice pops for them and his mind wandered far from where it should've stayed.

Shining with her saliva, his fingers are pulled from her lips with a soft 'pop' in pursuit of that sensitive collection of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She just needs is a little push to go over the edge, and when he slips his hand down her body to rub tight circles onto her clit, she loses whatever remnants of control over herself she had left.

The steady rhythm of her hips moving back against him falters as she is overwhelmed with the separate sensations culminating into one and giving her the push she needs to come. Her entire body tenses up in anticipation, and since she's pinned to the floor with her hands behind her back, she can only lay there and savor the feeling as it hits her.

After what felt like ages of having it build and build within her, then having it taken away to start the process over again, finally being given a release is a relief beyond any she's felt before.

It's so consuming, it takes away her ability to think of anything outside of how it feels to dissolve into the shockwaves of euphoria rushing through her. Every pulsing wave is prolonged by him, not even through the peak of it does he let up on his precise touches and unforgiving thrusts into her that turn a typical orgasm into the most intense thing she's ever felt.

She's melting in his arms through it all, and as if the change in position didn't make it worse, her involuntary spasms leave him hanging on by a thread.

JJ collapses onto her, barely having the chance to keep himself propped up on his arms as he lets go of her wrists and falls forward onto her sweat-slick back.

The heat of his panting exhales raises goosebumps in its wake where his face is buried into the curve of her neck, and he whines at the impossibly tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock through the end of her climax. Those sounds he doesn't realize he's making have her writhing through the aftershocks, answering with a sound of her own that almost makes him come instantly.

For that reason, he makes the decision to pull out and flip her onto her back.

At this point, she's so dazed and fucked out that she doesn't register any of it until she notices the hollow absence of him inside of her, but it doesn't matter when his face appears through the partial darkness above her.

Despite how sensitive she is right now, the sight of him makes her hands reach out blindly to pull him closer again. They're frantic in their need to get back to one another, grasping and clawing until he finds his way back to her in less than a second, hiking her legs up around his waist with a touch that is somehow demanding and tender at the same time.

It's only when he's inside of her again that it occurs to her why he rolled her onto her back again, and it makes her want to kiss him until her lips turn numb. It may be undeniably hotter to pin someone down and fuck them hoarse, but, no, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be able to look at her, to see her face, and the thought of that has her biting back a sudden confession of love. She isn't sure why she doesn't say it right away, since it isn't like they haven't already done it, but she keeps it to herself for a second first.

It's different now. It's not less passionate or frenetic. It isn't as if he isn't being as rough with her as he was before, but they can both sense a shift in the energy between them as soon as he reenters her. It's less about the pursuit of pleasure and more about the feelings they've kept hidden away for so long. It's a simultaneous realization that hits them a little late after they initially confessed their feelings for each other: this is reality. It's real, and when she touches him this time, he isn't going to disappear if she opens her eyes.

The realization of what happened tonight had yet to hit them until right this second, but now that it has, they move forward with a sense of sentimentality that remained partly dormant before.

If there's anything JJ dislikes, it's being vulnerable. The idea of letting someone in to see every part of him, including the parts he doesn't want to see of himself, has always terrified him after years of being made to believe he's undeserving, yet he isn't uncomfortable right now. Somehow, he feels safe with her. Sex has never been something so emotional for him until now, until her, and he doesn't want it differently.

Their bodies are drawn in close, her arms thrown around his neck, and he's so close, he can feel the muscles leading down past his lower abdomen contract with the inevitable approach of his orgasm. She can sense it too in how he acts.

When he gets close, he becomes clingier and lets his feelings get the better of him. His hands squeeze at her hips, sliding up her sides and back down to hike one of her legs up high around his waist to press deeper into her. He can't bear to allow his touch to stay in one place for too long before exploring another part of her, wanting to memorize the delicate intricacies of her body in its entirety.

It's as if she can read his mind too, cause even when she's sensitive enough to gasp when he pushes her thigh to her chest and throws his remaining energy into fucking her at a satisfying pace, she understands what he needs. She knows to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, to tug on it gently until the light strands are taut from his scalp. She knows to lift her head off of the floor enough to trail tender kisses along his face, his jaw, his neck—anywhere she can access.

"Come for me," she says into a kiss placed on the edge of his cheekbone, reeling in overstimulation as she jolts with his quickening thrusts, "I want to watch you..."

Hearing those words, paired with the kisses and fingers pulling on his hair, does it for him. It doesn't take more for his hips to falter and jerk forward into her a final few times before he comes.

Their foreheads press together as they cling to one another for stability, though it's mostly JJ clinging to her while she watches in adoration, and she has to bite her lip to contain a moan at how it feels. The aftershocks of her orgasm have yet to fade as the feeling of pulsing warmth inside of her makes them stronger, reigniting the fire she felt a moment ago if only for a second.

There's a closeness to this situation that they hadn't felt the last time, and they know it has everything to do with what was said before this happened. The sex itself feels like a dream sequence in her mind now that she's coming down from it with him, moving together slowly and gently beneath the candlelight until they ride out the ends of their highs. It was like they were put under a trance by each other, and now that it's over, the first thoughts that come to mind are of what comes next.

It's not the sole topic on their minds though. They're more focused on catching their breath from where they lay, tangled up together, on the living room floor. As soon as the very last of his orgasm faded from him, he fell onto her without a single ounce of energy left to spare. He's careful not to crush her, but, for the most part, he relaxes on top of her and lets his head rest on her heaving chest.

Strong arms slip down to loop around her waist, and she sure that she couldn't get him to release her if she wanted to, which she doesn't.

But they can't stay like this, not for any longer than a few moments anyway, since they don't know how if John B might wake up and come out of the safety of his bedroom after hours of leaving them to their own devices. JJ was right. He's out cold, but for as much as it turned them on in the heat of the moment, neither of them finds getting caught by him as hot with the clarity of their rational minds coming back to them.

He's the one to break the silence.

"As much as I wanna stay like this, we should probably move in case John B wakes up."

The sound of his voice settles in her with the effects of a sedative. It calms her more than anything else could, especially with the added comfort of him cuddling her so closely. One of her hands strokes through his hair and pushes the damp tendrils of sunshine away from his face as he cranes his neck to look up at her. And, for fuck's sake, what else is she to do except admire him?

His cheeks are dusted pink in a way they often are when he spends too much time outside without one of his hats shielding his face, and she thinks he's never looked better.

Ever since they became friends, she's had this theory about him. In the unrealistic landscape of her overactive imagination, JJ didn't come to this world the way the rest of them did. To her, it seems impossible that someone so good, even in his worst moments, could've come from someone like his dad.

So, in idle moments where she would watch him on a day out with the Pogues or daydream about him, she decided that he's the sun.

She imagines he was created in those breathtaking but brief moments where the sun meets the horizon atop the ocean and washes the sky with a vast array of colors. She likes to think he's the incarnation of it. Golden, warm, and bright for everyone but himself, he keeps the world light for her and their friends without intending to.

Some days are warmer than others too. Some days, the light is dimmed by another bruise beneath his clothes or a bad run-in with some kooks, but today is not like that. This moment is eighty-five and sunny with a balmy breeze. Looking at him right now feels like basking in the sun, and she'd burn here forever if he let her.

Without realizing she zoned out, she jolts when he pinches her arm to rouse her from her ridiculous thoughts. He has this dopey half-smile on his face that nearly draws her back into them again.

"You know what they say," he says, "if you take a picture..."

Her soft laughter invades the room, filling his heart with this light, fluttery feeling that always finds him when she's near. His smile grows as she playfully shoves him and reaches above their heads for her wet shirt to cover up with just in case. Odds are, their friend isn't waking up at the exact moment before they seclude themselves to the spare room and get dressed, but she doesn't wanna take that chance.

"I wasn't staring."

She was totally staring. But who could blame her? When someone looks at a person the way he looks at her, how could they ever stay away?

"Whatever you say."

JJ keeps smiling to himself while he pulls his underwear and shorts up his legs and waits for her to be decent enough to sneak past John B's bedroom to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

The clothes are soaked through with rainwater, so they feel quite uncomfortable to slip back on, but they merely redress enough to be covered. She stole his shirt to avoid putting her shorts back on, the hem of the grey tee hanging right at the tops of her thighs when she walks. As soon as she slips her panties back on and picks up the rest of their cold, wet clothes, that's the cue he needs to scoop her up and take her away.

Y/N curses under her breath in surprise at feeling her feet being plucked off the ground, but she relaxes again once she's settled in his arms, realizing that it was just him who snuck up behind her and lifted her into his arms.

She doesn't say anything on the way to the bathroom. Instead, she lays her head on his shoulder in exhaustion and finds herself staring at the mark she left behind on his neck.

It's a deep, purplish red against the backdrop of his tan skin...the Pogues will surely notice the next time they see him. And while it will make her blush, it won't make her scared as it once would've. There may be a lingering sense of doubt and insecurity within her, but she wants this with him. Even if it means being teased by their friends or dealing with the jealousy of watching kook girls and tourons at parties hit on him, she wants this.

By the time the shower is spraying the rainwater from her hair and washing her clean of sweat sticking to her skin, she realizes that he isn't saying anything either, but she doesn't think it's out of any awkwardness or miscommunication. There's truly nothing to say, at least for now.

Though they didn't have the chance to talk in depth about everything yet, neither of them thinks of that right now. All they know is that they're together, whether it be officially or not, and it feels good. For once, something in his life feels right, and he lets himself enjoy it in silence.

The shower is a cramped space when shared between them and the wet clothes they have draped over the back edge of the tub, but they make it work. It's not like they mind anyway.

They bump into one another whenever they do so much as breathe, and the white walls echo the sounds of her giggling when he tries to tickle her. She leans her head back against his chest and lets out a laugh with shampoo dripping down the front of her face, and he'll be damned if he ever heard a sound as intoxicating as that.

It's a little weird. He's never been as soft and loving with a person before, and he has already felt overwhelmed in the lulls of quiet between them when he's given the chance to think about it.

When she washes his hair for him, insisting that she must return the favor after he so kindly washed hers, he was struck with the same mixture of wanting to simultaneously lean into and pull away from her that he felt the night of the party.

The warmth of the water loosens his sore muscles, washing suds of the green apple scented shampoo over his shoulders and down, down, down until it circles the drain beside his feet. All the while, her fingertips are delicately tracing over a healing bruise on his torso. Those pretty lips of hers are painted in a suppressed frown that she can't hide from him.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.

His instant reaction is to fake a smile, to brush it off and distract her as he usually does, yet he doesn't. He forces himself to remain neutral and not push her away.

"Happens all the time," he murmurs, shrugging and averting his eyes to reach for the soap off on the ledge.

The hands holding either side of his waist tighten as he tries to turn, pulling him back to her with more strength than he knew to anticipate from her. Their chests gently collide back together beneath the stream of water, and she can feel his breathing catch for a second or so in response.

The fact that their relationship has changed doesn't change how she handles this aspect of his life. Their new confessions don't have an impact on the part of his life he never wants to let anyone see, so she isn't going to force him to talk about it because they're trying out this whole relationship thing now. He has hard boundaries that she knows not to push sometimes. That's the way it is, and it might change as they grow closer but she knows to accept it for the moment.

As soon as he hears what she has to say next, he could crumble in relief at the realization that their new dynamic doesn't change anything.

"I didn't necessarily mean...that...I meant generally, you know? It's just that—" she sighs, "you shrink away a little when I hold you, and I wondered if I was making you uncomfortable."

Before she could finish the sentence, JJ was already thinking of what to say to prove her wrong, because that's not it. That's not what it is, and if she thinks she's done anything wrong, he'll do anything to convince her otherwise because it isn't her. It's him.

It's his dad lingering in the darker trenches of his mind, commanding his fear and attention so that even when he isn't physically present, he's still here. Part of why he denied wanting her was because he knew these types of things would arise in the beginning, that there would be difficult adjustments to make and conversations to be had, and he didn't want her to leave him as soon as she was faced with one of these things.

He shakes his head.

"You didn't do anything."

The feeing of her chest rising and falling with his begins to steady him after a moment of allowing the initial hesitation to dissolve. His internal reaction to her touch is the mental incarnation of a flinch. It's him waiting for the other shoe to drop and expecting her to do something, to hurt him, before his mind catches up with his heart. But once he realizes everything's okay, he loves it.

"It's kinda embarrassing, but I guess when you touch me, I'm expecting something else," he says softly, scared that if he speaks too loudly, everyone in the world will know how weak he feels.

She should've figured, but hearing him say it is different than wondering what the reasoning behind it is. Hearing him admit it after months of strict avoidance on the topic is a sucker punch to the gut.

Both times they had sex, he was too distracted and thoughtless to get caught up in that part of himself, but it's when the bliss of the afterglow disappears that it creeps back in. That's why he could always handle touch when it came in that context. It was his way of obtaining what he wanted without having to face this side of it—a temporary fix to a greater web of issues.

But there's nothing temporary about her. He doesn't want her to leave him, not without him resisting the urge to beg her on his knees to stay and at least remain his friend, so there's no choice but to face these momentary challenges head on.

She pauses for a second, thinking, then says, "You don't have to be embarrassed about it, I get it. We'll just have to take it day by day then. We can take it slow, and you'll let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?"

It's hard not to be shocked by how well she's taking it. A lot of people probably wouldn't feel too great after someone they love tells them they expect to be hit whenever they touch them, yet she's taking it in stride.

Things are back to normal as soon as she sees the grin on his face.

"So, you're saying you're gonna be trying not to throw yourself at me all the time?" JJ asks, then clicks his tongue as though in thought. "I give you a week. Tops."

Her eyes go wide as she looks at him. She holds her hand over her heart as she pretends to be scandalized by such an accusation, but they know it's true. They both can't keep their hands off of one another, which is why it confuses him. How can he want to reject and enjoy her touch at the same time? Sure, the discomfort disappears after the first split-second, but the fact that it happens in the first place annoys him to no end.

She rolls her eyes and tries to hide the fact that she's giggling as she reaches for the soap.

"You're a little shit, you know that?"

He doesn't miss a beat, saying back, "Yeah but I'm your little shit, so I feel like that says more about you than it does me."

While he's too busy rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, she smiles to herself at what he said.

Hers.

Nobody has ever been hers before, or proclaimed themselves as belonging to her as proudly and casually as he just did, and her heart melts over the sweet sentiment he didn't think twice about.

Less than a day ago, she was agonizing over her relationship with him and trying to ignore how powerful those feelings for him were, and now they're here. She no longer has to steal glances when he looks away or hide how jealous she feels when other girls flirt with him. To finally let the tension disappear is an immense weight off of her shoulders.

The rest of the shower is as quiet as the start of it was, and that comfortable silence continues through from when they're drying off and redressing to when they hit the mattress in the spare bedroom with tired sighs.

After the day they had, the mere suggestion of sleep is enough to make them start yawning, so being able to slip beneath the sheets and rest their heads almost sings her to sleep instantly.

Their bodies are laying in the exact outlines of where they laid the night of the party, the only difference this time being their mindsets. This time around, they aren't holding themselves back from anything, and it's most evident in the little things. Like how she doesn't turn around to shield her face from him, instead laying with her head propped on the other end of his favorite pillow.

They're so close, their noses brush if they make any slight movements, and this would be enough for him to submit to the urge to drift into sleep if not for the fact that he feels her jolt when thunder rumbles loudly outside of the window.

Much like his own fears being pushed to the side amidst their desire for each other, her anxiety about the storm wasn't on her mind until they laid down to sleep.

She was so wrapped up in him and everything that happened between them that she didn't have the time to think again until now, until she hears the violent patter of rain against the roof and feels her stomach drop at the sound of the thunder. Suddenly, she's not the one reassuring him about his fearful reactions, it's the other way around.

His warm hand takes hers, snatching it up as though he's worried it'll disappear if he doesn't take it quickly enough, and she lets him. Her eyes flutter shut with the release of a slow, deep breath, and she lets the presence of his hand in hers bring her back to earth.

JJ asks into the darkness, "Can I take you out on a real date?" After a beat of silence, the comforting sound of his voice returns to her. "Not that this isn't fun, but I think you deserve a little more effort than John B's living room floor."

A short-lived chuckle escapes her—a win as far as he's concerned. It's difficult to lure her head from the clouds when she gets this way, and it isn't like he has much experience with calming her during these moments either, but that sounded good to him. It sounded like she wasn't thinking about the increased pace of her heart or the howling wind outside.

He was planning on asking anyway. However fitting of a first night together this was, he wants to take her out for real sometime soon. He doesn't have much money for it, like at all, but they can come up with something special together, even if it's similar to the same shit they usually do together. As long as it's time alone together, they don't necessarily care if it's a perfectly traditional first date.

The tip of his thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of her hand in the brief time it takes her to respond, stroking the soft skin as if to tell her that everything's okay. It seems to say, I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you. And it might make her crazy, but she believes him. JJ could take her back out into the eye of the hurricane at this very moment and she'd still believe his unspoken promise of not letting her into harm's way.

"Of course," she says, then pauses, and the sound of her sleepy voice hardly reaches his ears when she speaks again, "...I'm sorry I avoided you for the past few days. I was scared to tell you how I felt but I shouldn't have left that morning."

The memory of waking up in his arms is fresh in the forefront of her mind, so much so that she can remember the way his breath felt where it exhaled in warm puffs onto her skin.

In the first few moments of consciousness, it was peaceful.

She laid awake for a minute or two to count his breaths and soak in the comfort of being cuddled up next to him, wishing she could stay there for hours. It wasn't until another moment passed that it clicked with her where she was and what was going on between them recently, and that was what prompted her to slip away from the bed to get ready for her day at work.

It was the second time in a row that she left him in that bed with nothing to wake up to but the cold absence of her body between the sheets he slept under, and he can't deny that it's part of why he holds onto her hand so tightly tonight. Even though she's promised him otherwise, he can't help but think she'll be gone by the time he wakes up. At this point, he's struggling to stay conscious. She can see those pretty eyes drooping more and more by the second, yet the hand holding hers doesn't loosen its grip.

He takes a deep breath and scoots closer to her, keeping his one hand in hers while the other arm drapes itself over her waist, and he can feel her relax into the touch.

"It's okay," he says.

It's easier for him to adjust to so much physical contact when he's the one initiating. He knows that's why she only reached out to hold his hand. If she had it her way, she would've already been cuddling with him as soon as they laid down, but he likes that she gives him the space to initiate it. In the ways it counts the most, she cares about him more than anyone else has.

The touch in itself is his way of accepting her apology. However, truth be told, he already forgave her for it before knowing his love was reciprocated could be a possibility.

Right when she's about to fall asleep, the screen door slamming open and shut with the wind on the back porch makes her whip her head around to look over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. It seems like every time he successfully distracts her from it, the storm finds new ways of reminding her of what's happening outside of the safety of the Chateau.

There's the sound of a barely audible, sharp inhale, then her whispering into the dark room as she looks at the closed door, "I can't believe I went out into that. What the fuck was I thinking?"

It's beginning to close in on her again; the sounds of the storm, the sense of being trapped no matter how safe they truly are, and the rising tidal wave of anxiety that picks up speed the more she tries to will it to stop. This is the part where she tries to relieve it in some way, usually by smoking weed to sleep or going to one of her parents so they can help her through it, but she can't help herself right now.

Debris was being picked and tossed around in the wind like it weighed nothing when she was out there, she could've been knocked into the marsh or struck by a piece of debris.

How could she be so stupid?

Not only could she have hurt herself, she could've hurt JJ knowing that he'd likely follow her out into the storm to bring her back inside, and the thought of him being hurt makes the tension in her chest heavier. Her breathing picks up speed, the anxiety starting to snowball out of control when—

"Hey, look at me," JJ says, reaching up to turn her head to face him, and she damn near crumbles in relief at feeling his hand cup her cheek. It doesn't make it all disappear, but it provides a momentary comfort that she doesn't take for granted. "You're safe here. You know damn well I'll do anything to protect you. I mean, shit, dude, if I have to go out there and tell that rain to fuck off, I will."

This draws out a laugh from her, chest stuttering with the happy sound through the tears glistening in her eyes, and he never wants to stop hearing it. His thumb swipes away the first teardrop that falls before it can slip over the apples of her cheeks. I'm Her quiet cries and shaky breaths continue for a while after the laughter disappears. For a second or two, he watches with his thumb still wiping her tears away and hopes that it'll be enough to comfort her, but it can't do it completely.

He pulls away from her to get up from the bed with an idea popping into his mind, but upon hearing her whine at the loss of contact with him, he pauses to say, "I'll be back quick, don't worry."

The remaining humorous side of her left wonders if he's actually gonna go tell the rain to fuck off, but he's just opening the bedroom door to trot out into the living room.

A candle burning on the coffee table illuminates the space for him, guiding him straight to the forgotten backpack she left slumped against the arm of the couch hours before their relationship was changed for the better. It takes him an instant to get there and back with the bag in hand, and he's digging through it for a second before climbing back into bed with her.

If anyone else rifled through her bag, sifted through her personal belongings, and dug her phone out of it, she'd probably be annoyed, but she never is with him. She's inherently protective of her things, but JJ can do whatever he wants and it has always been that way. It should've been the first warning of what was to come.

He pulls the sheet back over his body and scoots up close to her, trying to resist the urge to retreat at first when he maneuvers her to lay with her head on his shoulder. It should trigger the flight or fight response that often alarms in his head, but he's able to push it away.

She's so vulnerable right now, so gentle and in need of the warmth of another person that he isn't as intimidated. It's not that she couldn't hurt him if she wanted to right now, she could, but he knows her. He knows that the last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt him, so he has to remind himself of that and give himself the permission to enjoy the physical intimacy of her touch. The part of him that questions if he even deserves it can't reach him now, not when he's so focused on her.

"Thumb?" he asks with the phone held out expectantly.

The screen is less than two inches from her face, so she has to push it back slightly, but she flattens her thumb to the button without further hesitation.

When he unwraps the pair of headphones from around the palm of his hand and plugs them into the charging port, she realizes why he left in the first place.

When she was facing away from him, eyes shut and headphones in to distract herself with music earlier, he was stealing glances at her every so often. He tried to keep away from her for the most part. It was difficult though, especially knowing what she said about being jealous the night of the party and knowing how scared she was of the hurricane. He couldn't help but keep an eye on her, for both his own selfish needs and his worry for her.

He keeps an arm tucked around her, pressing her body into his while he pops one of the headphones into her ear and the other into his. The thing is, her eyes aren't trained on the screen like his are once he starts looking through her vast collection of not-so-legally acquired music for a song that suits both of their tastes, they're trained on him.

Their taste in music tends to diverge in certain ways and overlap in others, so there's always a fifty/fifty shot of him liking what she plays when she's the one picking the music. That is why he smiles to himself and halts the endless scrolling in its tracks to hover his thumb over one song.

He obviously heard it before she played it that one time, but it's different for him now. They were riding together in the backseat of the Twinkie on the way to the beach with John B, Kie, and Pope when they let her take her turn to play a song.

That's how it is with them, the driver goes first, then it goes to the front seat passenger, and so on and so on until they make their way back to the beginning of the rotation. It was her turn when she picked this song, and it could've been the song, or the sunset shining through the window, but he felt as though his heart exploded when he looked at her in the middle of it.

He remembers feeling confused, confused as to why he couldn't catch his breath and why he suddenly adored the song he only heard casually a couple of times.

It was her. It was everything about her. The soft hum of her voice murmuring the lyrics, too shy to actually sing them in the presence of anyone else, was too delicate for the others to appreciate over the sounds of the van. He heard it though. He clung to it and admired her, so unashamed in his staring that he didn't realize he was doing it. It wasn't until she noticed that he stopped.

"Do I still have ice cream on my face or something?"

Her fingers came up to wipe at the corner over her mouth, and the action sent him turning his attention away quicker than he knew he could move, pulling the lighter out of his pocket to fiddle with as he mumbled, "Yeah, but you got it off now."

The cheery melody of Just Like Heaven bursts out of each headphone into their ears.

How did he know? How is he constantly reading her mind without realizing it?

This was her first song on the couch that she couldn't stand to sit through without thinking, naturally, of him when confronted with the topic of love. Somehow, it's like he knew that, and instead of feeling exposed and scared he'll know her feelings like before, she feels loved.

She is never skipping this song again.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, clicking the screen off and resting it on his stomach.

It takes him a short thirty seconds to fall into an easy, calm pattern of breathing that tells her he isn't asleep, but soon will be. But she's fighting her sleepiness to continue looking at him. His eyes are fluttered shut, hair messy on the pillow, and she'd want to reach up to kiss him if he weren't trying to fall asleep.

Instead, she settles for matching her quickened breaths to the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand and shuts her eyes along with him.

By the time the song reaches its end, she thinks he's asleep, but she still whispers, "Thank you," and feels his arm squeeze around her body in response.

The next songs fade into white noise at this point for her, drowning out the storm to the point where she begins to forget it's happening out there.

Maybe they can be each other's safe place when things get rough. After all, he handled this wonderfully considering his lack of experience with her anxiety and she never pushes him on his plethora of unsorted issues, even when she wants so badly to be the one to initiate the touch.

She never makes him think she pities him, or wants to "fix" him like so many partners with savior complexes who will never try to understand how it feels often do in these situations. With each other, maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated anymore, even when they have those inevitable arguments here or there.

The last thing he does before allowing himself to be dragged under is brush his lips on her forehead in a tender kiss. And when he eventually wakes to the rising sun shining through the windows in the aftermath of the violent hurricane, she's still there.

Tag List: @jjjmaybank, @its-simply-fanfiction, @naughtydild0swaggins.

[bakugohoex]

“really? you wanna have sex…. here? now?”

pairing: katsuki bakugo x female reader

cw: aged up, nsfw (spanking, choking, degradation, nipple play and fucking), language, alcohol and kissing

word count: 2100+

information: impatient collab masterlist hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting​

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed this little one shot and read all the other works that are in the collab masterlist up above

summary: in which you arrive at a pro hero event and with bakugo unable to keep his eyes off of you, you end up doing a lot more than catching up and drinking with your friends

↞ back to my hero academia masterlist

Stars enchanted the night sky, lust filled the air, you could almost see the sparks come from the enormous building. Streets were bombarded with black sleek cars, the twilight glint grazed across the flashing of cameras, one by one pro heroes flooded to the event. The only one Bakugo saw was you, both arriving separately, the suit fitted him perfectly but his eyes, god those scarlet eyes couldn’t keep off of you.

It was obvious to other pro heroes of the relationship, the heart eyes that filled him, the softness he seemed to get when looking at you, the longing eyes. He was a kid in love, and even after all these years it felt like seeing you for the first time.

The red dress clinged to your figure, thin straps encasing your shoulder. Bakugo would’ve stared longer if it wasn’t for Kirishima pushing him to the side “oi shitty hair.” He scowled but even then his gaze never left yours, catching you give a small lingering gaze to his own body.  But you turned to quickly follow Mina who had grabbed your hand, cameras continued to flash enthusiastically once inside. It was blinding, one photo after another with the people you worked with, but then he came.

“Ever so pretty aren’t you.” You could almost feel his grin etch onto your body.

The way the cameras had fallen in love, flashing multiple times at the two of you. His arm resting on your back it was a comfort of lovers in a public place. Your own arm touching his back, he could feel your soft fingers skimming up and down. It made him take a sharp breathe before giving a smirk, you played innocent, not a single word having been uttered between you two.

You noticed him look down at your shorter frame, the boy who had grown since your UA days had become more than you had ever thought. The sex appeal that he presented alongside with his hot-headed confidence made you swoon. His fingers lingered grazing the exposed skin at your back, it was sensitive but made you fluster.

His mouth went to your ear, it lingered bringing a soothing comfort you had missed, his hot breath fanning your exposed jaw. He had thought about every single thing he had wanted to say to you, how gorgeous and seductive you looked. But he didn’t, you heard him hum before departing from your ear. He had been eyeing your neck waiting to bruise it up but all he could think was how if he could, bend you right in front of the cameras and give a show to the world.

“Y/n.” Mina squealed grabbing your soft fingers, taking them running past multiple other pro heroes who were being shouted at to pose.

Her fingers were soft and Bakugo was left standing alone and silent, he grinned and looked forward watching how your body moved along with the dress. He wanted to grab you and whisk you away but the soft intimate movement you both had had would not occur again tonight. To let both you be seen, privately, touching each other, everything would be uncovered.

Greetings between your old classmates occurred, but even then, your eyes couldn’t leave the blonde. The suit fitted him perfectly, extenuating all his features, you seethed, embarrassment hitting at how easily you got turned on by him. His shirt was just a little too tight, the unbuttoned jacket letting his abs indent through the thin white shirt. Even his trousers encased his thighs, sitting down had done nothing but turn you on.

Your eyes filled with lust, rubbing your thighs together, all you wanted was to ride his rough thighs, cum all over them and then cum right on his veiny cock. He noticed your eyes shift and even with you silence between your friends, he noticed only you.

He knew you were riled up, knew how you tried to stand straight but could see how you trembled a bit, he noticed your fingers on your thighs. His outfit having done on a number on you, but who was to say he wasn’t riled up himself.

He knew you’d want to wait; knew he’d ravage you when you both arrived home. But under the yellow lights that provided warmth, he could see the beauty in you and that was what really turned him on. “Y/n they’re passing champaign we need to get a ton.” Mina buzzed already half drunk, you nodded still being quiet. Your thighs and core rubbing against one another made you tense, and you were scared a low muffle might come out and show Bakugo how much you craved him, lusted for him.

He stood up without a word, nobody questioned it, already expecting a grumble back from the man who had just been annoyed with Kirishima for taking his drink. You noticed the smirk and, in an instant, knew he was planning something that was definitely not going to end well. The event hadn’t even started and yet he was hurrying of, “Y/n you’re quieter than usual, you missing Bakugo beside you.” Kirishima mocked, raising an eyebrow at the boy before speaking.

“I had a long day today.”

At the sound of those words, Denki in an instant wiggled his eyes, “I bet you did.” You slapped his side shaking your head at his idiocrasy. You continued talking among yourself, you were still soaking but you were less turned on with the lack of Bakugo’s presence but also Denki and Kirishima fighting about their body counts.

Your phone flashed and it could only be one person, seeing his name with the heart, you opened the message and knew he was up to something.

‘meet me outside’

You left the boy on read, excusing yourself, Denki even giving you a thumbs up. “Have fun.” Muttered from the blondes mouth and you so wish you could hit him again.

Maybe you were oblivious but Bakugo didn’t care and on your arrival to the entrance were cameras still flashed outside and the ones inside hadn’t noticed you. You saw Bakugo leaning against a wall, his back facing away from the cameras, he smirked at the sight of you. His pretty little thing.

Grabbing your arm he pushed you through the doors of what looked like a storage cupboard, grabbing your waist and turning you. Your back hitting the door with a loud thunk, he turned the light on and even with it being a dusty cupboard, it was small, his body easily pressed against yours. Suffocating you both to become almost one entity, “Kat…”

He interrupted his finger to your mouth before his blush lips cascaded across your neck. The open mouth kisses made your back arch under his arm, you enticed him and all he wanted was you. “Arch that back for me baby, I’m going to make you cum.”

“Really? You wanna have sex…. here? Now?” The question had come out from your mouth breathlessly and looking up at you, the straps of your dress already falling off your shoulder. How could he ever stop himself at his only love.

He grinned, “yes, now be a good girl and turn around baby.” It was a command, his hands gripping your sides, your ass on full view. “This is for running off.”

A harsh smack was heard through the fabric, he smirked at how easily you had moaned at one little slap. But the way your ass felt under his hand even through the material was driving him wild. “No foreplay.”

“Ok…okay.” His left hand moved to cup one of your boobs and your knew where his other hand was going, massaging the breast with his hand he flicked his middle and index between your hard nipple.

He had noticed it when you had come to meet him, but here now it felt relaxed under his fingers. He knew once he got home, he couldn’t wait to suck on your nipples and eat you out like you deserved. He lifted the dress up gaining a better view of just how perfect your body was arched in front of him. “You’re going to be a good fucking girl and make sure nobody hears.”

You nod but the slap that indented your now red left cheek made you moan even louder for the boy, “use your fucking words.”

“Yes s…sir.” You tried to surpress a moan at how he tugged your underwear down, leaving it at your ankles. His fingers running back and forth feeling the slick coat his finger whilst his other hand continued to kneed at your boobs.

You could hear him undo his trousers with the slick coated fingers before a sucking noise coming from behind. The way he groaned at the taste of your body intoxicated you with more lust, without any hesitation or warning he slammed into you making you arch even more.

The feeling of his hard cock between your walls made you overflow with desire to feel him go deeper. “So tight for me princess.” He hummed moving back out before slamming back in going deeper.

“Faster.” You whispered trying to not moan as loud.

You could almost feel his grin behind you, it was sadistic, and he enjoyed it. “I can’t hear you.”

“Please f…faster sir.”

“That’s my little slut.” The degradation filled you his previously slick coated hand had been rubbing your ass with each thrust. But moving closer and closer to your neck, he brought it around your neck in an instant. Tightening it with ease, “you like this don’t yah, let’s make them all hear.”

It had dawned on you how a mere thin wall away was cameras and flashes that in a second could expose it all. You were too out of it to care, each thrust going in faster and deeper, he gripped your neck up bringing your chest up to the door. Your neck on full display with his rough callous hands wrapped around it making you lean against his shoulder. His other hand leaving your nipples and moving to the easily accessible clit rubbing at it to make you go into sensory overload.

“Fuck…yes, fuck baby.” His groans in your ear made you melt inside, feeling even more intoxicated and lustful.

Your legs had twitched due to the movement that made him angel different. He loved it too much, how on display you were, how he was able to move his mouth to bite at your jaw. It was heaven, moving back and forth and before you knew it you could feel yourself give way. “Cum.”

“Cum for me baby, come on me.” You did so letting the white gush out of your core, he felt you drip onto his cock but continued thrusting his release coming soon. A few hard thrusts into your numb cunt and his own white cum filled you up, you felt encased and Bakugo was definitely not making this easy for you.

“Such a good girl.” He cooed, grabbing your underwear and pulling it to your sore cunt, “you’re going to keep me inside of you.”

“Katsuki.” You whined feeling tired and rough and not having to keep his cum stuffed in you.

He did his belt watching how your hair was dishevelled and makeup slightly smudged but sortable. “Don’t you want to be a good fucking girl.”

He brought his hands to cup your cheek, putting his mouth on your own, it was a softer kiss but still had the rough tendencies of Bakugo. Whilst letting go he moved to your ear, “I’ll fuck you even harder at home, my little slutty girl.”

He put the red straps back up on your shoulders, smirking at how you had been praised but degraded at the same time. “I’m expecting a lot tonight.”

“Of course you are princess.” Kissing your temple his lips softer from feeling the moisture of your mouth, “go first and don’t be suspicious, okay dumbass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You waived him off sneakily getting out of the door, straightening your dress and moving to the bathroom.

Bakugo followed swiftly, acting like he hadn’t just fucked you into an oblivion and mere minute ago. Everything had seemed fine; nobody had noticed and most of the all the night was a success. That’s what you thought but what you both hadn’t noticed was the camera that had been angled right where the door was. And the flashing red light indicating it had recorded the both of you coming out with messy looks and a demeanour that you two were a lot more than just friends.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @ukaisgratefulwhore @answer-the-sirens

[holdinbacksecrets]

Words are a funny thing when they’re bullets from the one you love.

xx .college au. jungkook x reader. angst.

The hallway was blurry like it had never been before. Your gaze stays on the floor, counting the dark tiles like your life depends on it because right now, maybe it does. Voices of students fill your ear; you swear you hear your name, but the rattling inside your mind is enough to push you forward.

The pouring rain soaks your clothes in the time it takes to let your head fall back and feel the rain against your eyelids and tear-stained cheeks. Your lips part, and the droplets attack the open space, meeting clenched teeth and a heavy jaw.

Somehow, the worst thing you had ever heard in your twenty-two years was that Jungkook didn’t want you. But it wasn’t just that. It was the flash of something you caught in his brown eyes before the words spilled. It was the way you took a step towards him. A step of hope, like heartstrings pulling you near. It was the way his palm was turned out, ready to feel your hand in his for the first time because he wanted to.

Your heartbeat rising, a cherry-lipped smile making its appearance before his fingers pushed back his hair, and his gaze fell away from you. The trigger was pulled, and you wish you had closed your eyes, stayed demure.

It takes two blocks to realize your keys were still sitting on his wooden desk, but the library the two of you had turned into your studying safe haven is around the corner. You seek comfort from the storm in the small cafe on the third floor, leaning against the window in a single booth. Your knees bent, pulled up against your chest. Your eyes track drops of rain as they fall into each other before rolling down the glass.

Jungkook’s words failed to sound like his own. They sounded rehearsed, forced: hidden away to be used if the moment came.

You were fully aware of the risk that came with admitting to your best friend you maybe… completely love him. You knew there was the chance the way he felt when he saw you didn’t match your rush of joy, or the overwhelming sense of home that consumed you whenever he was around.

But the signs.

The weekend getaway with your group of friends. The two of you sitting by the fire after everyone had gone to bed. The way he told you to stay a little longer. The way he pulled you, and oh so gently, into him. Your legs perched across his lap, your head against his chest. His lips barely grazed the top of your head, through a smile. One you couldn’t see.

The weekend of your 21st birthday when you had planned to go home, but the snow cancelled your plans. Jungkook showed up for you. He knocked on your door just before midnight with strawberry cream cake and chocolate ice cream. “Hey hi, I’m sorry I’m late. I would have been here earlier, but I went to five stores before finally finding a number one candle to go with the two. Apparently it’s normal in this city to only have twos, fives and eights. Anyway, happy birthday.” His wide-doe eyes sparkled beneath the light, and that smile... beat any present.

The signs.

Your phone rings and the text from your roommate is almost enough to push you past your breaking point:

How did it go??! I’m sure we’ll be celebrating tonight!

————

It took you three days to open the blinds in your bedroom and make something for breakfast that didn’t include stuffing your hand in a box of cheerios.

Your roommate had done a decent job of checking in with you, but you felt yourself mourning how things used to be. You were searching through your memories, trying to decide if you had missed something. If the ultimate fate of you and Jungkook had been so obvious, but you succeeded in reading your best friend wrong for the first time.

You sat by your window. Toast on a paper towel resting on the windowsill. Orange juice in a chipped mug. The sun had finally decided to make an appearance. Students were enjoying the lucky warmth of late autumn. Your eyes flickered to couples and groups of friends sprawled out in the park.

“Another day hiding out, huh?”

The voice didn’t belong to your roommate, but the one person who always succeeded in restoring your sense of reality.

“Lea let me in.” Hoseok is leaning against your doorframe, watching you with worry, despite his soft, warming smile.

“Of course she did.”

Hoseok joins you on the floor, and his eyebrows raise, urging you to open up.

“It couldn’t have gone any worse. I’m mortified.”

“What happened?”

You let yourself speak— get everything out, despite your hardest efforts to push the recent happenings away. You hadn’t been very successful these past few days anyway, but giving the experience a voice brought a new wave of emotions.

“It was the way he looked at me, Hoseok.” Your hand lifts, palm meeting your chest, and fingers clutch your t-shirt, just above your heart. You hope it’s still there, still whole. “I’ve never experienced a moment so earth-shattering.”

————

Hoseok approaches Jungkook at his secluded spot in the library. His headphones are in, focused on the worksheets and study guides laid out in front of him. Hoseok takes the empty seat across the table, reaching out to remove Jungkook’s own attempt at isolation.

“What the hell did you do?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to ask why his friend is so riled up, and he’d look like an idiot doing so.

“Is she ok?”

Hoseok shares a look of utter shock, but what’s worse is his radiating disappointment. “Are you seriously asking me that right now? I just went to visit her because I haven’t heard anything in days. I don’t know why I even bother listening to you go on and on about how badly you want her as your girlfriend. How in love with her you are. How terrified of fucking up— and when she takes the step you’ve been too afraid to consider for longer than a second, you shut her down?”

Hoseok’s recollection of the moment sends chills down Jungkook’s spine. “Fuck. I really messed up.”

“I hope you aren’t just now realizing that, and you’re going to get yourself together and go see her.”

“Should I go now?” Jungkook is frantic, attempting to get his papers in a nice stack, but his fingers shake.

“Honestly, you should have gone three days ago.”

Hoseok squeezes his friend’s shoulder, attempting to bury his anger in front of Jungkook’s own within himself. Tears fill his eyes as the regret unravels.

All he can do now is hope to god you’ll listen to him long enough to hear his apology, believe it in his eyes.

————

beta readers from heaven: @moon-write @captainorangegoose

[happypopcornprincess]

The latest one-shot sneak peek

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Pairings - Tony Stark X OC Zara Malik

Premise –  Under circumstances, he could not control, Tony lost his parents, his mentor, and his best friend/former lover. Will he have to lose his love as well?

Word Count - No idea, I'm going absolutely blind on this one.

Warnings: None

a/n - Thank you @swaraleeeeeee for this amazing request about Tony and a Desi Reader!!! I am thrilled and excited to share this with everyone yayy! plus, this fic is set in the Age Of Ultron AU universe and is set on the day of Tony's party at his penthouse.

 I loved you in secret

First sight, yeah, we love without reason

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know, and

My, love had been frozen

Deep blue, but you painted me golden

Oh, and you held me close

Oh, how was I to know that

- (Dancing With Our Hands Tied) Taylor Swift

Tony looked around at the party exiting the lab. The Ultron project was complete. JARVIS was now analyzing the AI while keeping an eye on it, and he had successfully convinced Bruce to be a part of it. He needed his help, and extra hands in his lab never hurt.

Now, it was time to party.

He had debated having the party downtown in some fancy hotel but what better place to get wasted than your newly renovated penthouse? He buttoned up his blazer and stepped into the crowd of guests. This brought back memories of college, sneaking out and getting wasted with people he had never met before. Maybe if he was lucky tonight, he'd get to poke at Steve and have a jolly time with Rodney.

But he froze on the stairs looking at the flashes of a familiar emerald-colored fabric in the crowd.

"Stark! There you are!" If it wasn't for Clint slapping his back, he would have walked up to her then and there, and the ruse would be up.

"I… was in the stuff, doing the lab." He babbled, trying his best not to sound obvious. Even though he could be the unafraid playboy billionaire for the entire world, she made him lose his shit. In simple words, she drove him crazy.

Clint made a disgusting face and gestured to him to come along. "You gotta meet Dr. Malik! She's Dr. Cho's colleague. She talked about some crazy biotechnology that I have no idea about but I just know you would love it so…"

He zoned out of what Clint was saying. His entire focus was on his form nearing her, the smell of jasmine invading his senses. 

She was talking to Natasha and Bruce, both listening to her with rapt attention. He stood just behind her, looking at her back. Her long hair was loose, falling on her back and shoulders, and the loose end of her saree - the same one he bought her - was gracefully tucked on her shoulder, the pleats perfectly symmetrical.

"...and Dr. Cho has been kind enough to let me be a part of her latest research, based in New York." Her sweet voice was what brought him out of his trance. He couldn't believe she was here. "We are working on repairing skin cells for burn victims, a sort of regenerative process that will allow the skin to heal itself without surgery."

"Dr. Malik, I see you haven't met our host." Tony's heart did a somersault at Clint's words, panic written all over his face.

Well, this is really happening.

She turned around fully, facing him and Clint.

No matter how many times he saw her in that damn green saree with the stupid black blouse that blurred the line between decent and sensual. His mind would go blank.

And she had red lipstick on.

She was trying to give him a heart attack.

"Ah, Mister Stark. The Iron Man himself." She gave him a blinding smile, the one she had practiced and prepared for the public.

He realized she was in on it. She was fine with it.

And the ruse continues.

"Just Tony for you, Dr..." He extends his hand and she shakes it as she steps towards him.

"Zara. Zara Malik."

Tony had to fight every fiber of his being not to hold her closer. As if he was meeting her for the first time, he had to play the role.

Don't be a fool, Tony. Let's stay professional.

It was a far cry from their first meeting.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Find the full fic here

inspired by Dancing With Our Hands Tied; Song by Taylor Swift.

Requests are open! Feel free to request anything.

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenbb @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty

[aithorin]

An Exception to the Rule - All Smite x Reader (18+)

Summary: Now All Smite was by no means a hero. In fact, he was quite literally the opposite, but for you he might be willing to make an exception. 

Warnings: Mentions/threats of rape (nothing actually happens), Villain Au, Villain!All Might, Blood and violence, Threats of violence, Slight gore, hostage, Protective!All Might (i.e. he basically goes on a rampage cause someone tries to hurt you), Soft ending with hurt/comfort

Rated M for violence

Flying through the city, a smirk made its way onto All Might’s face as he heard a scream echo throughout the night. God, he reveled in the chaos. The chaos that he created. His very presence had allowed the chaos in Japan to fester and grow throughout, and thus every time he heard crimes being committed, his chest swelled with pride. It made his ego surge to watch the fruit of his efforts be harvested and taken advantage of. There was just something so immensely satisfying about it, knowing that every villain in Japan owed the success of their crimes to him. It provided a rush of gratifying adrenaline like no other.

Deciding he had a few minutes to spare, All Might quickly set course towards the sound of the disruption. At the very least, it would provide some entertainment. But, depending on what they were doing to the unfortunate soul, he might even decide to join in. It would be a nice way to unwind before going home to you. God knows how much fun he had seeing the way people cowered at the very sight of him.

Landing silently behind the group, he quietly observed the scene unfold, trying to decide if he wanted to step in.

“Eh this one’s a looker, isn’t she boys? Before the night’s over, I think I’ll use her for the whore that she is.” The one All Might assumed to be the leader taunted, stepping forward to tower over their victim.

Manic laughter floated throughout the air as the two lackeys accompanying him moved in to completely surround their target. “That sounds like a great idea boss! You always have the best ideas. Can we get a turn too? Please. Please. Please!” The one on the right begged.

“Maybe once she’s unconscious. You know it’s only fun for me when they’re awake so I can see the look of fear in their eyes. God, just the thought of it is giving me a hard on already.” The leader chuckled out.

”Pl-please,” A woman’s shaky, frightened voice whimpered out, “let me go. I-I have money. Just tell me what you want!”

At the sound of the woman’s voice, the blood in All Might’s veins turned ice cold. That-that was your voice. And just like that, the overwhelming pride he had been feeling moments ago withered away, consumed by something much more deadly-a feral rage. How dare they talk to you like that? How dare they even try to lay their hands on you? Fists clenched and shaking in anger, All Might stalked towards them, blue eyes blazing and filled with an unquenchable, seething bloodlust.

Unaware of their impending doom, a harsh slap echoed through the night as the leader thug slammed your head into the dumpster you were backed against. He looked down at you, sneering, “Shut up, bitch! You’ll be lucky if you make it out of here alive tonight. You should be grateful that I’m even considering it.”

“I’d leave the girl alone if you know what’s good for you.” A gravelly voice spoke from behind.

Turning around halfway, the leader scoffed, not even bothering to see who the person was. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? This one’s ours, so why don’t you scram before I decide to kill you t-”

He was cut off as a hand shot out, quick as lightning, to wrap around his throat. Before he could even register what was happening, the thug’s eyes bulged as the hand began choking him. He felt himself being lifted 3 feet into the air, and soon came face to face with a set of flaming blue eyes. At the sight of them, his body went stiff in fear. The rest of the newcomer’s face was hidden by the shadows of the night, but just the sight of his eyes were enough to make the thug cower.

“Who….the….hell….are….you?” The leader gasped out, vision going spotty from his quickly draining air supply.

Letting out a sinister chuckle, the newcomer stepped into the light emitting from a nearby streetlamp. Seeing who it was, the leader’s mouth went dry as a sweat broke out on his forehead. His already tight throat closed up even more causing his breath to come out in wheezes as a chill of fear worked its way down his spine, causing his body to tremble in mid-air.

“Al-All...Might” He rasped out, hands pointlessly tugging on the one large hand curled around his throat.

A wicked smile crept onto All Might’s face. “Good,” He purred out, “You know who I am, so there’s no need for introductions. Maybe you aren’t a complete imbecile.”

Tilting his head to study his prey, All Might reconsidered, “Although it is hard to believe you actually possess a brain, considering you tried to steal something of mine.”

Nodding his head toward your shaking, huddled form a few feet away, All Might’s face hardened. “That girl over there belongs to me, and you just tried to touch her. Now if you remember anything about me, you should know that I don’t share. Do you want to know what happens to people who try to take things that belong to me?”

Eyes darting back and forth, the thug frantically shook his head as much as he could while being held in All Might’s grip. “Pl-please… I-I… didn’t know!”

Ignoring the man’s pleas completely, all the previous traces of being dangerously coy with the thug were wiped away as All Might murderously intoned, “They die.”

With that, All Might began to squeeze the hand wrapped around the man’s throat even tighter. Garbled chokes escaped the man’s lips as with each passing second All Might added more and more force. Reveling in the sound, a sadistic, twisted grin made its way onto All Might’s face. If he was feeling generous, he could have just snapped the man’s neck and been done with it, but that would have been too easy. The bastard had to pay for what he did, and so All Might made sure to drag it, delighting in the way the man’s neck slowly began to crack in his grasp as the life drained from his eyes. Sickening sounds floated into the air, mixtures of bone breaking and strangled gasps as the man gagged on his own saliva. His hands flailed, desperately clawing at the limb wrapped around his neck in a futile attempt to break free. Much too soon for All Might’s liking though, the thug’s efforts slowed before stopping altogether, his hands falling lifelessly back down to his side.

Letting out a sneer, All Might finally released him from his grasp letting his body carelessly crumple to the ground with a revolting thud. “How pathetic, he didn’t even last 2 minutes.”

Taking one last glance at the body, he kicked it to the side before turning his attention toward the two lackeys trembling in the corner. Blinded by bloodlust, he stalked toward them, licking his lips in anticipation and clenching his hands together, imagining their necks were in between them.

All Might was almost upon them when a flash of movement captured the corner of his eye. Momentarily ignoring his prey,  he shifted his body slightly and caught sight of you, shivering in a seated position with your arms wrapped tightly around your legs while slowly rocking back and forth. Gooseflesh had broken out along your skin from the chilly night air, only agitated by the cold sweat that had broken out upon your brow from the night’s events. Stray hairs stuck to your skin as wide, fearful (e/c) eyes looked up to lock with his own, and instantly All Might felt his bloodlust melt away, replaced by an overwhelming need to go to you.

Spinning back around, he addressed the two lackeys quivering in the corner. He pointed a disgusted, raging scowl at the thugs before thundering his ultimatum. “You have exactly 5 seconds to get out of my sight. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up like your boss over there.” He stated, throwing a finger back over his shoulder in the direction of the corpse.

Leaning down, he pulled both of them up by the collar of their necks. “And if I ever catch you even looking at this girl, trust me when I say you won’t live to tell anyone about it. But, feel free to tell your buddies about what happened here tonight. It’ll be a good reminder to everyone out there about what happens when you try to take something that belongs to me. Remember boys, I. Don’t. Share. So spread the word that this girl’s mine.”

Then, without another word, All Might threw them towards the opening of the alley. Not needing to be told twice, they scrambled back, hightailing it out of there. Watching them go, a small smirk passed over his face at their show of naivety. He’d let them go, for now. He had more important matters to take care of. But come tomorrow, they’d be dead. All Might was nothing if not a man of his word, and so they, too, would have to pay with their lives for trying to steal from him. He could see it now. The look of shock their faces would portray at his appearance tomorrow. The way it would morph into a look of fear as he approached them. And finally, the acceptance that would fill their eyes as he squeezed the life out of them, realizing, at last, that he had never intended to let them truly escape. Yes, tomorrow would be a very good day indeed.

Turning around, he started to approach you, making slow, small steps when your face darted up in fear, like a deer caught in headlights. Seeing that it was just him, All Might watched your tense body start to relax as you buried your head back into your legs. Reaching you, he squatted down to be eye level with you, hesitantly reaching an arm out to place it on your shoulder. Now that you were no longer in danger, All Might felt unsure of what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort someone in distress as he was much more used to being the one causing the distress. Finally, he decided to settle for asking basic yet somewhat obvious questions.

“Are you alright?” He gruffed out.

Hearing no reply, a worry that he tried to push away started to creep into his mind the longer you stayed silent. Were you hurt? Had he gotten there too late? Had they touched you? He started to become lost in thoughts until a sudden force jolted him out of it. Looking down, he saw that you had attached yourself to his body, clutching at him like your life depended on it. He debated with himself for a few moments before choosing to reciprocate the gesture, wrapping his large arms around you and encasing you within his body heat. At his touch, your body started to shake with silent sobs, tears from your eyes beginning to wet his shirt. You stayed that way for a long time, bodies holding onto each other as you tried to process the events from the night. All Might didn’t say anything, choosing to offer you support quietly for as long as you needed it. Eventually though, your cries subsided and your frame slumped against him, exhausted from everything that had happened.

Eyes heavy, you were vaguely aware of your body shifting as All Might stood up. Lifting you with ease, he placed you into both of his arms, saying “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Slowly being lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his footsteps, a feeling of warmth and safeness washed over you. Right before you drifted to sleep, an inkling of a smile crossed over your face as you thought of the irony that you felt completely protected in the arms of the number one villain. With him, you knew that he would always be there to keep you safe. Although he was a villain, if tonight had proven anything, it seemed that you were an exception to the rule.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut (semi-public sex), possessiveness (some sexual, some not), jealousy, some fluff and some angst, also some violence (including a very small amount against the reader, proceed with caution), mentions of infidelity in a previous relationship

a/n: oh y’all thought it was gonna be smooth sailing from here on out? lol

You didn’t want to abandon Bucky to do carpetside interviews, but he refused to get anywhere near a hot mic so you let him go while you walked over to a reporter you recognized; she’d been nice before, probably would be again this time, so you were a little relieved to see her tonight.

She introduced you to the camera and you were slightly spaced out until she turned to you and got your attention again.  “So, you’ve been making a lot of headlines lately for your new relationship— what’s the scoop?  How’s it going?” she asked playfully, pushing the microphone into your face.

“Uh, great,” you breamed, “he’s my date tonight and he seems to have disappeared to…” you turned around to look for him.  “Oh, he’s talking to... is that... Laurence Fishburne?”

“James, is that his name?” she prompted, making you focus your attention back on the interview.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, the name sounding a bit foreign, “legally, but he goes mostly by his nickname Bucky.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” she smiled.  “He’s, uh…” her eyes widened a bit and you laughed.

“Yeah, he is,” you smirked.  “I assume by that facial expression you mean ‘crazy hot.’”

“I mean, in the politest way possible… yeah,” she giggled.

“Yeah, no, don’t pretend not to notice for my sake, cause, yeah, it’s… apparent.”

“Apparently he was your driver first?” she pressed.

“Yes!” you beamed, and then heard the way it sounded and backpedaled slightly.  “I promise that’s not why I hired him.  I actually didn’t meet him before he was on my team, but, I mean, I wasn’t mad to have some eye candy in the front seat.”

“Eye candy, huh?”

“But he’s so much more than that, that’s the thing,” you explained.  “We became good friends first, because he’s so smart and funny and kind and… I mean, I know he looks tough, and he is, but he’s really very sensitive underneath the slightly intimidating exterior.”

“Hard shell, soft center, sweet— he really does sound like candy!”

“Indeed,” you nodded.  “Gotta run but it was nice to chat!”

You dashed over to Bucky and clung onto his arm.  “Oh, hey, we were just talking about you,” he beamed.

“Loved you in After Midnight,” Mr. Fishburne smiled and even you were totally starstruck.

“Oh, wow, thanks, I loved you in… everything…” you trailed off, internally scolding yourself for the vague and useless compliment.  He was about to respond but was pulled away by some member of his team, giving you and Bucky a quick wave as he began a carpet-side interview.

“That was Laurence Fishburne, wasn’t it.” Bucky mumbled to you in a stunned monotone.  

“Yes, what were you doing talking to him?” you asked, amazed at his bravery to approach such a huge star.

“He came up to me, to congratulate me on… on dating you, I guess…”

“Or he mixed you up with Brad Pitt,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, if Brad Pitt lost all his money, spent a decade in the desert, went loco and buzzed all his hair off,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, you look great,” you soothed him, straightening his tie.  “Wanna go take some pictures?”

“I’m a little scared,” he admitted with a shy smile.

“It’s easy, just give them that sexy brooding look you do so well.”

Bucky smirked pridefully.  “You think so?”

“Totally.  You’re a natural,” you assured.

You tugged his arm and guided him to the carpet, letting him lead the way (or look like he was leading the way) as you found a clear spot and noticed how the cameras instantly flashed faster and brighter.  Photographers called your name to get your attention, and you waved and smiled and pulled Bucky closer.  The feeling of his arm around your waist was warm and comforting, and you hoped holding you had the same effect for him.

“Where are you looking?” you asked.

“At you,” he answered.

“Bucky,” you giggled, “you’re supposed to look at the cameras!”

“I honestly can’t, it’s blinding,” he frowned.

“Here,” you sighed, pointing out into the darkness just above the sea of flashing lights.  “Look out there.”

“I can’t see anything!”

“I know, but, look as if there was something there to look at, trust me, it helps.”

You adjusted slightly a few times, turning a little to show off the low back of your dress.  You almost gasped when Bucky held your face and kissed you suddenly, but you were happy to melt into it even as you heard the cameras flash even more aggressively, some whoops and hollers coming from the crowd on and off the carpet.

He pulled back and you wanted to chase him for more but you realized it wasn’t the right time.  

“Let’s go inside,” you offered, guiding him the rest of the way down the carpet— mainly because you were afraid you’d end up jumping his bones right here in front of everyone.

He nodded and followed close by, arm resting on your shoulder the whole time, and just as you saw one of your friends and thought you might want to go over and introduce her to Bucky, you saw who she was talking to.

Sam.  

Seeing him always made your heart stop.  At first, it was because you were starstruck by him, in awe of his talent, amazed that you were going to be working with someone you admired so much.  Then it was because you had fallen for him and he had gladly swept you off your feet, bringing you into a whirlwind romance that at the time had felt like the only thing that mattered.  But since the break-up, and now, it was something else.  Fear wasn’t the word, it’s not like you were afraid of him in a literal sense, but there was this anxiety, this tenseness to seeing him.  It always brought back memories— the best and the worst, all at once.  Nights laughing together, sharing secrets, stealing glances and touches and kisses; nights spent alone staring at a phone that never rang.  Limbs tangled together between the sheets, that warm brown skin encompassing and surrounding yours; laying side by side in a bed that isn’t empty but is still plenty cold, seeing the way he angles his phone away from you and wishing you had the strength to just leave because you already knew what he was doing.  The first time you said ‘I love you.’  The first time he said ‘it won’t happen again.’

“You alright?” Bucky asked, tearing you from your thoughts.  You looked away and met Bucky’s gaze, hoping he either hadn’t seen your ex or at least hadn’t recognized him.  

“Yeah, I’m great,” you answered quickly, “let’s go get some drinks maybe?  And then I need to show you off to some people.”

“Show me off?” he scoffed.

“Yeah, why did you think I brought you here, really?” you winked.

“Hey, if we’re showing each other off, does that mean you’ll come to my next high school reunion?”

//

You’d been antsy ever since the two of you had come inside; it was obvious from the way you were clinging so much closer to him, and yet it was clear that your mind was a million miles away.

“Hey, it’s starting to wrap up, wanna head out soon?” you asked, trying to act casual, but he saw the way your eyes were darting up to where Sam Wilson was mingling and he knew it wasn’t about getting home early.  Did you really think he wouldn’t notice that you’d seen him?

“Whatever you wanna do,” he shrugged.

“Okay, could you bring the car around for me then?  And I’ll meet you outside?” you offered.  “I should say hi and bye to a few people.”

“Sure,” he agreed, starting to walk away after giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

And he really did try to do what he said he was going to, but the further away he walked, the more he glanced back to watch you walk across the room, the harder it was to just let it go.  He knew you were going to talk to him, and before he really even decided to do anything about it he found himself circling back around the room, following you.  

He thought he’d lost you when he turned a corner and you were gone, but then he heard voices from a doorway and cracked it open slightly to see you inside with a few other people, nobody he recognized although one of them he’d definitely seen in something before.

He sighed with relief, about to turn and go get the car like he said he would, but then Sam Wilson just had to magically materialize out of thin air as he stepped up behind you and tapped your shoulder.

“Sam!” you blurted out, spinning to face him with wide eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted, acting all suave and shit, making Bucky’s blood boil.  “You look great.”

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled, “you too.”

“You’ve been all over the internet lately, making quite the splash,” he recalled with a contemplative nod.  “You and this new boytoy you’ve got.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is boyfriend,” you corrected sternly.  

“Honey,” he scoffed as he rolled his eyes.  Bucky couldn’t decide if it was worse to hear him call you a pet name in earnest or with the derogatory tone that he currently had.  “Everybody knows you go through these guys like potato chips.  Especially when they’re not famous— how many PAs did you hook up with on your last set, huh?”

“I don’t roll like that anymore,” you denied.

“That’s not what Jake Friedman says,” Sam smirked.  It actually took Bucky a moment to remember that that was the guy you’d… entertained in the backseat of your car, or maybe it was more that he had entertained you; you seemed to tense up when Sam mentioned him, as did Bucky.  “I mean, sure, he’s not crew, but he’s not famous the way you are.  The way we are.  And neither is your new guy.  He doesn’t ‘get it’, does he?  He doesn’t get what it’s like.  Has he already started freaking out about all the hate online?”

Bucky regretted that he’d ever said anything about that; if he’d known it would come around to prove Sam Wilson right about something, he wouldn’t have done it.  “No,” you lied.

“Well, he will,” Sam assured you, stepping a little closer to you and letting his fingers languidly brush over your arm.  “I made a mistake before, letting you go.”

“Damn right,” you hissed as you pulled away from him.

“But I realized that, and now I’m wondering why we aren’t giving the people what they want.”

“That’s what I never understood about you,” you frowned.  “It’s always about other people with you.  It’s never about you, and it was never about me.”

“But it is about you,” he explained, “and me: us.  You’re forgetting how good we were together.”

You shook your head.  “I was single for years and you never called.  Now you’re all over me with all these regrets about ending it?  Get a grip, Sam.  This is about you wanting what you can’t have.”

“Can’t have?” he repeated incredulously.  “Baby,” he purred— and Bucky decided it was definitely worse to hear him call you that in earnest.  “You know you’re always gonna be mine.”

As you started to shiver, Sam’s arms slipping around your back and grabbing your waist, Bucky felt like he had lost control of his body.  He was watching himself from far away as he stormed across the room, nearly knocking a few people over on the way, and shoved Sam off of you and onto the ground.

“Bucky!” you yelped.  “Bucky, stop!”

“You’d better watch your hands, Wilson, before they get somewhere they’re not supposed to be,” Bucky growled, ignoring you completely even as you helplessly tugged at his suit.  

“Jesus,” Sam spat, “the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What are you doing?” you asked Bucky, irate and confused as you stared up at him with a furrowed brow.  He grabbed your hand and guided you out of the room and down the hall, barely managing to drag you into a random bathroom before he started tearing at your dress, leaving rough bites and kisses down your neck as you gasped and moaned softly.  

“Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, “all mine.  Did you forget?”

“No,” you sighed, “I could never…”

“That’s not what it looked like,” he sneered, hiking up your long skirt to run his fingers over your skin and expose the delicate, lacy panties you were wearing. 

“Bucky, please,” you sighed, rubbing your hips up against his leg, riding his thigh shamelessly.

“What’s got you so worked up, baby?  Is it me, or him?” he asked darkly.

“You, baby, just you, nobody else— I’m yours,” you assured him feverishly, “I’m all yours, please, I need you.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, fumbling with his belt and fly as he pulled his growing cock from his suit pants.  “You need it that bad?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “fuck me.”

He pulled your underwear aside and quickly shoved into you, groaning at the feeling of your walls stretching to welcome him.  “Fuck, angel, so tight,” he sighed, knowing how much little praises drove you crazy.

“Bucky,” you sighed, “oh my god… harder, please— n-need you deeper…”

His hips moved back only to slam back against yours, making you whimper; he smiled when he felt your leg wrap around his waist and try to hold him inside, but he couldn’t slow down now, not when he needed this so bad.

He sucked on your neck as he kept thrusting into you, your wetness coating his cock so thoroughly that he slid right home every time.  It was clear that he was hitting your g-spot from how you moaned with each thrust, your spongy channel pulsing and tightening in rhythmic patterns.

Overcome with the need to assert his, for lack of a better word, ownership over you, he found himself reaching up to hold your throat— not quite in the way to choke you, just to remind you that he could, if he wanted to.

“Did he ever make you come like this?” he asked with a gravelly whisper, lips right against your ear as he tightened his hand around your neck slightly.

“No,” you shook your head, “nobody has.”

“Nobody’s ever loved you this good but me, is that it?  Nobody else has ever fucked you like this?”

“Just you, Bucky, please don’t stop— I’m so close…”

“Do you think they can hear you out in the hallway?  Say my name when you come, princess, just in case they can— I want them to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“Bucky,” you whined, chanting it over and over with a few ‘yes’s and ‘fuck’s interspersed occasionally.  He thrusted faster and harder as he felt his own orgasm building; he needed to come inside you and claim you again, mark you as his one more time, and the flexing of your walls was only egging him on.

“I know you’re close, baby, just let go,” he whispered against your ear, “come for me, just like that, you’re doing so good— fuck, so good for me…”

You whimpered and clutched at his shoulders, a gush of wetness and a final, strong tightening of your inner muscles signaling that you’d reached your peak.  He couldn’t hold back any longer when he saw (and felt) that, groaning as he began to release thick streams of come into you.

The absolute second your afterglow began to fade, you pushed him off of you and grimaced as you adjusted your panties and dress.  "The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Wh— what?" he stammered, breathless and confused.  "What did I do?  Was I not supposed to come inside?"

You gaped at him in shock.  "Do you really not realize what you did?  Bucky, you assaulted my ex-boyfriend."

"I— he'll be fine," he dismissed, "he was putting his hands on you, what was I supposed to do, just let him do it?"

"You were supposed to let me handle it," you hissed.  "You were supposed to be pulling the car around and not spying on me!"

"Spying?!  I was protecting you."

"You shoved him hard enough to knock him over, Bucky, that's not okay."

"Hold on," he shook his head in disbelief, "so you're mad at me, when we just had sex?!  Why didn't you say something before?"

"Just cause it's hot doesn't mean it's okay," you explained, a little embarrassed.

"Tell me something," he frowned, "what is this—" he motioned to the space between the two of you— "to you?  Cause it kinda seems like I think we're boyfriend and girlfriend, and you think—"

"What?  What do I think?" you challenged.  "Go ahead, tell me."

"You think it's just a sex thing."

"Oh my god," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, what am I supposed to think when you get off on me dealing with your ex, and then tell me it's this big terrible thing?"

A sick idea clawed its way out of the back of Bucky's mind: was Sam right about her?  Was Sam right about us?

You crossed your arms and huffed, but didn't respond.

"Was everything that just happened just a fuckin' kink for you or something?  Cause I meant every goddamn word," he growled.

You sighed, like you weren't taking it seriously— like you weren't taking him seriously.  His fist tightened at his side involuntarily.  He'd never felt so used, so ignored; or, at least, he never expected it from you.  "We'll talk about this later," you dismissed quickly.  "Let's just go back there and put on a happy face, okay?"

"Oh, so you can let another guy feel you up?  Sounds like a fucking blast," he hissed.

"Fuck you," you snarled as you pushed him aside to leave the bathroom.

He didn't remember grabbing you, he didn't remember twisting your arm as he pulled you back.  He didn't remember you crying out, trying to wrench yourself away, clawing at his grip on you.  All he remembered was you looking up at him with watery eyes, expression twisted in fear.

"Bucky, you're hurting me," you whimpered weakly, and only then did he notice his metal hand was holding your wrist.  When he let go, he already saw a mark forming in the shape of his hand as you grabbed your freed wrist to rub the damaged flesh.

"I'm sorry—" he began to whisper, but you were already gone.