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starry-bi-sky · 10 hours

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tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #tales of the passerine au #i dont want to overemphasize how much vlad sucks but also i dont want to downplay it. but also i didn't wanna make this post too long #i didn't emphasize enough on vlad's possessiveness but i wanted to make this post as general enough as possible for the au.#for some more wiggle room in the future if i make more posts about this au.#the consequences for Danny repressing himself was not a concern i was focused on for the post but i am thinking about it and mulling it ove #i'll be blunt my main specific reason for why this occurs shortly after tue is bc it means dani doesn't exist yet and it means i dont have #to include her in the continuation of this au. i love that girl but she's a dead weight. i dont wanna come up with an elaborate reason as #to why she's not in the picture when i can just say 'she never created in the first place' instead. i don't have anything for her to do #I don't want to risk giving her a poor plot line just so that she exists in au.#sometimes i really hate just how long my posts get. i feel like it kills my engagement. but i also don't want to make posts that have #a part 1 and part 2 just because I think it got too long.#i feel kinda bad for having Danny take the spot of 'first partner' from Dick. But that was part of the reason i was inspired to make this a #i've already got the skeleton of a reasoning for danny becoming a vigilante being made in my head.#He can't go by Phantom since that risks drawing Vlad's attention -- a new vigilante showing up in Gotham. a place the visited frequently #who goes by the name Phantom? He'd be on that faster than chickens on meat. and nightingale has familial meaning behind it due to being #part of an ancestral name. it follows robin's theme of using it to honor his parents while still having its own unique enough lore to stand #on its own without feeling like a cheap copy. plus the bonus meta reason that it follows the bird theme. which personally is vital to me #my other alternative to Nightingale is Sparrow. mostly because it has good phonetic structure for a hero name. not too many syllables #a good balance of consonants and vowels. dont want a hero name with too many syllables or unbalanced consonants. or worse; both.#my reasonings is that hero names should be easy for a civ or teammate to yell while still being understood. max amount of syllables before #it threatens to become too wordy is 3. If it goes over 3 it should have a balanced consonant-vowel ratio. Wonder Woman is a good example #some things got cut here that were in the initial oneshot. like danny giving bruce his physical ghost core and showing up bloody.#the first son au

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yanaromanov · 12 hours

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fuck me, i’m famous

｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

paring: rockstar!natasha romanoff x reader

summary: when your boyfriend drags you along to a rock concert of a band you barely know, and then ceremoniously dumps you to go out with his friends after, it feels like your night can’t get any worse. thankfully, the guitarist of the band seems to take a particular interest in you and offers you an alternative offer on how to spend your night that seems just too good to refuse.

warning(s): cheating (r has a bf), but he’s a shitty bf, oc male character, band jargon that may or may not be correct, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of flirting, slight mention of crystals, swearing, many pet names, first time with a woman, smut, fingering, thigh riding, masturbation, scissoring, multiple orgasms, hickeys, natasha talking you through things, lots of praise, slight degradation (?), minors dni.

authors note: okay i feel like this is kinda bad and messy but i also spent too much time on it not to post. i’m still getting used to writing smut and haven’t wrote anything like this before so i hope it’s okay 😭😭 the end is also rushed so plz just ignore that :))

wc: 12.2K words

You've seen enough books and movies to know how things are supposed to go. How that perfect moment comes, when the pieces fall into place and you suddenly realize this is what you're meant to do, what you've always meant to do. But you've also lived a life long enough to know it never actually happens. In truth, it's all a bunch of bullshit.

There's never such thing as love at first sight, no moment where the world freezes on everyone except you and music plays in slow motion in the background, your eyes falling on that one person through the crowd that you just know your heart only beats for. In real life, the cards just don't fall like that. There's too many shitty people and grievous circumstances for the true movie dream to ever be lived, forever just a piece of fiction one can only fantasize of.

You know all this, understand it to be true. And yet, one hot Summer night, it feels like it all melts away and that fairy tale veil falls down right in front of your very own eyes.

It's not slow when it happens, not like in the movies. It's fast and loud and hot and sweaty. The music around you blares into your ears, bodies beside you screaming out lyrics you barely know. In the crowded space, you at least try to have a good time, try to mimic your boyfriend's energy as he dances and sings beside you, but you know its all futile. You want to leave. Truly, never wanted to come in the first place, but had done for him, for all his pleas and begs. You'll love it, I promise. Please come, baby, please.

The lights are hurting your eyes, the fog burning at your irises. Everyone is far too close to you, strangers pressing up against your sides from the front row section your boyfriend, Tyler, had demanded you needed. You don't feel it right all the back there. You need to be close to feel it in your bones. You feel a little sick.

And then that's when it happens. Body jostling against the side of the raised stage, ears ringing from being far too close to the speakers, that's when your own movie moment finally crashes into you. It's quick, so quick you don't even take notice till a few seconds after it happens. As your eyes raise to the band playing in front of you, they graze over each of the members. The brunette hugging the microphone center stage; the other behind hammering into a black drum set; the tall blonde whose fingers dance over the fretboard of a blue bass; and then finally, the woman playing an electric guitar stage right the same color as her fiery red hair. When you meet her eye it's like one of those moments back in high school, when you're accidentally caught making eye contact with someone across the class. But this time, unlike any time with your classmates, the redhead doesn't screw her face up, passing you a dirty look. What the fuck are you looking at? Instead, she winks.

Seconds later her gaze is gone, returned to the vibrating audience, and it takes you just about as much time to even acknowledge what had just happened. It seems fake, like a miscommunication in the space of a blink. Surely you must be imagining things, the heat in the room finally getting to you. But no, you're so sure of it. So set on what you've seen. A few moments later, it's like it's confirmed. The redhead's sights turn back on you, looking down into the pit of bodies where you stand. This time she holds, her eyes trained to yours as she continues to pluck the strings of her guitar. A small smirk stretches across painted lips, teeth plunging down into plump flesh. The music doesn't slow like it does in the movies. In fact, it seems almost louder than ever as you hold contact with the redhead's playful gaze. And when she winks again, chin jutting in your direction, you know it's you she's looking at.

You feel a little too seen, and not so much in a good way. You don't feel that special moment you read about in books, the time you are the chosen one across the sea of other bodies, a spark lighting in your heart at the romanticism of it all. It actually only drives one question in to your head; why the fuck is she looking at me?

You duck your eyes away, looking to the floor and the scuffed boots on your feet. There's a half-full cup of water a few inches in front of you. You watch as dancing feet almost collide with it, surely only seconds a way from being spilled. It holds your attention for a long time, so long your boyfriend is grasping at your cheek to check you're alright. You smile the way you always seem to do. Lips painting a picture of 'yes, I'm fine', while your brain screams out in contradicting protest. How much longer till this thing is done? My fucking head hurts.

When the final song does eventually roll around, you're too lost in your own thoughts to even care. The redhead guitarist has made eye contact with you three more times since you'd first noticed. If there was any doubt you had she wasn't seeking you out, it was surely dissipated now. Each time your eyeline had actually raised to the stage in front of you, it was like the woman's eyes were already waiting for you.

Trying to hold back the dizziness from gazing down at the floor, you had tried to remember the redhead's name. In no offence to the band, or their adoring fans lined up behind you, you actually didn't know of them much at all. Sure, you've heard their songs blasted through your boyfriend's speakers, saw their faces on cassettes and cd's dumped around your apartment, but you've never truly been a follower of the band Crimson Coven. You try to rack your brain of the knowledge you have, of every rant your boyfriend has been on that you so casually zone out from. The lead singer's name is Wanda, you know that much. She seems to be his favourite from the amount of things you've heard him rattle on. She's never even taken singing lessons. She's actually European, isn't that sick? Did you know she has a twin brother? You should do your makeup like her, babe.

The redhead has you thrown for a loop though. There are two names swimming in your head, though you're pretty sure the drummer is the one named Maria and Carol doesn't seem to fit the guitarist stood on the right. For the life of you it seems you can't draw the name from your head. It stays that way until the concert is finishing, stood watching the four women walking off stage, screaming out "thank you's" and collecting thrown objects on to the small stage, all the while you notice a certain member's eyes still trained on you. You simply turn away and grab on to Tyler’s hand, letting him guide you out of the dissipating crowd. God, you can't wait to get home.

The line to the bathroom is a slight roadblock in your plan. It's not torturously long by any means, but it still has you stood outside pressing your thighs together as you try desperately to hold in the three cans of beer you'd drank before the gig had began. You're regretting that decision now as the line filters slowly into the venue's singular women's bathroom. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? If it weren't for the half hour journey you had back to your place, you would have considered just holding it, but if the pain in your stomach were any indication, you weren't going to make it that far.

When it's finally your turn, you all but run into the cubicle. It's quieter in there, a barricade between the groups of people who’ve chosen to stay to socialize in the venue's lounge and bar area. The stall is not only a relief for your full bladder, but also your pounding head. You stay in there longer than what's needed, most likely angering the girls waiting outside, but you just can't help it. It's cool and quiet and a desperate contrast to the overstimulating room you'd just spent the last two hours in. After washing your hands, you take the time to check up on your makeup, licking the tip of your finger to fix the slightly smudged liner of your eyes. All in all, you're pretty intact considering the circumstances. A pleasing picture that will soon be washed away as you head home for a night of constant reiterations of the concert you'd just experienced.

You're almost rolling your eyes already at the thought, so easily predicting your boyfriend's behavior for the next several hours. It's this state of disapproval that blinds you as you open the door to the bathroom, not noticing the taller woman standing there before she's backing you up into the stall.

You stumble slightly as the presence walks towards you, your eyes adjusting to the other person who has suddenly joined you in the room. For a moment their back is turned, locking the door to the stall before their face is revealed to you. You curse a little under your breath when you recognise the features.

"There you are. God, do you know hard it was to track you down? Slipped right in here before I could get to ya."

The redhead in front of you breathes out her words, smiling down at you in a way that flips your stomach. It's in that moments everything truly comes crashing down. Every doubt you had, every belief that things like this don't happen in real life is swept away as the famous guitarist stands in front of you. It really was you she was looking at from the stage and now she'd tracked you down. Pinned you into a bathroom stall as she looks down on your figure with her eyes wide, almost drunk. "Uhm, hi?" Is all you manage to say, the entirety of the situation still comprehending itself in your mind.

The redhead in front of you smirks widely as she responds. "Hi." It's then that it hits you, the name you couldn't pinpoint earlier. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Lead guitarist of Crimson Coven. You're trying to remember anything Tyler might have said about her when she takes another step in your direction.

"Wow," she breathes, almost to herself. "You're even prettier up close." Her eyes seem to trace over your whole figure, her tongue playing with the inside of her cheek. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

"Uhm...thank you?" you stutter back, not entirely sure of how you're supposed to act in this situation. You're still trying to get over the shock of her pushing you back into the bathroom before you'd tried to leave. Not sure what else to do, your own eyes trail over the star stood ahead of you. She's still wearing her outfit from her performance; an old looking graphic tee tucked into a pair of black denim shorts. The boots on her feet have silver embellishments that match perfectly with the necklaces around her neck and many rings adorning her fingers. Her lips are painted a shade of faded red that both contrasts and yet somehow works perfectly with her hair, curled and messy around her shoulders. As you look over her, the thought of why your boyfriend may just like her band so much crosses your mind. She really was hot as shit.

But despite her looks, there's still an anxiety bubbling in your chest at this situation. It’s probably not often people could get this close to the star, let alone be held up in a room alone with her. Yet your ears are still ringing and the only true wish crossing your mind's eye is your bed. So, disappointing every girl who'd rather be in your place, you simply clear your throat as you gesture mindlessly to the door behind her. "I think there's people waiting outside to use this cubicle."

The rockstar cocks her head, smirking back. "Oh yeah?" She shrugs, only briefly glancing over her shoulder at the closed bathroom door. "I'm sure they'd be fine waiting. Didn't mind letting me cut through the line." When she smiles back at you, you assume the look in her eye is a mirror of how a predator looks at its prey. You find your lip between your teeth as you look back, very aware of just how much time you'd already spent in this bathroom and how there was a lot of people stood outside who would be becoming increasingly more annoyed at the occupied status, rockstar be damned. Though her attitude remains relaxed, the redhead in front of you seems to pick up on your hesitation because she lets out a low sigh. "Look, if you're really that bothered why don't don't we leave and your pretty ass can join me backstage?"

She takes another step towards you, eyes darkening a they take in your figure. You swallow the saliva in your mouth in an attempt to cool the burn in your stomach. "Sorry-I um-I have a boyfriend," you manage to stutter out, taken aback by her advances. She definitely was hitting on you, that much was clear now, but you knew that Tyler would be waiting for you somewhere, most likely wondering why the fuck you were taking so long to pee.

When your words ring out, its like the redhead's brain short circuits. She almost freezes, only her brows moving to pull into a deep frown. "Shit," she murmurs. "Really?"

You nod in response, fingers playing with the back of your shirt. "Yeah." The redhead looks awfully confused, her gaze trailing over you as if there's something she's missed. When her eyes meet yours once more, its like your answer is a complete mystery to her, like there's something she saw you must have missed in your own reflection. You try to brush it off, not delving into whatever thoughts must be running through the star's head. Instead you just clear your throat again, pointing to the door. "He's um- probably waiting for me."

A tight smile passes across your lips as you slowly move towards the door. The redhead lets you go, ever so slightly brushing past her arm without another word said. You reach for the handle of the door, turning it open before leaving the rockstar behind to wallow in whatever confusion or disappointment runs through her head. You just want to find Tyler and get the hell out of there.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom stall, it feels even warmer than it had before. Though now you're not entirely sure if it's just the air, or also the blood you can feel coursing through your cheeks. You try your best to brush it off, looking around the space to try and locate wherever your boyfriend might have wondered off to. Walking past the line of remaining girls, you have to try ignore their passing stares. Most are likely from your extended use of the bathroom, holding them up even further, but you can't help but feel at least a few are thinking about whatever happened between you and Natasha in that stall and why on earth you had the nerve to leave such an opportunity unfulfilled.

Trying to leave the entire interaction behind, you move to the main area of the venue lounge to try find your boyfriend so you can finally head home. It takes you a good few minutes of searching through the crowds before you spy him across the way, stood talking with all of his friends that he'd brought along to the concert.

"Tyler," you call, passing through bodies to get to him. When he doesn't seem to hear you, you shout again. "Tyler!"

Finally, he turns around, a look of recognition passing over his face as you appear by his side. "Oh there you are, babe," he says. "Where the hell did you go?"

"I was just-I was peeing," you reply, looking around sheepishly at the group of men all staring down at you. It wasn't that you didn't like Tyler's friends per se, it was more so they just weren't your type of people. Most times they’re around, you manage to skilfully skirt around them until a time when they've all gone back home.

Tyler scoffs a little at your comment. "You were gone for like half an hour." He laughs, gesturing to the group as they all join in.

"Yeah. Um-the line was long," you say, trying to avoid the annoyance creeping up your spine as well as skirt around the encounter you'd had just moments ago. Partially because you were still trying to wrap your head around it but also because you didn't want to hear whatever he had to say about what happened. Instead, you just let out a small sigh. "Can we just go home now?"

"Oh actually," Tyler starts. "We were thinking of hitting up a few bars before we went home."

The words hit you like a blast of hot air, unable to deny the feeling of annoyance brewing under your skin. Still, you try to remain sweet in hopes he'll seek pity on you. "Tyler, please," you reply. "I'm tired, can't we just-"

"You don't have to come."

He cuts you off quickly, halting the words in your throat. The attitude you can hear in his voice almost immediately breaks the facade of kindness you were putting on. "Excuse me?"

Tyler shrugs, having the nerve to look annoyed, like you're the one being unreasonable here. "Just call a cab home. You'll be fine." And with that it seems he's had enough of the conversation, turning his shoulders away as he beckons his group to follow.

"No, Tyler wait," you try, but he continues to move away. The only thing you receive is him quickly turning over his shoulder, calling out a goodbye as he promises to see you later.

"Tyler!" You yell but it's futile, the image of your boyfriend already swallowed up by the crowd. "Fuck."

For the second time tonight it feels like you have no idea how to react. You swivel around on the spot, like a lost kid in a grocery store. Some part of you can't believe he would just leave you like that, but then the other part understands it's him all over. Stupid selfish prick.

Far past being annoyed at the night's events, you reach for the phone buried in your jacket pocket, determined to just do as you were told and order a cab home. When the screen returns to you black, the only image your own reflection staring back at you even as you press the power button repeatedly, a long string of curses escape your lips. Stupid fucking phones and their stupid ass batteries. And of course tonight had to be the night you had forgone your charger, leaving you with just a useless weight of metal that you slip back into your pocket. Just my fucking luck.

For a moment, you're stuck on what to do, how to find a way home, but then your eyes fall on the bar across the room. You make your way through the crowd, squeezing past people and mumbling half-assed 'sorry's' and 'excuse me's' until you eventually reach the bar. When you do, the bartender walks over to you, a small smile appearing on his face. "Hi, what can I get for you?"

"Actually, I was just wondering if you could call me a cab?" you reply, raising your voice to be heard over the venue's loud music.

The bartender furrows his brow. "What?"

"A cab," you repeat, leaning in further to his ear. "Can you call me a cab, please? My phone is dead."

"Oh, I can't sorry," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "Phone is broken."

"What? Can't you use your mobile or-"

"Not while I'm on shift."

He shrugs again. You scoff.

"Please. I really need to get home."

"Sorry," the bartender responds finally, turning away to move towards another customer down the bar.

You watch him go, scowling. When he starts to talk to someone else, asking for their order, another waterfall of curses fall from your tongue. How the fuck were you supposed to get home now?

"Hey gorgeous."

The voice all but pulls you from your thoughts and to the right, dragging you away from the harsh stare you were given the unhelpful bartender. When your eyes fall to the person who had sidled up beside you, a small sigh slips out, your eyes rolling in their sockets.

"Wow," the redhead responds, easily picking up on your bad attitude. She holds her hands up. "Sorry to offend."

You look back at the rockstar, at Natasha. It seems she's found you again in a moment where you want nothing more than to find a way out of there. Though despite your frustration, you know it's not her fault, that she isn't the one controlling the universe so adamant on your downfall tonight. So, you force yourself to soften your expression as you turn back to her. "No. No, I'm sorry," you say, shaking your head slightly. "It's just- I'm trying to get a cab home but apparently their phone is broken." You gesture towards the bar, displaying the utter uselessness of its bartender with the look on your face.

Natasha seems to take a little amusement in your frustration, the faintest of a smile appearing on her face. "You ain't got your own phone to call a cab?" The mobile is received from your pocket, quickly held up by your hand as you flash the dead device to the redhead opposite. She sighs, tilting her head back. "Ah, I see. What about that boyfriend of yours? Couldn't he call you a cab?"

You're a little surprised to hear her mention that piece of information, even if you'd only shared it with her minutes before in the bathroom stall. The mention of his presence is enough to drag the long sigh from your chest as you stare down at the bar. "Not when he's the reason I need one."

"Alright, I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that one."

Her words draw your eyes back to her, briefly grazing over her face before you respond. "He left with his friends. Gone off to some other bar. Told me to phone a cab home."

Natasha lets out a breath of air. "Dickhead." You watch her as she takes a sip from the beer in her hand, trying not to notice the way her lips look pressed against the top of the bottle. "You know, a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to wait around on assholes like that."

And then there's that same heat you felt in the bathroom, creeping up your cheeks unwelcome. You turn away again as you shrug in an attempt to hide it. "He's not that bad-" "Sure," Natasha cuts you off before you can even finish your explanation. In truth, you weren't even sure what else you were going to say, what redeeming qualities you could draw about the boy who'd left you stranded in the city to go get drunk with his friends. Instead you just turn to the woman sat beside you, only shallowly realising how she is in fact a minor celebrity and that a lot of the people around were probably looking over at the pair of you. But when Natasha smiles and leans in, it's like it all disappears. "Alright, lemme tell you this. You let me buy you one drink and I'll phone you a taxi home."

You look back at the rockstar sat across from you, letting her words settle into your mind. This close you can once again tell just how beautiful she is, how any girl in this room would pay good money to be where you are right now. But you don't want to be that kind of girl, the kind that chases after someone just because they have a little bit of fame. Nevertheless, there is something about the redhead that draws you in. Maybe it's the layers of piercings you can see stacking her ears, or the patchwork of tatoos lining her exposed arms. Whatever it is, something about her is making you want to follow whatever she says. Furthermore, her offer is one that is rather too good to refuse. After a moment, you sigh as you nod your head. "Fine. One drink." Natasha Romanoff smirks, calling the bartender over almost immediately with two fingers. It's the same tilted smile you had seen her passing you from across the stage, though now you can take notice of the small dimple that appears on her cheek when those lips pull taught. Everything about this encounter was setting something alight inside you but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

When your drink finally arrives - curtesy of a different bartender - you decidedly join the rockstar on the stools lined up against the bar. The leather is sticky and uncomfortable against the exposed skin under your skirt. Still, you ignore it as you look over at the redhead to your right, slowly taking a sip of the cocktail you'd ordered as you get the opportunity to voice the question that's been on your mind for the last couple hours. "Why were you looking at me on stage?"

"Why'd you think?" Natasha smirks the widest you've seen all night, licking her bottom lip as she turns to you. "I thought maybe you and I could have some fun but…you had to be little miss taken." You try not to react to her words, or moreover the way her eyes drag themselves over your body, particularly your exposed thighs against the red leather of the barstool. "Maybe we could still have some fun yet tho, hm?" Natasha finishes, her eyes returning to yours. Even in the dim light of the bar you can tell they're blown out, pupils wide as they drink you in.

You let out a sigh. "Listen, in the nicest way possible, I don't actually really know who you are and I don't know about this whole thing you're doing, if it's normal but-"

"Wait," Natasha cuts you off. "You were in the front row and don't know who I am?"

You feel a little bashful as you shrug your shoulders. "I mean- I kinda do, I guess. I mean- I've listened to a few of your band's songs but I'm not like- a fan or anything."

"Not a fan?" Natasha breathes, reaching to take another sip of her drink with an amused expression. "So tell me, how does a girl who's not a fan end up hugging the stage all night?"

You take a sip of your own cocktail before you reply. "My boyfriend bought the tickets."

"Ah there it is," Natasha nods. "The boyfriend yet again." She turns in her chair, legs moving to dangle off the side. "You know, he's not really our target demographic."

You know exactly what she's talking about, almost too quickly. It was rather obvious to you that Crimson Coven was not a band trying to attract straight men, even if they did flock to them over their members' good looks. "Yeah, I tried to tell him that," you reply, sipping on your drink.

One of the redhead's brows raises, eyes tracing over your face. "What's that one saying?" she ask, swirling the bottle in her hands. "Takes one to know one?" You feel the saliva pool in your throat as she looks back at you, smirk wider than ever. Swallowing harshly, you take a rather big swig of your drink, trying your best to ignore the way you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Natasha simply breathes out a laugh. "I think you're maybe not as you first seem, little lady." Right then there's a look that passes between you, your eyes wide and questioning, Natasha's dark and hooded. Then her hand is landing on your thigh, just above your knee where the skin is exposed. Her thumb strokes back and forth delicately as she licks her lips. "Why don't you tell me your name?"

There's a strange bubbling inside your stomach, a flutter to your heart. You want to turn and walk right out of there, ditch the rockstar in front of you and try your luck hailing a cab on the street. But part of you notices the shiver her touch sends up your thigh, how her skin is warm against yours in just the right kind of way, how despite your circumstances, just how amazing this moment feels. "Y/N," you reply eventually, swallowing your first instincts to the warm pit of your stomach.

"Y/N," the redhead repeats, rolling the name over her tongue. "I'm-"

"Natasha. I know."

She seems taken aback by your quick answer, cutting off her sentence before she can finish. She frowns slightly back at you. "I thought you said you didn't."

Now it's your turn to raise your brow. "I said I wasn't a fan. Not that I didn't know your name."

"I see," Natasha replies, her voice laced with amusement. She smiles to herself as she sips her beer, turning back with a wide grin. "You know, I've never slept with a Y/N before."

"You sleep with a lot of girls then?"

"I've done the rounds," Natasha shrugs. The nonchalant nature of her reply is enough to have you passing her a displeased look across the bar. She raises her brow, looking back at you. "What? You want me to lie to you? Tell you I'm the virgin mary?"

You want to laugh in response but hold yourself back, entirely aware of the game Natasha is trying to play. "So...what?" you draw out, playing with the rim of your glass. "You want me to be one of your new collectibles?"

"Well maybe if I get lucky."

You turn back to the smirking redhead. "I wouldn't buy a lottery ticket."

And she laughs, like really laughs right into her drink before she takes a sip. When she places it back on the bar, she shakes her head as she turns to look at you with a smirk. "You know most girls flock to my side," she says, raising a brow. "Asking for autographs or pictures."

"I already told you. I don't know that much about your band."

"You're here though, aren't you?" Natasha replies. "You must know some things."

She isn't entirely wrong. Sure, you knew of the things your boyfriend has endlessly droned on about. About Wanda being the one who named the band. Or about Carol and her cat, or Maria and her brief military background. You even knew about Natasha, little sparks in your memory of her coming from Russia or her hair being blonde at some point. It's all stored in the backlog of your brain, hours of knowledge you'd spent years sorting into the dusty compartments of your mind you never cared to look at. Still, there's something now about speaking to Natasha in real time, not hearing about your boyfriend's idealised version of her that feels a little different. Things here feel a little more real.

You don't acknowledge Natasha's question as you take a sip from your drink. "You want me to ask for your autograph?" you ask as you place the glass back down. "Is that it?"

The answer that follows is in such a low register you can barely hear it over the music. "I think we both know what I want."

You look back at Natasha, at her dazzling smirk and messy red hair. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint but I'm not your girl." A tight smile appears on your lips as you gaze out into the sea of bodies across the room. "Why don't you go find someone else?"

"Why would I when you're the prettiest thing in here?" Natasha's response is quick, almost as quick as the way her eyes divert to to rest if your body. "Hell, I'd go as far as to say you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"Listen," you sigh. "I appreciate the flattery but-"

"I ain't fucking around if that's what you think," Natasha says quickly, cutting you off. The look in her eye as she scans your face shows how genuine her words feel. "You caught my eye the second I stepped on stage. You're fucking gorgeous, angel. Forgive me if it's a crime to want to see more."

Despite your better instincts, you let out a laugh into your glass. No one has ever been this forward with you before, never complimented you so much to the point you can feel the heat of their words on your skin. Hell, not even Tyler was ever this keen to get you into bed. And you know you shouldn't like it, shouldn't fall for the rockstar's methods, but you can't help but enjoy the praise just a little bit.

That feeling is soon quashed however when your temple gives a sudden jolt of pain. You wince slightly, reminded of the too-loud atmosphere you'd spent the last few hours in. The alcohol probably wasn't helping much either.

"What's wrong?"

You're a little surprised when Natasha speaks, unaware of her having noticed your small flinch at the pain. You simply shake your head in response, smiling back at her. "Nothing. I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"You know," the rockstar replies quickly. "It's cooler backstage. Quieter too." You must give her a look laced with poison because she holds her hands up in defence once again, though this time smirking back at you. "Hey, Im just saying."

Despite your glare, you're still interested in the redhead sat opposite you. It's like even with her forward approach, you can't help but be drawn to some part of her. You try to avoid the smile that creeps back on to your face as you look back into her eyes. "Does this routine usually work for you?"

Natasha chuckles to herself before leaning in to speak. "Honey, by now I usually have a girl screaming my name as she rides my face."

It's now you're entirely glad of the dimness in the room, hiding the flushed state that rises in your throat and heats up your cheeks. You can feel yourself getting worked up by Natasha's bold statement, unsure of what to do with yourself or how to respond. In doubt of yourself, you simply reach for the cocktail glass in front of you and down the rest of the liquid. It burns a little going down but you find you don't mind it. Anything to take away from the feeling you can recognise brewing in your stomach.

You can just about feel Natasha's smirk as much as you can see it, pressing into the side of your head as she watches you become flustered, clearly enjoying the effect she is having on you. "Here," she says, adjusting herself in the chair. "Let me buy you another one."

You turn to meet her eye, holding it harshly. "I said one drink."

That smirk remains for a long while as Natasha just looks back at you, not answering for a few passing moments. It even stays as she lifts one of her arms, arching it so it comes to rest on the back of your barstool, officially caging in your conversation. "Alright," she drawls, her body leaning in towards yours. "Look at it like this. I can buy you another drink and we can talk some more. Maybe think about heading backstage, get you somewhere quieter. Or..." The redhead licks her licks, pausing as she angles her head. "I can phone you that cab now and you can mope in the backseat till you get home. Then, stumble into your cold apartment alone and just wait for your drunk boyfriend to get home and sidle up next to you in bed."

The blatant look on Natasha's face is a good representation of how you feel about the whole situation she's proposed. The thought of dealing with Tyler later is enough to have you rolling your eyes, already imagining his drunken state reaching out for you and wiping wet kisses along your neck, stinking of booze and the remaining perfume of whatever girl he's been chatting up at the bar. It's almost like a routine you've both fallen into, simply ignoring it every time until without fail, it'll happen again.

And maybe tonight you're done with it. Maybe tonight is the night you don't want to have to deal with him anymore, to hear him talk about himself for hours on end like you don't even exist. It's partially the thought of finally letting that go that pulls you in the direction you choose, but it's also largely down to the way you can feel Natasha pressing in closer, her face moving just inches from yours as her lips press up against your ear. Somehow, it's like you can even feel her smirking as her lips barely graze the skin beside your face. "If you come with me, I promise you won't regret it."

Maybe it is that that finally does it for you, the shiver of goosebumps running down your spine as you still feel the redhead's hand grazing your thigh. Maybe it's that or maybe it's the heat finally getting to you, or the alcohol hitting your head. It could be any of those, or maybe combination of them all. Whatever your brain decides to settle on as a reason, it doesn't really matter because within seconds, you're calling over the bartender for another drink, allowing yourself to fall into whatever rabbit hole Natasha Romanoff is offering you.

"I knew I'd like you, Y/N," the redhead whispers close, grinning widely at your acceptance. You don't say anything in response until the bartender is placing your vodka coke on the bar. And even then, just as you reach for the glass, Natasha is diverging any words you may have spoken as she grabs hold of your hand. "Come on," she calls and it's a challenge not to spill any of the drink as the redhead quickly begins to pull you from the bar.

"Natasha, wait-" you try to respond, not entirely sure of where this might be going, but the star is quickly cutting you off as she presses her lips together.

"Shh," she drags, looking back at you over her shoulder. "It's okay, angel. It's better back here, I promise."

Something in you gives in because you let her drag you through the crowds of the room, trying desperately not to spill the beverage in your hands. You notice on the way a few recognising faces that glance at Natasha, then almost turn a little sour as they fall onto you. You only get the chance to wonder about their jealousy for a few moments before Natasha has pulled you away from everyone entirely, slipping you through a door into a quiet corridor. And then, after turning a few corners and dodging a few stacks of equipment crates, she pulls you through another door into an entirely empty room.

It's only then does the redhead finally release your hand, letting you roam free as she crosses to sit on one of the sofas positioned within the room. Beside them, there's stacks of band equipment, most of which you don't quite recognise. The red guitar on the stand is easy, and the set of drumsticks lying on a table, but the speakers and wires sit in a valley of other items you probably couldn't name if you tried.

There are scatterings of personality throughout the space; a leather jacket thrown over a couch, an ashtray of old cigarettes on a coffee table, some cards laying close beside it. And for a moment you wonder if this is what Natasha Romanoff's life is like. Backrooms full of band equipment, roaring crowds that call out her name. An endless supply of money and booze and cigarettes and girls. It's so so far away from the reality that you live that it can't help but be a little fascinating, this room just a little window into the life of a true rockstar.

The one thing you do very quickly notice however, is the main luxury that the exclusive backstage room seems to have; air conditioning. Beautifully cool air floods your body as soon as the door closes behind you, your headache already cowering back in the quiet atmosphere. You just can't help but let out a long, appreciative sigh at the respite from the hot, humid air outside.

"Told ya." Natasha's voice calls as you see her throw herself down on one of the sofas, so easily slipping into her own space backstage.

You simply roll your eyes as you take a sip of the drink in your hand, surprisingly intact after lugging it across the venue. "So, where are your other friends?" you ask, looking more so at the room full of band things than the member sat on the couch across from you.

Natasha sighs, sitting back as her eyes drag over you. "Probably in rooms close by hoping to get somewhere like me."

"And where exactly is that?" you ask, feet wandering across the opposite side of the room from the redhead. She smirks back at you, watching your every movement.

"Why don't you tell me, gorgeous?"

You can feel yourself smile, finally allowing Natasha's flirting get to you. But instead of replying to her question, you simply run your fingers over the red instrument propped up on the stand beside you. "How long have you played guitar?"

"Fifteen years," Natasha replies quickly, unwavering at your change of topic.

You nod to yourself, looking down at the instrument. "Wow." There isn't anything you've probably committed to for that long, besides maybe school. You take a sip of your drink as you turn to lean on a table against the wall, now facing the still sitting redhead across the way. "How'd you meet the other girls?"

"It's a long story."

You hum in response, waiting just a moment for her to elaborate before you realise she's leaving it up to your own imagination. The two of you hold eye contact as you bring your drink up to your mouth, letting the bubbles pop on your lips as you drink before smoothing it over with your tongue. Theres a specific look in Natasha's eye you can't seem to recognise, almost as if she wants to eat you right where you stand. That smirk widens as you take another sip, your tongue yet again swiping over your lips and the sweet residual soda lingering there. It's then Natasha finally speaks, nodding her head in your direction. "Come here."

And you do. Placing your drink down on the table before pressing yourself up from it, you slowly make your way across the room to where Natasha sits. As you come to stand between her open legs, the rockstar sits up, her body straightening and her hands coming to rest on the sides of your hips. You let them explore a little as Natasha moves, forgoing the layer of your leather jacket and pressing directly beneath the hem on your shirt. Her fingertips feel calloused as they brush the skin beneath it, years of playing guitar coming to create the most amazing sensation as she brushes against your body.

"God, your skin is so soft," Natasha says lowly, almost to herself. It sounds like she's truly mesmerised, her entire being taken over by the feeling of you against her skin. And perhaps some part of you feels it too because without knowing what truly compels you, you find yourself lowering your body down into her lap. Natasha smirks as you come to rest upon her thighs, knees caging either side of her body. She glances down at the way your skirt rides up, only leaving little to the imagination of what lies beneath. Her hands come to rest there, stroking the soft skin of your upper thighs as you lift your arms above her shoulders, letting them fall behind her head as you stare into her eyes. From here, in the new lighting of the backstage room, you can see the sea of green that shrouds her pupils.

For a while you two just drink each other in, your bodies comfortably close as your eyes trace one another. Then, eventually Natasha is talking once more as her fingers reach out towards you. "What's this?"

You follow her eyeline down to your chest, watching the way her fingers have found the crystal hanging around your neck. "Aventurine," your reply.

Natasha smiles as she looks back at your face. "Wanda's the crystal lover so you'll have to enlighten me. What does this one do?"

You shrug a little. "It's brings a few things...Hope, optimism, prosperity. Mostly luck."

The redhead raises a brow as her voice finds that playful tone. "Luck?"

"Mhm," you hum, finding yourself leaning in just slightly closer. "Stone of opportunity."

"So you're telling me it's because of this little rock that I wound up with a pretty girl sat on my lap?"

You hold back a laugh as you search Natasha's smirking face. "Don't call it a rock."

"No?"

You shake your head, humming. "I think it offends them."

The two of you are pressed even closer now, your arms coming crossed behind Natasha's head as she pulls you in. Her voice is almost a whisper when she speaks. "I know some things I could do to offend a lot of people."

The breath you release is shaky as you feel Natasha's hand reach up to cusp your face. She holds your chin, finger so delicate across your skin before she reaches to trace your bottom lip, just momentarily pulling it down with her thumb.

And it's then, with her face pressed so close to yours, green eyes almost black with lust, that you finally let everything go and you lean in. The first kiss is electrifying. Like that first strum of a chord when the guitar kicks in in a song, the bass just rattling your bones and setting your nerves on fire.

Natasha's lips are beautifully soft against yours, a contrast to the harshness of her fingertips you can feel pressing into the side of your face. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and cigarette smoke, sweet but hazy to your senses. The redhead quickly takes a grip of your jaw, angling your head just right so she can drive the kiss deeper. You don't complain as she begins to domineer your mouth, tongue sliding across yours with the skills of a professional.

When you both finally pull back for air, you can only wonder why you forced yourself to wait for this so long. Her touch is like nothing you've ever felt before, your entire body simply set alight with a hunger for her. You look down at the redhead for a moment and Natasha smirks devilishly up at you, eyes blown wide before she's pulling you back in. Your hands hold the back of her neck as your lips collide once more, pulling her in as close to you as you can in a desperate need for more.

Natasha's fingers dance up your arms before you can feel her begin to press the leather jacket away from your shoulders. You move your hands to let her remove it, only hearing it crash to the floor as you try desperately to hold your lips against the rockstar's. A low whine erupts in your throat as you feel her pull away seconds later, your bruised mouth chasing hers.

But Natasha just lets herself grin as her hands caress your body, deft fingers running up and down your sides. Only moments later, she's reaching beneath the material of your shirt to pull it over your head. Her breaths are heavy as her eyes trace your exposed body, almost fixated on the swell of your breasts in the lacy balconette bra cladding your chest.

"Fuck," the redhead says under her breath. Her hands come up to caress your tits, squeezing them tenderly through the material as your own pants flow from your chest. Her lips connect soon after, kissing and nipping at the skin of your cleavage with delicate precision. You let your head fall back as the redhead pays attention to your chest, simultaneously sucking and playing with your tits with her mouth and hands, sending rolls of pleasure flooding down your spine.

When one of her hands slips up the bare skin of your back, her lips disconnect as she meets your eye. Her fingers play with the clasp of your bra as you look down at her. "Can I?" she whispers, face so close to your own.

"Uh huh," you reply, nodding your head quickly. It's only seconds later you can feel the release against your chest, Natasha's skilled hands making quick work of the clasp and tossing your brassiere to the side. Her attention is straight back on you as she reveals your bare chest, kissing the previously hidden skin as she murmurs soft praises into the flesh. "God, you're so beautiful."

Your fingers find a place running through her hair as she continues to play with your tits, red fibres intertwined with your painted nails. A string of softer sounds elicits from your throat as Natasha's fingers find your nipples, pinching and pulling at the hardened buds with just the perfect amount of pressure.

"Natasha," you breath out heavily, holding back a moan as her teeth replace her hands playing with your chest.

"Yeah baby?" the redhead responds, looking up at you but not removing her face from where it rests.

The look on her face only adds to the pool you can feel forming between your legs, all down to her touch and copious amounts of flirting. You want to see more of her, want to run your hands across her body. Not entirely confident enough to word it, you settle for a whine as you tug at her shirt. Thankfully, it seems Natasha is apt at picking up your signals because she smirks widely before reaching to untuck her shirt and pull it over her head.

As the rockstar tosses it somewhere across the room, you can't help but stare at the sight she's unveiled. Her tits sit beautifully in a red bralette, perked perfectly with pink nipples visible through the mesh material. Every part of you feels totally enamoured by her look, eyes unable to peel themselves away from her heavenly cleavage on display.

It's in your admiration, you find yourself distracted, not noticing the way the rockstar's hand has slipped up your skirt until you suddenly feel her touch against your underwear. A gasp escapes you as her fingers graze over your clothed core, most definitely feeling the way her tactics have saturated the material. The redhead makes eye contact with you, pupils dark. "This okay?" she whispers, voice as thick as honey.

It takes all your efforts to breathe out a response, entirely worked up by her touch. "Yeah," you reply, nodding quickly. By this point you would let her do whatever she wanted if it would soothe ache between your legs.

Natasha smiles widely as she hears your response. "Lift your hips for me," she says, playing a chaste kiss to your collar bone. You do ask she asks, rising up to your knees on the sides of the couch. It gives Natasha the room to hook her fingers underneath the sides of your underwear, pulling them down painfully slowly as she looks into your eyes. When she finally manages to slide them over your legs, she tosses them somewhere off to the side before pulling you back down to sit on her lap.

Just then, a sudden thought crosses your mind. "I've-I've never done this before," you stutter out. "With a woman, I mean."

You wonder for a moment if Natasha will be put off by your inexperience, but that thought is quickly extinguished when the redhead only smirks wider. "That's alright," she replies. "Cause I happen to be somewhat of an expert."

You let out the barest of a laugh at her words, letting the anxiety flood out of your mind. Natasha's smirk holds as you feel her hand creep up your skirt again, dancing over the delicate skin of your inner thigh. "Relax, sweetheart," she husks. "I got you now."

Her fingers move to again run over your centre, this time touching your bare skin as you feel her fingers trace your soaked folds. She collects the wetness pooling from your centre before dragging it up to your clit, spreading it as she slowly begins to circle the bud. A moan slips as she presses a little harder, her fingers perfectly pooling pleasure between your legs.

"That's it, baby," Natasha purrs, face close to your ear. "Let me hear all those pretty noises."

You feel your teeth plunge into your bottom lip as another moan slips from your throat. Natasha's touch is so teasingly slow you can't help but buck your hips a little into her hand. "Please-" you whine, desperate for her to do more.

Thankfully, Natasha obliges and another moan drawls from your chest as you feel her middle finger plunge into your core. Your muscles tense around her, pulling her finger in further as your face comes to burrow into the redhead's shoulder.

"Uh uh," Natasha sounds from above you. "Let me see your face, pretty girl." Her finger find your chin, directing your gaze back up until your eyes meet with hers."There you go."

She smiles widely as she leans in for a kiss, once again enveloping your lips in her sweet, sultry taste. The two of you press deeply into another, noses brushing together. You can feel Natasha's finger slowly begin to move inside you, teasing your walls as you whine against her mouth. Your lips only disconnect when you feel Natasha add another finger to the one pumping inside you, your face falling as a gasp sounds from your chest.

She works almost painfully slow, her fingers pulling virtually all the way out before steadily bottoming inside you once again. Each time, her fingertips press against that spot inside you, just softly enough for you to barely feel it. Chasing more of a high, your hips begin to rut against her hand. "Natasha," you whine, voice long and drawn out at her teasing attitude. Some part of you wonders if it's some form of payback for letting it take so long to get you in this position.

The rockstar places a soft kiss to the side of your neck before she's whispering in your ear, hot breath fanning out across the skin. "Shh, just ride my fingers," she says, smiling against you. You feel her free hand come to rest upon your hip, slowly guiding you to rut harder against her hand. Each time you do, you feel her fingers curl into that spot inside you, sending soft sighs of pleasure cascading from your lips.

"'Atta girl," Natasha husks, continuing to guide your movements with her palm. Your hands come to rest upon her shoulders, holding yourself up as you rock back and forth. The redhead's fingers slide in and out of you with each motion, the sounds of the wetness between your legs joined by the moans slipping from your tongue.

Natasha watches with wide eyes as you grind against her hand, fingers gripping into her shoulders as your pleasure grows. She lets her digits curl inside you, releasing sweet, sudden sounds from your lips. Her thumb moves to brush against your clit, the hardened surface sending shocks of pleasure through you each time you rock your hips.

"Fuck baby," Natasha says lowly, watching you practically fuck yourself on her lap. "Are you gonna make a mess?" she drawls. "You gonna make a mess all over my fingers for me?"

"Uh huh," you respond, barely managing to nod your head as you can feel that coil building tighter and tighter in your stomach. Natasha's touch is like electric to your skin, each thrust building to a crescendo at your core.

"Come on, angel," the redhead whispers. "Show me just how pretty you are when you cum."

Her words, alongside one last thrust of your hips is enough to send you toppling over that edge. Your moan is drawn out loudly as you feel yourself come undone, eyes slamming shut as you grip hold of Natasha's shoulders. Your body arches in to her, letting Nat take advantage of your chest with her mouth once more as her fingers ride you through your orgasm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally starting to come down from your high. You open your eyes once more to see Nat smirking up at you, letting go of your nipple between her teeth as both of her hands now rest on your waist. As your mind clears, you let yourself begin to fall back down on to her lap, but when you accidentally land directly on her thigh, you feel a shock sent through your core. You wince, immediately lifting yourself back up at the sensitivity.

But Natasha seems to have other plans. "Shh, angel. It's okay," she murmurs as her hands grip harsher on to the skin of your waist. She begins to push you back down, eliciting a gasp as your sensitive core connects again with her leg. You squirm a little in the position, fighting ever so slightly against Natasha as she tries to drop your full weight on to her. "Just sit on my thigh," she drawls, hands guiding you down. "Just like that, there you go."

The position hikes your tight skirt all the up to your waist, completely exposing your cunt as it comes to rest against the bare skin of Natasha's thigh. You're pathetically wet against her, cum still dripping out your core from your previous orgasm. But if anything, Natasha only seems to enjoy the way you soak her skin, smirking up at you as her hands begin to direct you once again. Her movements force you to rock back and forth slowly, your slick coating the skin of her leg beneath you. The wave of pleasure that comes from the movement sends a moan tipping out your mouth, your head falling back as your clit throbs with each brush against Natasha's thigh.

"Does that feel good, baby?" the redhead beneath you husks, still guiding your movements. It takes all your focus to nod your head. "Mhm?" Natasha questions, her voice purely laced with amusement. "You're such a good girl. Just keep grinding on me, just like that."

You feel the rockstar's hands disengage from your waist but your movement continues, encouraged by her words and praise. You watch between fluttering eyelashes as Natasha reaches to take off her bra, tossing it aside and revealing her perfect tits to you. Then, you see as her hands moves to undo her shorts, opening each button before her fingers disappear beneath the waistband of the black denim.

You hold back a whine as you see her face contort, only imagining what her fingers may be doing under the material of those shorts. "God, you're making me so wet," the redhead breathes, reaching up to place a kiss on to your pouting lips. You release a whine into her, muffled by her tongue lapping over your own. "Such a pretty girl," Natasha mewls when she pulls away, one hand reaching up to caress your jaw. "So pretty just for me. Wanna see how wet I am for you?"

You feel yourself nodding as you look into her green eyes, turned even more on by the concept of Natasha getting off just by looking at you. The redhead removes her fingers from beneath her shorts before bringing them up to your face, letting you view the soaked digits momentarily before pressing them up to your lips. You take in her fingers welcomely, humming around them as you let the taste of her coat your tongue.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Natasha husks, sounding about as love-drunk as you felt sucking on her fingers. She lets you lap them up a moment longer before pulling them from your lips with a pop. Then, you watch as she dips them back below her shorts, moaning softly at the contact it makes on her hidden centre.

Your eyes feel almost transfixed on the hand concealed beneath the material of Natasha's black shorts. The only true indication of whatever her fingers are doing comes from the delicate hums and sighs that escape the redhead's lips. The sight alone is enough to make you grind your cunt harder against her thigh, desperately trying to ease the heat growing there.

The rockstar notices your attempts becoming more determined, fingers clutching at her shoulders as your own needy mewls drip from your tongue. "Are you gonna cum on my thigh baby?" she asks, smirking widely.

You grind faster against her, trying desperately to chase your high but it feels like it's never coming. "I can't," you whine, hopelessly rutting atop of her.

"You can," Natasha nods.

"Mm-hm," you hum, shaking your head. Your fingers grip harder into her skin, the feeling between your legs never quite reaching that peak you're seeking out.

"You can, baby," Natasha replies quickly, voice assertive. "Look, just like this." You feel her hands come to rest upon your ass, fingers gripping into the soft flesh before she begins to rock you once more. With her guidance, you follow a more structured pattern, your clit brushing perfectly against her thigh with each rock of your hips. "There you go," the redhead hums, watching your face screw up in pleasure at the newfound rhythm. Moans begin to cascade from your lips in desperate tones as each new thrust sends you closer to that edge. The way Natasha guides you sends perfect waves of pleasure through your entire body, your hands pressing into her shoulders to try ground yourself in the high. When you feel her fingers join in on the equation, your cries turn ever more lewd, her hand placed so that your clit brushes directly over her calloused tips each time you rut your hips.

"Come on baby girl," you hear Natasha husk, her face close to yours. "Cum for me. You can do it. Cum all over my thigh."

One more thrust sends you hurtling over the edge, screaming out as you feel a gush of warmth flooding onto Natasha's leg. Your arms wrap around her head, anchoring yourself in as you ride out your high, mewling choked moans into the redhead's ear. Natasha guides you through the orgasm once more, still slowly guiding your hips to an eventual stop. When you finally emerge from the crook of her neck, you're panting.

The rockstar admires the way your chest rises and falls, the green crystal still hanging around your neck, nestled in the valley of your breasts. "God, you're so fucking perfect," she husks, drinking in your figure. "I could get addicted to the way you look falling apart for me."

You don't say anything in response as you still try to calm yourself from the high, head feeling fuzzy as you look back at the redhead. She smirks widely as she watches you, utterly obsessed with the way you look sat on top of her, eyes glazed over in residual pleasure.

A single one of her fingers comes to swipe up some of the cum you've left slathered on her thigh, purposely brushing slightly over the top of your bruised clit just to watch you squirm a little before bringing her hand up to her own mouth. She practically laps up the stickiness coating her finger, humming lowly as your cum trickles down her throat. "God," she breathes, letting her finger fall. "I wish I had my strap so I could fuck that sweet little pussy of yours." You whine on top of her, still too inebriated to form a real response. Natasha only chuckles at your intoxication. "Would you like that, pretty girl? Like me to fuck you till you can't even think anymore?"

"Uh huh," you nod, already fantasying the image inside your head.

Natasha laughs again, tilting her head as she watches your face. "You're so cum-drunk right now I think you're already half way there. Isn't that right?" A low sound in the back of your throat is the only response, heightened when you feel Natasha's lips connect with your neck. She sucks as the soft flesh, glazing over the burn with her tongue. She stays there a moment, clearly leaving a mark on your skin that you have no idea how you'll cover up tomorrow. But quite frankly, you don't even care.

When Natasha pulls away, she notices how that glaze has left your eyes, your consciousness returning finally after your last climax. She smirks, eyeing you with that mischievous look as her face comes to rest near your cleavage, placing a chaste kiss to your sternum before looking back up. "You want me to empty that pretty head of yours some more?"

You're barely able to focus on her words as she lets her tongue circle around your nipple. In the end, you don't answer her question, simply whine as her teeth tease at the hardened bud. "Tasha-"

The nickname slips from your tongue almost too easily, your brain not even recognising it. Natasha, however, does, and she can't believe how amazing it sounds coming from your mouth. "Fuck," she whispers, coming face to face with you again. She looks into your eyes for a long moment before she begins to shift her body, turning yours with it. "Lie down for me, baby," she murmurs, twisting your body to lay down on the couch beneath you. "Just like that."

You let her manoeuvre you to the perfect position, arching slightly as the cold leather of the couch hits your back. Lying back, you watch as Natasha leans over you, placing a few quick kisses to your neck before travelling lower. When she reaches your waistline, her fingers work to unzip the skirt still clinging to your waist. She makes light work of undoing it before beginning to pull it down your legs, placing kisses on your warm flesh as she goes. When the article is tossed aside, the rockstar begins to unfasten the boots still tied to your feet. She removes them quickly, laying them aside and soon letting her own join them.

Then, you watch in awe as the redhead slowly slips her fingers into the waistband of her own shorts, almost making a show out of it as she slips the garment down. Shorts and underwear go at the same time as Natasha strips herself in front of you, smirking as she notices the way you stare. Your eyes never leave her as her body moves back towards the couch, coming to a rest above you as her knees straddle your waist. "You're so hot," you all but mumble, mesmerised by the sight in front of you.

Natasha simply chuckles lowly at your response. "Give me your hand," she says, reaching out towards your wrist. You let her take hold, watching intently as she guides you between her legs. She runs your fingers methodically through her folds, gasping quietly as the touch. She's soaked, slick coating your digits, probably residual from where she had been touching herself earlier. "You feel that? It's all for you, baby." Natasha hums as she guides your hand through her core. You can't help but let your own little noises slip, feeling just how wet she is beneath your touch. Your fingers curl at the ends, dipping into Natasha's centre before you pull them up to rub at her swollen clit. "Ah, fuck," the star moans, pinching her eyes closed. She lets you play with her a bit longer before she eventually pulls your hand away, letting it drop to your side. Instead, she reaches the hand she was using to guide you under your right thigh, squeezing into the flesh gently. "Lift your leg for me," she says, pulling upwards on your thigh.

You let her manoeuvre your leg, holding it up to the side while she adjusts her own body. You watch as one of her legs hooks over your waist, angling herself so that her core is directly above your own. When she sinks down to meet you, a lewd gasp sounds from your mouth, the new sensation electric against your skin. Natasha's cunt is wet against your own, accentuated by the cum that sill coats your sensitive folds.

"Oh my god," you breathe out, entirely in awe at the new feeling of the redhead against you. The star smirks down at you, letting your legs fall back into a relaxed position as she anchors herself to your hips with her hands. When she begins to move against you, the loud moans that escape you coat the entire room.

Her clit brushes beautifully against your own as Natasha rocks her hips back and forth, the noises of your combined wetness thick in the air. "Fuck, you feel so good," the redhead moans out, her own breath becoming shallow as she rolls against you. It doesn't mean that she lets her guard down entirely though, quickly noticing when your head lolls to the side and your eyes squeeze shut. "Eyes on me, beautiful," she directs, reaching out to grasp your face.

You let her turn your chin as you open your eyes back up, drinking in the sight in front of you. Natasha rocks back and forwards against you with a perfect rhythm, her tits bouncing with each new thrust. Natasha sees you watching and reaches for your hands, guiding them up to plump flesh of her chest. You squeeze roughly, savouring the delicate moans that spill from the rockstar's lips.

"God, you're so hot," the redhead murmurs between heavy breaths. "I just can't get enough of you. Maybe I'll just have to bring you along on tour with me, let you be my little groupie."

You moan loudly, not only from the way Natasha's cunt grinds over your swollen clit, but also at the teasing voice and notion of her words. Natasha smirks down at you. "You like that idea, huh?" she husks. "You wanna be my little groupie who I fuck like this after all my shows?"

You don't have the ability to form a response to her, merely putting all of your energy into chasing your combined high. Your back arches off the cold leather of the couch as you try your best to rock your hips against the rockstar's, listening to the sound of your wet cunts grinding desperately against one another. When a particular thrust bumps across your clit, a whine sounds low in the back of your throat. "Tasha-"

The nickname does wonders once again in Natasha's mind, sounding so sweet lacing your tongue. "Fuck," she murmurs, trying to keep up her pace. "I want you to say my name like that when you cum baby, okay?"

You nod weakly, chest heaving. "Good girl." Natasha bucks slightly as your clits brush over one another, her legs twitching by your sides. "Fuck."

The two of you continue to rock against one another, your moans harmonising together as you both climb closer to your climax. Your hands rest upon Natasha's full thighs, gripping for support as the pleasure rolls over you in waves. She clasps at your waist, feeling the thin layer of perspiration coating your skin.

"Fuck," you breathe out. "I think I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me," Natasha finishes, thrusting into you. You do as she says and let that coil loose in your stomach, letting your orgasm shred through you as you all but scream out in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Tasha."

Her name dripping from your lips sends the redhead over the edge too, rutting against you as she cums hard. "Shit," she mumbles, riding her wave as the combination of your juices blends together and soaks both of your legs.

Both of your bodies tense, movements becoming sloppy as your highs hit. When nearly a minute later, you've both come down from the peak, Natasha slowly untwines your legs from one another. She flops down on the couch beside you, barely enough room for the two of you to lie next to another. For a while you two sit with the combined sounds of your own heavy breaths, both of your bare chests heaving in the warmth of the room.

"Oh my god," you manage to slip out, finally aware of how you've just had the best sex of your life. Nothing could ever compare to what Natasha had just done to you, no other partner ever even coming close to making you cum that hard.

Natasha seeks amusement in your blown out state, clearly enjoying the revelation painted on your face. She rolls her head towards you, her signature smirk making one final appearance. "I told you, you wouldn't regret coming back stage with me."

Your head turns towards her, meeting her widened eyes still dark with lust. You almost want to tell her she's wrong, that all your avoiding earlier had been the right path you go down, but you know it's all bullshit. She was right, there wasn't a single ounce of regret in your bones.

Natasha smiles at your clear agreeance, almost smug in the way she licks her lips. She props herself up on to one arm, leaning over you with those dark emerald eyes. Her fingers come to find the crystal hanging around your neck, rolling the stone between her fingertips as she smiles deeply. Then, she turns back to you, looking as sly as she first had back in that bathroom stall. "Now," she drawls. "About that groupie thing..."

#natasha romanoff #rockstar natasha romanoff #rockstar nat #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fic #band au #✧yana writes

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oraclekleins · 1 day

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hello, can you write Joost Klein x musician!reader where Joost and reader met at a mutual friend's party and they hit it off? And they start to develop feelings after a while of being friends!!!

thank you for the request, anon!

Good Luck, Babe!

Joost Klein/Musician!Reader

Fluff, Crushes, 1983 era Joost :-) + Reader is BFFs with Appie!

In the warm summer air, you embrace the night; sprawling out your fingers to trace the stars. The soft glow of string lights from above illuminate the beer you’re nursing in your hands, a dull chill spreading through your palms. You listen to the sound of your own breath in the silence, aside from the soft hum of fire from the pit in front of you, slow and a little raspy. The door to Apson’s house swings open and then closes. It was nice of Appie to invite you in the first place - you never could thank him enough for trying to involve you in his friend group. Usually, you’d politely decline the invitation, not quite having made it past the step of hyping yourself up in the mirror, promising it’d be a good night.

You remind yourself that this was practice for the stage. How were you supposed to perform if you couldn’t even manage to go to one of your best friend’s parties? Grimacing at the thought, you roll your shoulders, a sigh passing from your lips. Apson was the first one to have given your music a chance, having been sat on your bed as you wrote your lyrics, pushing your journal towards him after each edit. He would hum any sort of tune to catch your words, give you some sort of inspiration. It’s easy to be around him, it just feels right ; which happens to make the fear of making a good impression around his friends much worse.

A hand finds your shoulder, heavy and welcoming. You can smell his cologne before he speaks, saccharine and earthy. “Need to go get another case of beer, you coming with?” Apson grins, already tugging you along.

“Of course, yeah,” you’re starting to reply, nearly tripping down the porch steps, your arm catching another body in its stagger for balance.

His face is a bit mousey, grin curious and friendly. “Careful!” He teases, trailing after Apson. He glances back to you - like he’s making sure you’re following, a bit hesitant. You’re well aware of who he is, having seen hundreds of pictures of him and Appie together, flicking through their stories in a muted envy. Joost .

Appie releases you from his grip once you’re tugging at the passenger side door, Joost trailing after you. “Long time no see,” he says, sugary and faint, dying out into a giggle.

You climb into the car. He’s fumbling between buckling his seatbelt and throwing Appie’s collection of mess from the backseat into the trunk.

“You were at Appie’s birthday party, right?” You reply, fidgeting with your hands, beer long abandoned on the side of Apson’s porch.

Joost looks towards you. “Yeaahh,” he drags out the ah , dramatically. You can tell that he’s doing it to make you laugh, searching for your smile after. “I remember you. The singer!” The singer. You can't help but wonder how much you told him, 6 shots deep and in desperation to look like a good, talented friend. The label makes you a little sick, but you nod.

“You as well? I think I saw your album on Instagram - it was good, really good,” the fabric of your shirt is sticking to your chest, cotton-stiff and uncomfortable. You turn to roll down the window, the still heat wavering in the backseat.

“Appie! AC?” You whine a bit, tapping at the driver’s seat.

Apson pauses from sticking his keys into the ignition, glaring at you through the mirror. "Roll down the window! I gotta start the car, man."

You sigh, giving up as your back hits the carseat.

Joost glances over again, fiddling with his phone case. "Really cool you saw my stuff. Now I gotta hear yours, okay?" He offers you an earbud, wire already stuck into his phone.

You feel a little nauseous.

ᯓ★

It hadn't taken long for you and Joost to connect after the party. Embarrassingly enough, when you had gotten his follow request, days passed before you finally accepted it and sent a message. It became a lot easier to speak with him, bonding over being independent artists.

Of course, every glimpse of him on your feed had snuck into your dreams, slipping through them like the moonlight in your window. You're startled awake, chest heaving from the thought of his face. Fingers threading through his blonde strands, tangling them and curling them around your knuckle. The thought feels like praying, knelt at the altar, eager for your next glimpse.

You wondered if he knew.

"You're an up and coming, for serious," he would blurt out after every sneak of music you showed him. The endless praise for your work cycled into daily conversation, asking to see what you were working on- or if he could help with anything.

You couldn't help but wonder how long this dance between you two would go, when every touch became an apology for being too shy. When you could lace your fingers with his, joking about the size of your hands, yet too nervous to nestle your face into the crook of his neck.

You feel homesick when his arm isn't wrapped around your shoulder, peeking over your phone to see what you're doing rather than talking to him. He always knows how to make you look up, smile, giddy just to get a reaction.

When he confesses his 'silly', unripe feelings - it feels like the sky itself had opened up and sang for you.

#hope you like!!#my writing #joost klein x you #joost klein imagines #joost klein x reader #rpf #joost klein imagine #joost klein x musician!reader

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chrissfawn · 2 days

Text

— WHEELS ON

THE BUS . 𓂃 ㅤ۫ ㅤ⊹

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︴﹒ warnings ; smut (obvii), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up buddy), pet names (baby and angel), highschool au (characters are 18+), first person pov, y/n is used like once, degradation if you squint, lowercase intended, public sex, and praise

︴﹒ summary ; theres a field trip and theres not that much space on the bus so reader sits on chris’ lap and it leads to smth (i HATE doing summarys)

︴﹒ paring ; switch!chris x switch!reader

︴﹒ haven’s notes ; IM BACK!! sorry for not writing in a while i have been busy w school 😞😞 also are u guys interested for a part 2 for make it up?? i might scrap it but idkk 🙁 also this was based on a request

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ˋ☆ — i was waiting in line to get onto the bus for the end of year senior field trip. as sad i was for this to be my last field trip ever, i was excited to go to disney to be my last one. i got on the bus, seeing how there wasn’t that much room.

my eyes darted towards an open seat in the back. with a small sigh of relief, i made my way to it. i sat next to chris that i was somewhat friends with. “hi.” i speak softly. “oh hey, you excited?” he asked me, flashing me a smile.

“yeah! i haven’t been to disney in a long time, how about you?” i reply with a small smile in return. “eh, sort of. im not that much of a disney person, i really like universal more.” the brunette boy told me. my eyebrows raised slightly. i hum softly in reply before my eyes looked around the bus. it was incredibly crowded and to make it worse, a teacher came up to us.

“is it alright if you can move so i can place this box there?” the blonde curly haired lady asked me while holding a box filled with lunchboxes. i bit the inside of my bottom lip. “oh? uhh i don’t know where else to sit.” i say, my fingers starting to fidget with the lace on the hem of my shirt. “you could sit on my lap.” chris suggested nonchalantly. my face turned to face his, “you sure?” i said with a slight tint of worry in my voice.

“yeah i dont mind.” he said. after we got the approval from the teacher, i crawled onto chris’ lap. my back pressed against his chest comfortably and i placed my draw string bag on top of all the lunchboxes. “let me know if ya’ get uncomfortable.” chris reminded me as he awkwardly placed his hands in my lap. i nod, blushing a little bit when he placed his hands on my lap.

the bus started moving after a little bit, and as time passed i was getting bored. i turned towards my bag and grabbed my headphones and my phone so i could listen to music. just as i put one of the airpods in, the bus drove on a speed bump, making me bounce a little bit on chris’ lap. i heard his breath hitch a little bit, making me ask him if he was okay. “‘m okay.” he said, his hands starting to play around with my thighs that were being barely covered from my jean skirt.

as i sort of expected, i felt chris get hard underneath me. he started to ramble to me about what i would be doing this summer, trying to get me to not notice his boner that was rubbing against me. “chris its not working.” i giggle quietly as i place my phone and airpods back into my bag. “whats not working?” he asks me quickly, his words laced with anxiety.

“i can feel your dick.” i laugh again, turning around a bit so i could see his face. chris let out a small defeated sigh, earning a small smile from me. “im sorry, its a instinct.” he said quietly with a little embarrassed smirk. i shook my head, “dont worry chris.” i say, rocking myself onto his hardon. i smiled a little bit as i felt his hands quickly grip onto my hips.

“y-y/n.” chris stuttered as he leaned his head back slightly. i whined out quietly, thankful that the bus was loud enough to cover it up. i kept grinding against him, getting wetter and wetter to the sounds that he was making into my ear. “fuck.” he whimpered, leaning his chin on my bare shoulder. my eyes fluttered shut slowly as i teased chris a little bit by slowing my pace until it came to a halt. “why did you stop?” he pouted.

i looked to the side where i thought there would be other students sitting but instead it was just other boxes. “good.” i whispered under my breath as i sat up a bit. i guess this was a hint for chris to unzip his pants. as he did so, he also pulled his boxers down to his upper thigh. i lowered my ass down while my fingers pulled my white lacey panties to the side.

i shuddered when i felt the burning sensation of him stretching me out as i sunk down his cock. his hands found my hips again and he gripped onto them, guiding me as i rode him. my hands rested on top of my thighs, gripping onto my jean skirt. “your taking me so well angel.” chris breathed into my ear, sending me shivers down my spine. “shitt.” i dragged out quietly as my mouth fell agape from pleasure. my hips swayed against his a bit quicker now, earning whines from him.

“shh, don’t want anyone to hear you baby.” i say, turning around to look at him slightly. he nodded slowly, making me go back to doing my thing. i smiled when i noticed how grabby chris was getting. his hands grabbed and touched anything he could. “can’t believe your riding me in the back of the bus like a slut.” the boy with brunette loose curls laughed dryly. i turn to face him again and looked at him with doe eyes.

“well you were the one who suggested for me to sit on your lap in the first place, sturniolo.” i state, my voice a little bit unbalanced since the head of his cock hitting my sweet spot perfectly. after i turned my head back, chris grabbed onto the back of my skirt. my back arched off of his chest as i just let him thrust up into me. “f-fuck im gon— ahh, im gonna cum.” i breath, biting my bottom lip to prevent myself from making any loud sounds.

“cum with me baby.” chris whined into my ear while wrapping his arms around my waist just so he can hold me still to thrust into me. i let my bottom lip bounce back and my mouth fall agape. soon enough, i came all over his cock. i threw my head back on his shoulder with his chin on my shoulder.

i then felt him fill me up with his seed, making me whine a little bit. the brunette kissed my temple softly before he spoke. “you okay?” he asked. i nodded, my hand reaching up to my hair and tucking a small strand behind my ear. “yeah, i have uhm.. tissues in my bag.” i say while reaching over to the pink bag and grabbed a few tissues from inside so we could clean up.

after we did so, i managed to squeeze between chris and the box filled with lunchboxes. i looked up at the blue-eyed boy and smiled. “we’re at disney.” he said. “happily ever after then.” i joked with a giggle.

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︴﹒ haven’s notes pt2 ; hope u guys liekd this :3 im gonna write more after this week i promise yalll

︴﹒ taglist ; @mxqdii @espressomads @luverboychris @sturniol0s @mattsluttywaist

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chrissfawn #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #i need him #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplet fanfic

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not-neverland06 · 20 hours

Text

How About A Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I see a lot of comments talking about how you guys wished they would just communicate. They are communicating its just that neither of them know what they want. Summary: All you want is to just be clean. He offers to show you a nice little spot where you can finally scrape the grime off of you. What could go wrong?

“So,” you shifted your bag further up your arm. You were favoring the left today on account of the giant gap he had left in your right bicep. You were still pretty pissed off about that. “Do you ever, you know, bathe?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, he seemed caught off guard by the question. “Bathe?” He repeated, face raised in surprise.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah, bathe. I’ve been out here over a week. I’ve got about twenty layers of blood and sand stuck in every crevice.” Your skin crawled thinking about the different types of bodily fluid you’d been sprayed with since coming out of the cryo pod.

There was a lot of blood, of course, but Hollywood doesn’t show everything that gets excreted in death. You were itching for a good shower. You know that’s out of the question, but there’s got to be something.

He laughed and ripped off a piece of jerky. He offered you some, grinning when you shook your head. “Buckle up, sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening. You can always use the water, but that’s a waste of Radaway if you ask me.” You should have known. It’s not like anyone you’d encountered seemed particularly gung ho about personal hygiene, but you had hoped there would be something.

You reached down, digging your nails into your arm and scratching off flakes of blood and who knows what else. You shouldn’t have bothered, though, it only made the rest of you feel a hundred times worse. You looked crazy, scratching at yourself like a dog but you couldn’t help it.

“Alright, damn, I’ll give you some of my Radaway, you look half rabid.”

You stopped with your scratching and stared at him in shock. “You’ll give me some of your Radaway?”

He rolled his eyes, stopping only when he noticed you’d quit walking. “Is that not what I said?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “You’re not exactly known for your generosity. What’s the catch?”

He frowned and clutched at his chest like you’d actually done damage, “Now, that hurts darling. I’m just trying to help you out.” He turned around, walking to the right now, further towards greenery and away from the desert. “Plus, it’ll get rid of that fucking smell.”

You kept your mouth shut but he was one to talk. He hadn’t exactly tasted wonderful when he’d kissed you. Nor did he smell amazing. Still, he had made your heart race and it wasn’t from pure terror for once. Though, any positive feelings he’d caused within you had been negated the second he dropped you to the dirt like a used up toy.

You knew better than to try and bring it up to him, but it had stung. Attacked that vulnerable part of you that made you want to put up walls so high even the sun couldn’t get through.

With no other choice you sped up and caught up to him. Your hip was still bothering you, but it wasn’t dragging behind you as much as it was a few days ago. The only thing really bugging you now was your throbbing arm. He’d assured you that it couldn’t rot, he’d dealt with that, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch.

“Through here is a lake you can use.” He pointed towards the area where the trees started to thin out.

You looked at him skeptically, “You’re really letting me do this?”

He scoffed and glared at you, “The fuck did I tell you?” You don’t know if he’s talking about his new rule to stop questioning him or about giving you the Radaway, but you keep your mouth shut anyway. He hasn’t been as much of a dick today and you’d rather keep it that way.

“Here,” he motions through the trees and you stumble into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s been submerged in water, you can spot some old apartment buildings peeking up through the top.

Briefly, you wonder if you’ve ever passed your old home and just never realized it. You dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes, not willing to let your mind linger on thoughts like that today.

You slowly make your way to the water, still not entirely trusting of his intentions. He’s made it clear he’s keeping you around for the long haul, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped tormenting you. “You’re really gonna let me use your Radaway?” You call over your shoulder.

He sighs and leans against the trunk of a tree. “Get your ass in the water, I won’t wait around all day.

You’re not dumb enough to fully submerge yourself in radiated water. You just rip a piece of your shirt off and dunk it into the startlingly blue lake. You use it to scrub yourself down, rubbing your arms until they’re raw and feel clean enough.

You shuffle closer to the water, trying to bend over enough to scrub your face a bit. But when you gaze down into the water you find something gazing back up at you. You scream, scrambling back just as that thing leaps out of the water and towards you.

Something pink and wet slams into your chest and knocks the air out of your lungs. You grope blindly in the mud for your gun as it opens its mouth. Horror and disgust fill you when you see what’s in its mouth, human fingers dangle like disgusting uvulas. It darts forward, jaw posed to clamp around your whole face.

A loud bang echoes through the lake. The thing goes flying back and causes ripples to drift across the surface of the water. You clutch your chest, trying to get your breath back and scoot closer to get a better look at whatever attacked you. It’s the size of your torso and looks startling like some deformed axolotl. He’s left a large bullet hole in the middle of it’s head deformed head.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet and groaning when you realize whatever you’d manage to clean off had been replaced by a thick layer of mud.

You turn around, hoping for some sort of explanation from him, but he’s just bent over laughing, gun still smoking. You grab your bag out of the muck with a huff and glare at him. “Really?”

He straightens up, still grinning and shakes his head. “You should have seen your face, you were petrified.”

”Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed that.” You glare down at the corpse, eyes wide with horror, “It’s got fucking fingers in it’s throat. Human fingers!” He saunters over to you, entirely too pleased with himself. He grabs his inhaler out of his bag and loads it with Radaway. He tosses it over to you and you catch it with your good arm. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” You press down and take in a deep breath, ignoring how bitter the juice tastes.

“Never trust anything, rule number one of the Wastelands darling. Can’t even trust the water.” There was a loud roar off towards the middle of the lake and he nodded his head back towards the tree line. “Come on, that one was just a baby Gulper. Momma’s gonna be by soon and I can’t imagine she’ll be real happy.” He walks off without you and you’re stuck staring at the dead mutant.

“That was a fucking baby?” He laughs at you again and when you catch up with him, you can't help but laugh a little yourself. You probably looked ridiculous, wrestling in the mud with what, apparently, was only an infant.

He grins at you, “You got a lot to learn.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

He’s kneeled down beside you, fingers prodding at the reddened area around your wound. It feels a bit better now, more like touching a fresh bruise rather than raw nerves. He poured some water from his canteen over the area and retied the bandage. He stood up and moved away from you while you dug around in your bag for another ration bar.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You’ve got the bar positioned between your knees, and you’re trying, hopelessly, to open it up with one hand. Your fingers, now dusted with dried mud, slip uselessly against the packaging.

He looks up at you and lets out a loud sigh. “Give it here.”

”I’ve got it-”

“Give. It. Here.” You huff but toss the bar over to him. He rips it open in one smooth move and throws it back to you. You catch it with your good hand and take a large chunk out of it. It feels like rubber and tastes oddly like dried out meatloaf. You’re not exactly sure what flavor it’s supposed to be replicating, but you figure it’s so old it doesn’t really matter as long as it fills you up.

He pours some water from his canteen onto a ripped piece of cloth and tosses it at you. You’re unprepared, bar in hand and midchew, it slaps against your face and you scowl under the fabric. “Really?” You mutter, mouth half full. You yank it off your face and give him a questioning look.

“Just clean yourself up.”

You drag it across your face and arms, trying to get off as much residual mud as you can. Your clothes are a stained, lost cause, but this will do for now. Not like you’re going to get much better without going up against some mutant monster.

“You’re being nice today?” It comes out like a question more than anything. Probably because you’re having trouble trusting him, especially after the Gulper incident. You wished you could say you can’t believe he would do something like that, but you’re pretty sure he’d been hoping the mom would get you, not the baby.

He shrugged and leaned back against a fallen log. “Feelin’ chivalrous.”

You hummed but didn’t push. You forced down another lump of your ration and reached for your water. “Where are we heading anyway? Been walking for a long time but we haven’t seem to have gotten anywhere.”

“There’s a compound I took a bounty for. We’re on our way to deliver it.”

You tilted your head as far back as you could, tongue out and hoping to catch the remaining drops of your water. “Shit,” you tossed the canteen back in your bag, already knowing it was hopeless.

“Ah, hell,” you glanced up and saw Cooper rifling through his supply box.

“How are you on Radaway?”

He sighed and chucked the box back into his bag. “Got two vials left.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, a pensive expression on his face.

You sighed and rubbed idly at some mud left on your fingers. “You’re gonna need more soon.”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh. “Faster than soon, this is the diluted shit.” He rubbed at his chest and you wondered if he was already starting to feel the effects of being so low on the medicine. You can’t believe he gave you a vial of his own with so few left.

Bastard must’ve really wanted to see you get jumped by a gulper. Your face twisted up in distaste and any twinge of sympathy you’d felt for him dissapeared. You wished he would cough so hard he’d choke on his tongue, at least then you wouldn’t have to listen to his bullshit anymore.

He looked over at you and then your bag. “Got any of that purified water left?” You shook your head, crumpling the wrapper of your bar up and tossing it somewhere behind you,

“Just ran out, not sure where I’m gonna find more.”

He chuckled and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I do,” you stood up and grabbed your own bag, following behind him.

Loud laughter and rowdy conversation drifts into the night air. You sit perched behind a large boulder, staring into the building across from you. It’s an old supermarket, refurbished to fit the Wastelanders' needs. “They’ll have what we need?”

He doesn’t look at you, his sight is dead set on the men milling about in front of you. They’re clearly guards, switching positions every couple of minutes and loaded to the teeth with weapons. Cooper silently tracks them, eyes darting between them as they switch positions yet again.

“Yep,” he lifts up into a squat and watches as one of the men turns his back to lace up his boot. “Now!” He grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you along as he weaves between the guards. He throws you in front of him, practically tossing you inside the store.

You hold back your gasp of shock and duck behind a waist-high shelf. There are only seven or eight men walking around inside. They’ve got a fire burning in the middle of the store, the empty shelves pushed back against the walls. Behind them is about the largest pile of supplies you’ve seen since being up here. They could give Ma June a run for her money.

You peek your head over the shelf and try to get a look at just how many weapons they have. You hear the familiar sound of spurs walking behind you and twist immediately to see Cooper walking calmly towards the group with his hands raised in surrender. He catches your eye and winks before he fully addresses them.

“Gentlemen!” You sigh and sink back against the shelf, an irritated look on your face. The shelf screeched forward slightly and you scrambled off it, you caught Cooper twitch a little in irritation but he didn’t say anything. He’s been fully noticed at this point, the others all glaring at him with their guns raised.

He had a full view of all eight men from his perspective. What he couldn’t see, which you could, was a ninth man sneaking up behind him with a knife. He had it poised, aiming to strike right through the back of Cooper’s neck.

Without thinking too much on it, you leapt out of your hiding spot and used your good arm to point your gun in the man’s face. He came to a stop almost cartoonishly, eyes wide and the knife in his hands trembling when you popped out.

Cooper barely gave you a glance out of the side of his eye and you figured he knew all about the ninth man. He must have been testing you, see if you really had his back. “Hey!”

“Who the fuck is she!”

“What are you doing here?”

You ignored the sounds of their voices, you kept the gun trained on the boy and motioned him towards the left of the room. He followed, letting you guide him backwards until he was scrambling to hide behind his friends. It’s then that you finally got a good look at just how many guns were trained on you.

One of them pumped their shotgun and you pulled back the hammer of your gun. Cooper’s guns were still tucked away in their holster, it was just you and however much firepower they could cram between ten pairs of hands.

“Now, I suggest that you gentlemen put those guns down or my friend here is gonna get a little too friendly with her trigger.”

One of them scoffed, gesturing with the barrel of their pistol towards your right arm hanging limply by your side. “She got a bad arm and a shaking hand.”

“Maybe,” you call out, “but I got a working finger. I only need one of ‘em to kill you.”

Before he can respond there’s another one stepping forward. “She can get real friendly with me.” He’s got a lecherous grin on his face and a look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You sigh, sick of the men up here being so predictable, and turn your gun on him. His eyes widen, like he hadn’t seen you pointing it at his friends, and you pull the trigger.

Your aim is a little off and the recoil is harder to handle with only one hand available to you, but you’ve got a sawed off shotgun in your hand, don’t have to have a great aim to kill a man with that. His twitching body has barely hit the ground before you’re diving to the right and ducking behind a shelving unit.

Cooper goes to the left, eyes wide in the same astonishment as those men. Bullets started flying the second their friend was on the ground. They were shouting all sorts of insults and threats at you but it was hard to make out over all the shooting.

“You shot him!” Cooper shouted over the hail fire of bullets.

You rolled your eyes and did your best to reload the gun with your wobbly hand. “He pissed me off,” you shouted back at him. You leveled the gun over the top of the shelves and fired blindly. There was a loud yelp and then another Bitch shouted at you, so you must have hit something.

“You know, I was trying to handle this civilly,” Cooper jumped to his knees and turned around quickly. He fired off a quick succession of shots, four bodies dropped as he did. The rate of gunfire slowed a bit as more men fell. He ducked down and ran across the room, throwing himself down next to you. He tossed his guns at you and tugged yours out of your hand. “Reload me,” you nodded and tugged some bullets out of his bandolier while he used your gun to shoot at them.

“I’m sure you handling it civilly would have ended the exact same fucking way.”

He grinned and sat back next to you, “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe. Maybe not, doesn’t matter now.” You handed him his reloaded guns and he dropped yours in your lap. “Only a few left, use the shelves as cover and circle around behind ‘em.” He didn’t stay to make sure you understood his plan, he immediately set off, drawing the fire away from you and making a run for it.

“Shit,” you hissed, struggling to your feet and following his instructions. With only a few of them left it should have been quick work to get rid of the last few stragglers, but the guards from outside had heard the scuffle and were rushing in. Cooper shot most of them but one got close enough to snatch his gun from his hands and throw it to the floor.

Cooper struggled against the man, his towering form easily overpowering Cooper. Though, your friend didn’t seem particularly worried, if anything it looked like he was letting the man live to draw out the fight, like he was enjoying it.

You were going to just leave him to it when you saw the same bastard from before with the knife sneaking up behind him again. You rush forward, scooping up Cooper’s gun as you go and shove the man backwards.

He grunts at the impact but he refused to be deterred. He charges at you, eyes red with rage and blackened mouth frothing like a rabid dog. You try and keep your guard up but you’ve got a gimp leg and a useless arm, it’s not a fight you’re going to win.

He wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you into him. You grunt, breathing out slowly as you feel his knife slide into your gut. You glance down at the rusted blade and shove your gun under his chin. His eyes widen when you draw the hammer back but you don’t flinch when you pull the trigger, not even when chunks of skull and hair start raining down on you.

Cooper must have finally noticed the tussle happening behind him because he draws his second gun out from under his coat and ends his little fight with the last of them. You must be in shock, you still haven’t fully experienced the pain that you should.

There’s a knife sunk past the handle slammed into your gut, you should be feeling something shouldn’t you? You’re sure it’s the adrenaline still pumping through you. Your body is warm from how fast your blood is pumping, your ears ringing from all the gunshots and head spinning from the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the wound.

“Hey,” you turn around to face him and his eyes widen ever so slightly. You lose your footing and he darts forward, quick arms grab you and draw you into his chest. You clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket, letting all of your weight rest on him while you try and get your panicked breathing under control.

You’ve had worse injuries than this. As hard as it is to believe, in your time up here, you’ve survived a lot worse than some measly stab wound.

So why does this feel so fucking bad?

“Oh,” you moan in pain, nearly doubling over. A feeling like a million exposed nerves being set on fire stops you from falling to the floor, instead you push off Cooper and struggle to your feet.

“Alright, come on,” he grabs your arm again and you have the ridiculous urge to just shove him off you. Your head is swimming, you feel like you could float away. You look down at the knife again and finally realize just how large it is. One of those hunting ones that was about the width of your hand curled into a fist.

Well, fuck.

“Hey,” he snaps when you stumble away from him again. “Sit your stubborn ass down, you need help.” He yanks on the straps of your shirt, holding you up and dragging you to a chair, you don’t have much choice as he forces you to sit. Though, the motion causes a wave of excruciating pain to flare through you.

He kneels in front of you and rips your shirt open, you’re in too much pain to complain about it right now. He hums low in the back of his throat as he takes in the wound. With no warning whatsoever he grabs the knife by the handle and yanks it out like he’s ripping off a fucking bandaid.

You nearly scream, lurching forward and shoving him away from you. The sudden shock of pain has left you half blind and panting like an animal. “What the fuck was that?” You force out through gritted teeth. He plants a hand on your shoulder and presses you firmly against the back of the chair.

“Need to get you a Stimpak.” He takes your hand in his and presses it against the wound. Where blood was once oozing, it’s now gushing. You hadn’t realized just how much keeping the knife in had kept the blood at bay. With how rapidly it’s leaving you now you’re afraid.

You’re afraid that you might not be able to make it back from the edge with just a Stimpak. You can already feel your fingers going cold, pretty soon you won’t be able to flex them and then you’d lose feeling in your arms too.

“Hey,” he uses the grip he has on your hand to press down on the wound. You groan but he keeps the pressure steady. His eyes bore into your dazed ones, some odd expression in them. “You don’t get to give up. Keep pressure on this, understand me?” Your head flops forward in a lazy nod.

He could have been gone for a minute or an hour, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Your head is foggy, coherent thoughts replaced by loopy ones. You’re struggling to remember where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing.

Just as your hand slips from the wound, he comes back. He grabs your hand and places it back, holding it there with his own. You appreciate the way he warms your fingers back up, but the rest of you is freezing too. Maybe he’d share his jacket.

The thought of him sharing anything makes you laugh and he gives you a frustrated look. “Don’t go losing it on me. Not yet at least.”

You lean forward, face nearly pressed against his and grin. “You know, I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”

He scoffed, opening the Stimpak with one hand and preparing the injector. “Yeah, for what?”

“Saving your life, dick.”

You’re caught off guard when he slams the needle into your stomach, your lips part with a silent gasp and you wince at the cool rush of medicine. He grins at you, “Well, thank you for being the only dumbass to get herself stabbed in a gun fight.”

The medicine works fast, you learned that from when he’d shot you. You can already start to feel the pulse of blood slowing and your head clearing up slightly. “Asshole,” you hiss, leaning away from him. But his eyes stay trained on you, on both of your blood covered hands and where they still rest, linked together, on your stomach.

You find yourself taking advantage of his distraction to really look at him. It bothers you, how after everything, his eyes are still so pretty. It’s the first thing that drew your attention when you were younger. Those eyes of his had you swooning from the first time you saw him on the big screen.

He catches you but you can’t find it in yourself to care. There’s something odd in the air, a lingering tension from the kiss you’d never discussed. From the silent partnership you’d never voiced. You’d nearly gotten yourself killed for him tonight, the thought finally seemed to be dawning on him.

His eyes drop to your lips and he leans in. He doesn’t get very far, lips just barely brushing yours before you’re jerking back in surprise. You’re bleeding out in his hands and he kisses you? Your hand is up and cracking across his cheek before you can think about it.

His head whips to the side with a satisfying crack. He lets out a breathy chuckle, using his free hand to soothe the area you’d hit. He stretches the tension out of his jaw and shakes his head before he looks at you again.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. You definitely shouldn’t be further entertaining his ideas that he holds any sort of possession for you, but you’d just realized what that look in his eyes had been earlier. He had been worried about you.

Cooper has always been the one who protected you. Not the other way around. And as twisted as he’d become, it still relatively remained the same dynamic today. You’d caught him off guard earlier, putting yourself in danger like that for him. And he had been worried about you.

You grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him forward before he can decide what to do with the fact that you slapped him. Your lips meet again and he hovers over you on your chair. The hand on your stomach pushes harder against you, deepening the pressure and making you groan into his mouth.

He doesn’t waste time, deepening the kiss and letting his other bloodied hand drift into your hair. His fingers curl around the strands and he yanks your neck back, manipulating you how he wants and bending you to his desires. You melt into it, into the complete control you allow him to momentarily wield over you.

You let your mind go blank and just focus on him. You can pretend, for now, that you’re in his old house. You’re coming back after a date at one of those fancy restaurants that he hates, but he takes you there anyway so you can have an excuse to dress up.

He’ll whisper I love you and drag you to the couch. You’ll start there, his kisses traveling lower until he’s dragging you back to his bedroom. You’ll feel valued, cherished, loved. Cooper will take care of you.

He parts slowly from you, still keeping a firm grip on your hair. It takes a moment for your eyes to flutter open again. You’re sure you look like a mess, staring up at him with glossy eyes and swollen lips, completely drenched in your own blood.

“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” Your eyes widen and he lets you go. He shoves back from you and paces towards his bag. Any warmth in his eyes, any care, was gone.

You want to say something to drag him back but the moment has passed. It’s not like he was wrong, you were pretending he was someone completely different to make yourself feel better.

But you couldn’t make yourself feel guilty when you remembered half the reason you needed the comfort was because of who he was now. He comes back with a needle and thread. He lets the needle hover over the men’s fire for a moment before he approaches you with it. “Stimpak will only do so much, need to sew you up.”

You nodded and looked away as he knelt down and pressed the needle into your skin. You barely felt it, could barely pay attention to him when your thoughts were on what it was like before. What he was like before. Sometimes it makes you sick to your stomach to look at him.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #fallout tv series

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ghouljams · 11 hours

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This is just Regency!Ghost eating pussy... another aggressively typed piece from midnight that I fell asleep immediately after writing... When are these two gonna get married so they can fuck properly?

You barely have time to pull your skirts up as Simon falls to his knees, pushing you bodily back against the closed door as his arms wrap around your thighs to spread your legs. He makes room for himself, makes you accommodate his large frame. His head tips, eyes lidding as he stars at the space between your legs. He pulls his mask down, his lips already parting as his tongue teases between his teeth in anticipation of your taste. The black fabric bunches around his neck as his fingers leave it to dig into your plush thigh. Getting him between your legs isn't the problem, getting him out from between them is.

Terribly tempting though. Awfully tempting to see him on his knees; to see him so sincerely hungry for you. You swallow down your trepidation, raise your skirt higher for him, and feel him rock that much closer as you reveal more bare skin and soft sticky wetness. Simon's breathing is shallow, his chest heaving with each inhale, gulping down air like each breath might be his last. It might be with the way he attaches his lips to you.

He's so nice, starts so gently with you, kissing your slit like it's something precious to him. Lips press to your folds with a reverence you haven't even seen in church pews, pulling away only to press to another few centimeters of skin. He takes his time with you, thanking you for the blessing of your cunt, paying homage to every millimeter of worshipful skin. Heat throbs through the little bundle of nerves at the top of your slit, your cunt fluttering under his gentle ministrations. His tongue darts out to lick you, one long swipe that dips between your folds and laps at the slick dripping from you. It leaves him groaning. You tip your head back against the door and push your hand to your mouth in an attempt to stifle the whine that forces its way up your throat. It's a pathetic, needy, thing that makes Simon go back to his chaste kisses.

"So pretty for me," He tells you, his voice graveled and rough. You're beginning to wonder if swallowing down the wetness that flows from you like a faucet for him has some sort of negative effect on his voice. It never sounds worse than when he's between your legs, never sounds rougher, never makes your skin prickle with quite the same heat. He kisses your cunt, his lips parting to breathe a shaky exhale over your skin. He swallows, and opens again to scrape his teeth against you. Your hips jump into the feeling, his brows furrowing and his eyes fixed on the mess he's making.

"Cunt's gonna kill me," He rumbles, his cheeks flushed and his tongue swiping to drag the lingering wetness off his lips, "I can't wait." His mouth fixes itself to you and you keen into your hand at the hard suck to your clit before he starts to eat you in earnest. Your stomach twists tight, your pussy warm from the heat of his mouth and the heady drag of his tongue. You can't stop the soft breathy moans that drip from your lips, your clit still tingly and desperate for attention when he leaves it to swirl his tongue around your opening. You're halfway to grinding your hips against his face when he presses a finger into you.

You feel the burn of friction and stretch, the slow drag of his finger tugging at the soft muscle and exploring the fluttering walls of your cunt. His eyes meet yours, his lashes sweeping against his ruddy cheeks with each slow blink. Simon's tongue rolls over your clit, he lets you see it, lets you watch the way he moves as he laps at you. You feel like you must be pouting, your brows drawing together with want at each sinful pump of his finger. Your body responds to him even when you can't put the words to what you want, clenching around the digit to try and keep it inside. You feel so terribly... empty. It takes too little time before the stretch isn't enough, too little time before that delicious burn has evened out into a thrumming heat.

You press your hand harder against your lips to stop from begging for more. You have to be content with what he gives you. Canting your hips in a silent plea until he fills you with a second finger. The way he shifts his attention, his teeth scraping your clit as his fingers jab something tight and wet inside you. You press up on your toes, trying to get away from the feeling even when your hips push into it. He's relentless, quick and dirty, with his fingers. Your legs shake from the effort of holding yourself up, your stomach jumping and swirling with molten heat as he twists and fucks his fingers into you.

Simon holds his tongue out, lets you grind your clit against it while he works you with his fingers. You're too desperate to care for the propriety of it, eagerly moving your hips to try and push yourself over the tight edge you feel poised on.

"Simon," you whine, taking the chance on talking. You're quick to press your hand back where it was when he jabs his fingers against your sweet spot again and again. His pace is relentless, so fast you don't have the time to think of anything but the tight twisting heat that rips through you.

"That's it love," Simon encourages, turning to kiss your thigh, "say my name."

You don't get the chance to, your breath catching in your throat as every muscle in your body locks in place and you feel something warm and liquid drip from you. Simon groans low, knowing, and kisses your stomach, still pumping his fingers into you. When you can get your lashes to stop fluttering at the electric feeling of his fingers dragging over your sensitive walls, you glance down at him. He's got droplets of, well you assume it's from you, all over his shirt and jacket. He pulls his fingers from of you and drags them over his waiting tongue.

His eyes burn into you, making sure you're watching as he sucks them clean. As if he can't get enough of your taste.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #f!reader #oc: goose #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #regency au #regency!ghost

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ruershrimo · 2 days

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down bad fr | f.megumi x reader

@takumifujiwarastan remember how a while back you said here that it sucked how there weren't enough introverted girls, reserved girls etc. SO I did try writing this please enjoy their (gn reader woooo) emotional constipation even though the reticence of their personality isn't really highlighted eurgh

having a crush on megumi is so fucking stupid. it’s driving you insane.

you can’t even talk to him. everything he does, everything he says— your heart leaps like a rabbit he casts, and your emotions soar into a terrifyingly messy mishmash of confusion and yearning and infatuation, and then everything in between.

you feel helpless, vulnerable like this— rendered out of control of your feelings after years of emotional constipation and a harsh strictness on yourself to rein them in like a rowdy horse being whipped during derby matches. you’re a climber, you’re hanging precariously from a cliff with every interaction, a child standing before a blueprint with nothing but toy blocks and a kiddie hammer, a roomba with its sensors malfunctioning— you get the point. those were enough metaphors to delineate your predicament.

well, he doesn’t even like you anyway, right?

but you want him so badly.

you just want to hammer it into his thick skull. to just go, ‘hey, I like you even if you may not like me! just go out with me anyway!’

yet with each interaction you struggle even more. because how the hell do you confess to fushiguro megumi, much less go out with him and become his partner?

for years romance had remained nothing but a velleity, a nice fantasy you could slip into when your mind demanded respite in the form of escapism and jejune daydreams. but now that your adoration for him has made it all somewhat possible, you don’t know what to do— your control is being tended away from you, and the worst part is that you don’t even mind it that much.

spiky black hair and eyelashes of silk pass you by, his scent as clean as freshly laundered sheets in hotels. at the start you had thought little about him beyond him being your classmate and eventually just your confidante. yet gradually, you surprised yourself. and everything about him is attractive nowadays: his hair, his pearlescent teeth, the viridian hue of his eyes— hell, he made even the way he drank coffee look like a model of a man in an antediluvian monochrome film of the sixties. and it was so normal, so average, that you were about to slap yourself for the fact that an everyday trait of his had become something so lovely to look at just because it was him. megumi would hold the cup securely by his lithe fingers, the same one he spouted cursed energy from when summoning his shikigami, before lifting the cup up and bringing the brim to his mouth, his lips that never chapped.

nobara asks whether he’s drinking black coffee to look cool around and attract people. needless to say, at least you were attracted.

you hoped he didn’t see the way your face must have blanked out, gaze transfixed on his eyes as he took swigs from his mug.

why’d he have to be like that?!

megumi continued looking at ozawa, the girl who had a crush on itadori— she was just like you for real, but with double the courage and half the emotional constipation.

you hoped it would work out for her. that way, perhaps you could muster the strength and bravery to do the same, too.

you take another look at him. he’s really pretty. had you kicking your feet in the air and all and then screaming in horror because of it, had you wrapped around his finger without even knowing.

with the help of kugisaki and megumi, ozawa and itadori, the two of them are cajoled to go around tokyo together. it’s the best ‘date’ that the two of them can help the other two have, especially since itadori is dense as rocks (megumi’s probably worse based on your experiences, then) and ozawa is as shy as a touch-me-not flower.

“oh, and [name],” megumi starts while nobara strolls ahead, all set to begin a new shopping spree.

“ah— uh, yeah?” you stammer.

“do you like me? romantically, I mean…” he scratches the back of his neck.

what the fuck. is this seriously happening? right now?

“huh? what? I—”

“no, it’s just that— seeing ozawa made me think. I guess I never considered it an option, but I suppose I have had… feelings for you for a pretty long time…”

“woah. ah, sorry, I meant— sorry, I’m just very surprised…” you scramble, your hands gesticulating all kinds of things in an exaggerated way of taking it back because yes you like him, you like him a lot— “I mean, I do like you! it’s just, fuck— uh, what do I say— I’m really scared. I thought you didn’t reciprocate at all.”

“I could tell. but I…” he hesitates, “I overthought everything,” then with a frown, he goes, “gojo would have teased me if he was here.”

“well, I– uh. we’re lucky he isn’t, I guess?” you pause, “...so what do we do now? are we a thing? are we dating? wait, am I going too fast? I, oh my goodness, I—”

“would you like to?” he asks. your knees are about to buckle with every second he keeps his eyes on yours.

“I…— well, I would.”

“then it’s settled. can I— can I hold your hand, please?”

“...okay.”

with trepidation in your hands and your heart pounding in your chest, you inch your hands closer, saline sweat on them as if you’d dipped it into the sea. he keeps his gaze on yours— they’re as unsure as you are, his cheeks a slight scarlet, his eyes swirling with nervousness but a sliver of anticipation, of joy and relief. so he feels exactly the same as you do, then.

his fingers find yours after a while, tracing along the lines of your palm like a blind man touching something for the first time. you want to learn to love and to memorise each nook and cranny of him starting with his palm, and for once emotional vulnerability is not that bad.

kugisaki’s in for a shock as soon as she turns around. first it was itadori potentially having a partner before she does, and now megumi?

imagine writing this because of being delulu abt an irl crush (i should be studying for my exams.) haha couldn't be me right (i'm so cooked)

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #jjk megumi #megumi imagine #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ruer writes #megumi fluff

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its-avalon-08 · 2 days

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Amoreeee!

i love ur works and i have a very specific reuqest in mind. this is too detailed so please feel free to ditch a few details because im aware its too much. this is a mv1 x senna!daughter one.

max is hard racing some driver and he gets angry and flustered and he crashes because he act irresponsibly. y/n's heart stops because the way the car rotated and hit the barrier refletced her late father's passing.

her breath stops, max is ok but gp IS ANGRY at him because that could have been easily avoided. max is not hurt at all.

he is still angry when he comes back into the motor home. and then y/n gives him a cold shoulder and doesnt speak to him.

this makes max angrier leading to a passive aggressive arguement. max says something which leads y/n to say "fine then, fuck off and die see if i care" max is shcoked and so is everyonbe else in the motorhome

when she rushes out in tears she bumps into carlos/charles/lando and he comforts her and she says "i never shouldve said that"

they make up, hapoy ending make it extra emotional.

LOVE UR WORKS!

i have to confess, i love this one the most out of everything i've ever written. its extra extra long, and the anon messaged me and asked me to add a few more things, so i have done the same! anon ily ! (edit - i messed up the translation! its been fixed now!!) enjoy reading <3

coração valente (mv1) (brave heart)

find the headcannon here!

The roar of the engine was a dull thrum in Y/N's ears as she watched the battle unfold on the screen. Max was locked in a fierce fight for position with Esteban Ocon. Every aggressive lunge, every desperate attempt to overtake sent a tremor of unease through her. It was too reminiscent, too close to the edge.

Then, disaster struck. Ocon made a late move, and Max, fueled by frustration and a competitive fire, reacted impulsively. He swerved to block him, the car losing traction as it took the corner too tightly. The world slowed down as Y/N watched in horror. The Red Bull spun, a sickening ballet of red and blue against the asphalt, before slamming into the barrier with a sickening crunch.

Her breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her lips. The way the car crumpled, the dust cloud mirroring the crash that stole her father… the memory flooded back, vivid and terrifying. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo threatening to burst through her chest.

Thankfully, the medical team rushed to the scene, and the relief was almost a physical blow. Max emerged from the wreckage, shaken but unharmed. But the reprimand from Horner was swift and brutal. "Unnecessary risk, Verstappen! You could have avoided that entirely!"

By the time Max stormed back into the motorhome, his anger was a palpable presence. He tossed his helmet onto the couch, the thud echoing in the tense silence. Y/N sat by the window, her back to him, a cold, hard wall where warmth and concern usually resided.

"Great job out there," Max spat, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Another brilliant strategy by Horner, putting all the pressure on me."

Y/N remained silent. Her silence was a punishment, far worse than any raised voice. Max, already on edge, bristled.

"You gonna say something, genius?" he snapped. "Or are you just gonna sit there like a statue?" Y/N turned a deaf ear to that.

The air in the motorhome felt thick enough to chew on. Y/N sat at the table, meticulously organizing spare race parts, a pointed silence radiating from her. Max hovered by the coffee machine, his usual swagger dampened by a heavy frown.

Christian Horner, ever the mediator, attempted to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he boomed, "what are we learning from this little spin?"

Max, bristling at the reminder, mumbled a vague response about tire strategy. Y/N, without looking up, chimed in, "Perhaps a lesson in spatial awareness wouldn't go amiss."

The air crackled. Max whipped his head towards her, his jaw clenched. "Oh, and who's the expert on spatial awareness, Miss Never-Been-On-The-Track?"

Y/N slammed a wrench down a little too hard, the metallic clang echoing in the tense silence. "There's a difference between calculated risk and reckless driving," she retorted, her voice laced with ice.

Max scoffed. "Spoken like someone who's never felt the pressure of a championship on their shoulders."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "Pressure doesn't excuse stupidity, Max," she said, her voice clipped.

Horner cleared his throat, his booming voice a desperate attempt to break the ice. "Look, let's all take a moment to cool down. We can dissect the crash later. Right now, Max needs a clear head for the next race."

With that, Horner steered Max towards a debriefing session, leaving Y/N alone in the charged atmosphere. She picked up a stray bolt, turning it over in her hand, her knuckles white with repressed anger. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the workshop around her.

Just then, Charles walked in, his perceptive eyes catching the glint of tears on her cheeks. "Rough day?" he asked softly.

Y/N choked back a sob. "It's just… I don't know if I can watch him race anymore," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion.

Charles pulled up a chair beside her, his presence a silent comfort. "You know Max," he said gently. "He makes mistakes, but he learns from them."

Y/N shook her head. "This wasn't just a mistake, Charles. It was reckless. And it brought back…" she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Charles squeezed her shoulder in understanding. "The fear," he finished for her. "It's always there, isn't it?"

Y/N nodded, a tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "I can't lose him too," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Charles offered a sad smile. "You won't," he assured her. "Max is stubborn, but he cares about you. He'll learn from this."

His words offered a glimmer of hope. Y/N knew Charles was right. But the fear, the raw terror that had gripped her during the crash, still lingered.

Max, a whirlwind of frustration earlier, had retreated into a sullen silence. Y/N, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, refused to acknowledge him directly. The tension crackled between them, a storm waiting to erupt.

Daniel Ricciardo, ever the peacemaker, tried to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he said, a touch too cheerfully, "what are we having for dinner? Surely Y/N has whipped up some magic in the kitchen?"

Y/N's lips twitched, but she remained focused on her phone, pretending not to hear. Max, still fuming, mumbled a curt, "I don't care."

The forced joviality died a quick death. Charles, sensing the undercurrents, offered, "Actually, I wouldn't mind ordering some takeout. How about some Indian?"

Y/N finally looked up, her voice clipped. "No, thank you, Charles. I'm not particularly hungry."

Max scoffed. "Suit yourself. More for the rest of us, then."

The passive-aggressive jabs continued throughout the evening, each veiled comment a fresh barb. Y/N praised Charles's recent qualifying performance, a clear dig at Max's reckless driving. Max, in turn, bragged about a new training program he was starting, a not-so-subtle jab at Y/N's perceived lack of understanding.

"Honestly that race was mine, Ocon fucked it up for everyone," Max proclaimed.

"Maybe," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "if you hadn't been so busy playing daredevil, you wouldn't have thrown away the race."

The words hung heavy in the air. Max felt a flicker of something cold and sharp twist in his gut. "Playing daredevil?" he scoffed. "I was out there fighting for the win!"

"At what cost?" Y/N's voice cracked, the dam of her emotions threatening to burst. "Do you even understand the fear you put me through?"

Max, for the first time, saw a glimpse of the terror that mirrored his own reckless driving. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words wouldn't come.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, in a moment of horrifying clarity, Max blurted out, "Look, if you can't handle the pressure, maybe you should just—"

The sentence died on his lips as he saw the blood drain from Y/N's face. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a hurt so profound it took his breath away.

"Fine then," she said, her voice a choked whisper. "fuck off and die. see if i care."

The words echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone in the motorhome froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Max, fueled by anger, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.

Y/N didn't wait for a response. Tears streaming down her face, she bolted out of the motorhome, the slam of the door a punctuation mark to the shattered silence.

Max stared after her, a tapestry of emotions swirling within him – anger, regret, a terror that mirrored her own. He lunged after her, but Charles, who had witnessed the exchange, caught him by the arm.

"Let her go," Charles said gently, his voice laced with concern. "She needs some space."

Max sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. "What did I do?" he rasped, the anger replaced by a crushing weight of remorse.

The atmosphere was suffocating. Everyone, even the usually jovial mechanics, seemed to walk on eggshells around the warring couple. Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she walked, the weight of the fight, the fear, and the unspoken hurt threatening to overwhelm her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The cool night air did little to soothe the burning in Y/N's eyes. She wandered away from the motorhome complex, her legs numb and directionless. The roar of the track faded behind her, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. Tears streamed down her face, carving clean tracks through the grime of the day.

Then, she saw it. Half-hidden behind a cluster of trees, a towering mural emerged from the darkness. It was a familiar image – her father, mid-corner, a determined glint in his eyes, the car a blur of yellow and green. A wave of emotions washed over her – grief, pride, and now, a searing anger.

Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Y/N found herself talking to the painted image. "Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me how terrifying it would be to watch someone you love race?"

"Doesn't he understand, Dad? Doesn't he see the risk he takes? It's like he doesn't care! Doesn't care about the fear he puts me through, the terror that I relive every single time I see a car spin out of control!"

She slammed her fist against the concrete wall, a raw scream escaping her lips. The sound echoed in the quiet night, a testament to the storm raging within her. Tears streamed down her face, hot and angry.

"And then," she continued, her voice trembling, "he has the audacity to get mad at me? To act like I'm the one overreacting? Doesn't he see what his actions do? Doesn't he see what he almost took away from me today?"

Silence, except for the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. But in her mind, she could almost hear his voice, warm and reassuring. "coração valente (brave heart)," it seemed to say, the nickname he always used for her. "Fear is a part of it, but it doesn't have to control you."

Y/N wiped her eyes, a flicker of understanding replacing the anger. Her father hadn't raced because it was easy. He raced because of the passion, the thrill, the dance with danger. He wouldn't have wanted her to live in fear, but to find her own strength, her own way to navigate the world he left behind.

The sting in his eyes wasn't just from the acrid smoke billowing from a nearby barbecue. Max's chest ached with a dull ache that had nothing to do with the crash. Y/N's words, "fine then, fuck off and die. See if I care," echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his monumental screw-up.

He couldn't just sit there, stewing in his self-pity. He needed to find her, needed to apologize and explain the terrifying realization that had dawned on him during their tense silence.

Following a hunch, he made his way to the secluded corner where the mural of Ayrton Senna stood. In the dim glow of a single overhead light, he saw Y/N curled up with her back against the wall, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. A red mark marred her hand where it had connected with the concrete.

His heart lurched. He knelt down beside her, his voice barely a whisper. "Y/N?"

She flinched at the sound, whipping her tear-streaked face towards him. Her eyes, red and puffy, held a storm of emotions – hurt, anger, and something akin to pleading.

Max swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I shouldn't have said what I said," he began, his voice thick with remorse. "My anger… it clouded everything. I didn't…" He broke off, his own voice cracking.

Tears spilled down Y/N's cheeks. "And I..." she started, her voice trembling. "I never should have said what I did. It was awful, unforgivable of me." Her voice choked on a sob. "I don't… I don't want to lose you, Max. Not like that."

With a choked cry, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Max held her tight, the dam breaking inside him. He pressed kisses to her hair, each one a silent apology, a promise.

"I get it now, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand the fear. I see it reflected in your eyes every time I step onto the track. And I promise, I'll never do anything like that again. Not if it means putting you through that kind of pain."

They clung to each other, a tangle of limbs and broken sobs. The night air vibrated with the raw emotions they were finally releasing. Slowly, the sobs subsided into sniffles, leaving behind a fragile calm.

Max pulled back, wiping away a stray tear from Y/N's cheek with his thumb. "Let's go back," he said gently, his voice hoarse. "We can talk properly, sort things out."

Y/N nodded, her eyes searching his. "Together," she added, a shaky smile playing on her lips.

Max grinned back, the familiar spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "Always," he promised. "Together, no matter what the track throws at us."

As they walked back hand-in-hand, the mural of Ayrton Senna seemed to watch over them, a silent guardian of their love, a love forged in fire, tested by fear, and ultimately strengthened by understanding and forgiveness. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with each other, they knew they could face anything.

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ganondoodle · 22 hours

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( totk rant?)

i have talked alot about my problems with totk in detail, as most of you probably know by now- but there really is a vibe of big ambitions but then not committing to it throughout the game

they want to have that building mechanic in it no matter what in a world that isnt in any way build around it, mister "freedom = good, linear = bad" guy wanting to give you ultimate freedom in the game (which imo leads to it being nothing again) but not committing to it and it creates a really toxic loop of things being more punishing than rewarding

you can build a fuckton of weird vehicles, but big parts, ESPECIALLY the glider, is on limited time so you cant actually go anywhere you want; they know giving you absolut freedom will remove any possible challenge- so they limit it by making the glider part timed, but then they cant do that for every single part bc it would be almost impossible to create anything that works well when every part is on a timer and you dont know how much of its lifespan is left bc you accidentally hit a fan once so now its uneven with the other one AND the more parts you have the more it uses battery, it makes sense, so you cant build soemthign super overpowered right at the start and its just kinda logical, but it leads to you being incentivised to build something with the fewest parts that dont have a timer-

then theres the battery power, which they try to limit by putting its upgrades behind multiple different currency exchanges, which is frustrating and leads to alot of grinding and gets overpowered really fast (it works against itself too that said currencies are all placed in the most undeveleoped and repetetive area of the game and are all never involved in anything interesting, its reused old enemy camps and the same mines everywhere, theres not a single reward in the underground that actually feels rewarding imo)

then you get the autobuild thing, so you can skip the building part of the building mechanic that is the main selling point of tha darn game, bc they know it can get frustrating to rebuild your things over and over so they give you a skip button for that if you are one of those players that doesnt like it BUT THEN they cant jsut let you do it for free so they give it a price, either spend the same currency you need for the exchange for the one you need for battery upgrades or spend parts you collected- both of which are things players generally save up and refuse to use (like the -never use any health potions bc what if i need it more at some point- thing is a problem for a reason)

then theres the added thing of the building stuff despawning incredibly quickly, im gonna guess its otherwise a performance problem (that the game is already struggling hard with) but it makes the entire already bad loop of trying to fix a problem with bandaids over and over even worse, you dont want to go too far away from your vehicles bc it will despawn and waste all that you used to build it, its like a leash to you stopping you from actually using it for more freedom- and potentially adds another annyoance bc you might try to bring it with you as far as you can, a monster truck in the depths you spend all your parts on gets stuck on the first bits of terrain you run into and you desperately try to get it out without destroying it, and if you cant you need to spend a ton of resources to build it again, even with autobuild

which is how you get the hoverbike, stupidly overpowered and boring but doing anything else is just less efficient in every way, it uses the least amount of battery, never breaks, is only 3 parts to rebuild

(i know me in particular doesnt enjoy the building in totk at all, for all those reasons and more ...... shiekah ........ and i know you CAN still choose to doing it more creatively, but you never need to, its entirely based around YOU making it fun for yourself, and i dont think its that controverisal to say a game should be fun and challenging without you having to create all the fun yourself and set yourself limit it all yourself)

similar goes for the dungeons, they heard you want the dungeons of old times back, but their strict adherance to freedom (which they themsleves contradict) leads to them being more breakable and less dungeony than even the titans in botw, they cant make it linear, thats BAD, so you can do any puzzle in any order, it cant build on any of the others bc you need to be able to do it when you want (the only one going slightly against that is the lightning one? maybe?), totks dungeons dont even limit that you cant climb them (even the titans in botw recognized that makign it easy to break so they are made of the same unclimbable material like the shrines and other shiekah tech) and the new abilities make them laughably easy to break ( .. im not even gonna mention the water temple one bc ... you dont even need to do anything there to break it to make it easier)

they wanted to cater to people wanting old dungeons, but didnt commit to it, making them WORSE dungeons than the titans with the only bonus being they got different designs and a longer build up to it (that often feels more like artificial filler than actually part of it ... like the missing lore tablet at the zoras and the missing part is a few steps away from it at best)

(ALL THE WHILE they DO limit you in SHRINES, you cant climb the walls again, for some reason, you can climb any other sonau structure though, why not that? idk, but dont limit it enough either bc you can break it all in really cheap and unsatisfying ways with ultrahand and time reversal alone- and they CANT limit those bc those abilities are the main ways to solve the 'puzzles'- botws abilities were .. well, limited in what they could do making them much more balanced, but moving sth with ultrahand and then stepping on it and time reversing it can be the boring solution to any 'puzzle', the best and only really good shrines are the ones that take all you shit bc it wactually forces you to be creative BC ITS LIMITING YOU)

(funnily enough a big possible reason why they removed the bombs from botw is bc of the glitches with it ...... like the new stuff isnt even worse and you dont even have to try lol)

people speculated on there being underground exploration due to the first trailer? people are worried about reusing the surface? ok they put the entirety of the surface map into the game again, but dont commit to it being a full thing, its horribly underdeveloped and filled with either nothing or reused filler material, while also neglecting changing anything substantial about the surface, and then the sky isalnds they even reduced and really there isnt anything of substance on there either besides the tutorial (hey, seriously, if one of botws most defining feature is its wide and empty sky why the hell would you decide to use that same map to put in your sky islands idea in), not commiting to one idea but doing all of them badly

ganondorf? well, they sure put him in there, but really what does he do? fuck all, the entire actual game hes jsut marinating in his own miasma juice for no reason, he doesnt have any presecne in the game, all he gets its a few scenes in the "story" that are told through memory cutscenes in a stupidly mega distant past i dont give a fuck about and all he does is go through the most stereotypical villain checklist of both actions and speech, they want ganondorf in there but dont commit to him ACTUALLY being there (listen i love ganondorf but really calamtiy ganon was more interesting than totk ganondorf ok im SORRY they did him so dirty)

they want dragon zelda and link 'losing' his arm be a big epic sacrifice but then .. again, dont commit to it, they tell you its oooh so irreversible and whatever and then at the end just fukcing reverse it, with no build up at all, and NONE of your own input, it just happens, and its not JUST zelda but also links arm, reversing it BOTH even and you dont even need to have all shrines (that are supposedly to cleanse your arm of miasma, i guess thats a non problem if you just stab the source of it to death instead)

they want it to be a sequel but also its own game, not committing to either and leaving us with this weird .... more alternative universe thing, vague references to botw but also acting like it never happened, slight changes, like zeldas hair, to make her seem different when shes exactly the same (you cant imply waifu zelda would ever age and not look like a little doll) and ignoring anything about her character from botw (no im serious, ooh shes nerdy for 3 minutes at the start and one time in a written thing from some servant of da royals in the past and thats it, interest in the shiekah? whos shiekah?- if anything her character is reversed, really having even less agency than in botw, that one decision to dragon is like, it really doesnt matter and not really her decision bc she didnt have a choice and it gets reversed anyway without her even remembering)

even retreading all of botws points (but doing it worse imo), but then attempting to differentiate itself from it by removing a big thing that made it what it is (shiekah) without giving it any or any sensible explanation among more, not committing to either sequel or AU and so doing both incredibly badly

(not quite the point but what i have been questioning for a while ... they way raurus abilities work ... so do all sonau have those? was it just a normal thing to have? could all sonau just glue shit together and jump through ceilings? he never uses anything of that when we see him? why is it just in the shrines at the start and its like .. he just gives it to you ...?? huh??is it part of his arm .. jewelry??)

(anyway, tin foil hat moment but it just feels like either there was a huge internal fight about everything or they neglected it in favor for something else, like say, a movie that earns them billions and is faster and cheaper to make than a game... or just dont care anymore i guess, idk which is worse tbh)

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #ganondoodles rants #totk critical #long post #how to these things keep getting so long #i didnt mean to write this long again #and im sure i forgot multiple points #argh

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dreamcubed · 3 days

Text

the archer | lorenzo berkshire x reader

song; the archer [taylor swift] pairing; lorenzo berkshire x fem!non-slytherin!reader genre; s2l, comedy, fluff word count; 5,8k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, alcohol, drunkenness, suggestive comments, blood and injury (bc of his cat) summary; lorenzo's cat hates everybody but you

masterlist

"who could ever leave me, darling? but who could stay?"

——————————————

Lorenzo Berkshire had no idea why his cat was such a hateful being, but she had always been that way, ever since she was a kitten. He would have understood if she had been a rescue from the streets or something, but, alas, she wasn't. She had always been feisty, and only docile with him, which was why his aunt (who owned the mother) had just sent her his way. Not that he minded, he often joked how his cat, who he had fondly named Midnight, was just like him: very selective with who he let close to him.

He had brought her with him to Hogwarts, naturally, and she had secluded herself exclusively within his dorm room— she hated being at the castle, but he knew that she would hate being at home without him even more. And, when he had graduated into sixth year, he had been blessed with his own dorm room, allowing her to finally settle down.

Only, the current problem was that she was missing. Lorenzo had returned from Saturday breakfast in hopes of a bit of downtime with his feline friend, but he instead found a frown forming on his face as he frantically searched his entire bedroom and then down the corridors and all the other Slytherin dormitories. She was definitely gone, he realised, beginning to feel an itching sense of worry as he loved that cat more than anything. Why would she have left? Did the privacy of a solitary bedroom meant she finally felt comfortable enough to explore the rest of the castle? He didn't know, and it didn't matter, he just knew that he had to find her.

"Have you seen Midnight?" he asked, hurrying up to Mattheo in the common room.

"No."

"She's missing."

"She's a cat, she's probably just wandering," his friend shrugged, "They do that, y'know."

"Not Midnight," he ran his hand through his hair, "Never Midnight."

Mattheo observed his friend carefully, "Relax, mate, she'll come back."

"I can't relax," he cursed under his breath, "I'm going to look for her."

What if she attacked someone who tried to pet her? Dumbledore might ban Midnight from the castle and send her home. Or, even worse, she would get put down. He couldn't bear that thought, but after searching all the rooms down in the dungeons, he quickly realised that he had no idea where to look from there.

***

Meanwhile, you had been enjoying a perfectly pleasant afternoon in the courtyard with a book, the last rays of Summer shining down on you before the chilliness of Autumn struck. You went to turn the page, when you noticed a commotion going on across the expanse of flagstones. With furrowed eyebrows, you let curiosity get the better of you and shut your book.

Upon arriving at the scene, you quickly realised that the centre of attention was a pitch-black cat who was hissing ferociously. Some second year boys were tormenting the poor thing who was clearly terrified— reaching their hands out to get a reaction, and then pulling away before it could swipe them with its claws.

"What are you doing?" you asked disapprovingly, normally willing to let younger years have their mischievous fun, but not at the expense of a poor innocent animal.

"It attacked Gareth out of nowhere," one of the boys gestured towards his friend, who was nursing a bleeding arm, "We're just getting our revenge."

You shook your head, "I can't allow that, I'm afraid, it's obviously terrified."

Crouching down, you placed your book on the floor and delicately held a hand out a safe distance from the cat. You made cooing noises to attract it over, hoping that it wouldn't see you as a threat.

"I wouldn't do that," the boy who had been scratched said, "A seventh year girl tried already, and now she's in the hospital wing."

"I'm not scared of a little blood," you replied, before saying to the cat, "I'm not gonna hurt you, baby, I'll get you away from these scary boys, yeah?"

Maybe it sensed your gentle nature, or maybe you simply seemed like the lesser evil next to the boys, but it ceased its hissing and started cautiously padding towards you. Eventually, its soft face rubbed against your palm, and you began soft pets until you could feel purring.

"There we are, you're safe," you murmured, delicately positioning yourself to pick it up, hoping it wouldn't freak out too much. Thankfully, it didn't, and settled into one of your arms as you picked up your book and stood up. "Your owner is probably looking for you."

A soft mewl came in response. You decided that it would be easier for the owner to find their cat if you stayed in the same place, so you returned to your reading spot and sat the cat down on your lap. It curled up instantly, closing its eyes as it entered a light slumber, while you reopened your book and continued where you left off.

***

Rumours spread like wildfire within the walls of Hogwarts, so it wasn't long before Lorenzo heard that a girl had been attacked so badly by a cat that she had ended up in the hospital wing. He immediately sprinted in that direction, ignoring scoldings from teachers and prefects, until he burst into the polished white room.

"Whatever do you think you're doing, young man?" Madam Pomfrey snapped.

"The girl. Cat attack," he panted out, "Where is she?"

The nurse pointed towards the end bed of the ward, "Just there— although I must ask you to-"

Lorenzo didn't listen to the rest of her words, running over to the girl's bed. She had a bandage on her cheek and right arm, and she didn't seem all that pleased.

"What colour was the cat?" he asked quickly.

The girl frowned, "I'm guessing that beast is yours then."

He nodded.

She rolled her eyes, "Black. You ought to get it put down."

Lorenzo let out a sound that bordered on a growl.

"It scratched me so deep it hit an important artery. There was blood everywhere— my favourite shirt is ruined."

"I don't care," he bit off, "Where did it happen?"

She scowled at him, "The courtyard. Go deal with it before someone else gets hurt."

He didn't even give her a response before he was running off again, praying to all the Hogwarts founders that Midnight was still in the courtyard and completely unharmed.

***

Approximately twenty minutes had passed by with the adorable feline curled up in your lap when the sound of a door bursting open echoed throughout the courtyard. You watched as an angry Lorenzo Berkshire, a Slytherin boy in your year, made a beeline towards the group of second year boys that were still gathered. He must have seen the blood on one of the boys' arms, because he went to him first. You observed curiously as Berkshire spoke angrily, and then the evidently now scared boy pointed in your direction.

Berkshire looked over, and then his eyes locked on to yours. He was storming over to you with a fury that could destroy nations.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Can I help you?"

He didn't reply, the anger not leaving his face, but he seemed to be contemplating something.

"Hello? Berkshire?"

"That can't be her," you heard him mutter. At the sound of his voice, the cat perked up, and instantly meowed at him. "It is you," he said disbelievingly.

"Your cat, I presume?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, holding out his hand to beckon it over.

"What's its name?" you realised that this was the first conversation that you were having with the boy despite sharing classes for over five years.

"Midnight," he said, his voice sounding oddly strained, "She's called Midnight."

You smiled, scratching her neck in a way that made her mewl. "It's very fitting."

Lorenzo stared at you interacting with his cat, having never before seen Midnight so friendly with anyone except him. "She hates people," he said without thinking.

You hummed, "Yeah, I heard about the girl in the hospital wing."

He grimaced.

"She's quite sweet with me though."

"I've never seen her like that with anyone but me."

"Guess I'm special," you beamed, continuing to stroke Midnight.

"Uh, can I have her back now?" he asked, seeming almost unsure of himself. While Lorenzo was generally considered one of the nicer Slytherin boys, he still held himself with a terrifying confidence, and didn't have a completely scot-free track record either— refer to his behaviour when it comes to his cat going missing. However, now, stood before you as said cat had elected you as the second likeable person she had met, the confidence had been knocked out of him.

"Oh, of course," you said easily, picking Midnight up and handing her over. "Bye, cutie," you cooed, as the black cat reluctantly accepted her fate in Lorenzo's arms.

"Thanks," he said stiffly, turning on his heel and walking away. You couldn't help but watch his behaviour with an air of amusement.

***

"Fuckin' Azkaban," Lorenzo cursed, so loudly that Mattheo popped his head through the door.

"What are you shouting about?"

"Midnight's missing. Again."

Mattheo chuckled, "Maybe that girl who took a liking to your cat took her."

Lorenzo looked at him disbelievingly, "I highly doubt that. L/N isn't the type to sneak into another house."

With a shrug, his friend fully entered the room. "I'd say maybe don't freak out as much this time. We lost a lot of points for you being a dick to that girl in the hospital."

Lorenzo scowled, "You're one to talk. You've lost ten times as many points as me."

"Do you want to go look for her? It's almost curfew."

"I have to. Can't have another hospital case."

"Put a tracking charm on her when you find her."

Lorenzo agreed that it was a good idea.

***

Whenever there was a cacophony of meows coming from outside a common room door, it was customary to open it. Often times a cat would be returning to its owner, and it wouldn't do to leave it stranded out there. Today was no exception.

You were, as usual, curled up on a sofa doing some homework when you heard faint meows from the other side. Perking your head up, you watched as the boy nearest to the door went to open it, letting in a black cat. It didn't seem like anything strange: you knew a couple black cats who belonged to your house members. Only, they were sweet and friendly, and you watched as the cat tried to scratch the poor boy. Thankfully, he dodged it, and you quickly ran over as you suspected whose cat it might be.

Immediately, it meowed softly at you and went to rub against your legs— and that's when you knew that it was definitely Midnight.

"Get your cat under control," the boy said.

"Oh, she's not mi-" but he had already walked away.

With a sigh, you picked up the feline and moved back to the sofa, knowing that it was just past curfew so you couldn't return her right at that second. Unless she elected to leave herself, she would have to stay with you for the night. Not that you were complaining, but you could only imagine how worried Lorenzo must be. Those thoughts quickly slipped away, however, when she curled up in your lap and began purring.

***

Walking down the darkened corridor with nothing but his wand as light, Lorenzo found his feet leading in one particular direction. He had already checked the Great Hall, and the kitchens, and peeked out the window into the courtyard, but to no avail. Only one more idea of where she might have wandered off to lingered in his mind: he knew what house you were in, and that was where he was headed. He just hoped to Salazar that he wouldn't run into a professor.

"Mr Berkshire."

Fuck.

"Yes, professor?" he said slowly, turning around to face Professor Snape.

"It's past curfew."

"I know, professor."

"How disappointing to see one of my own Slytherins disregarding the rules of Hogwarts."

"It's my cat," he said, hoping Snape would show some amount of heart, "She's missing."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, "Cats are prone to wandering. This is hardly a cause for concern."

"Yes, but not Midnight."

"Regardless of the nature of your cat, do you really think you will find her considering the size of this castle?"

Lorenzo said nothing.

"I understand she was responsible for the attack the other day. However, that is hardly a risk as it is night time, when students should be in bed," he drawled the last part, his arms firmly crossed.

"Yes, professor."

"Five points from Slytherin." Lorenzo knew the punishment would have been harsher if he wasn't of the house he was.

"I know where she is, though."

"How is she considered missing, then?"

Lorenzo didn't have an answer for that.

"If you know where she is, you will have no trouble finding her in the morning. I will escort you back to the dungeons."

The boy let out a sigh.

***

Having not slept a wink that night, Lorenzo was up bright and early just after sunrise, ready to resume his journey to your house. He walked up to where he had heard that the door was— having never seen it in person— and thought about how he was going to enter. To his luck, it swung open, to reveal a prefect from your house. She immediately gave him a sceptical look.

"What do you want, Berkshire?"

"I need to see L/N."

"At this hour?" she sighed.

"She has my cat. I think."

"The black one?"

He nodded.

"Okay, fine— you can go in," she said, stepping out the way, "But don't tell anyone I let you in."

"Of course, thank you."

Mattheo had always told him that she was one of the softer prefects, having had a lot of experience with them on his late night antics.

He entered the common room to find that it was empty, and he didn't waste anytime heading up the girls' dormitory stairs. Thankfully, the layout was quite simple: each year had their own floor, and it went upwards chronologically. The first few floors had rooms that were shared, but when he reached the sixth floor, he found a number of doors that seemed to align with the number of sixth year girls in your house.

Only, which one was yours? He couldn't very well walk in on an unsuspecting sleeping girl: Salazar knows how she would react.

So, he decided to knock on the first door, waiting patiently as he heard a groggy, "What?" in response. He felt a little bad for waking someone up, but Midnight was more important to him than anything.

"Uh, which room is L/N's?"

"Berkshire?" the voice replied. He was surprised at how calm she seemed to be taking the news that a Slytherin boy had invaded the girls' dormitories.

"Uh, yes."

"Last room on the left. Your cat is fine."

He concluded that you must be friends with her, and informed her that the cat you were in possession of belonged to him.

"Thank you," he said, adding a, "Sorry for waking you," to which he heard no response.

Choosing to leave her be, he made his way to your room and once again knocked. Only, this time, he didn't get a response. He knocked again, and he still received no human response, but he did hear a familiar meow sound out. Praying that you would forgive him, he opened the door and peeked in carefully, to see that you were curled up within your pillows with Midnight lying down beside your head.

He entered the room fully and quietly closed the door behind him. His cat meowed again, louder this time, which caused you to stir in your sleep. When your eyes finally peeled open and caught sight of Lorenzo through your blurry vision, you jumped out of bed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you whisper-yelled.

"My cat," he said simply.

"Is perfectly safe and healthy as you can see— that's no reason to break into girls' dormitories!"

Once again, Lorenzo found himself speechless. All you were wearing was a skimpy pair of shorts and a cropped top which had your nipples peeking through. Not much was left to the imagination.

"Berkshire! What if I'd been naked?"

That's when a smirk crept on to his face, as he felt his usual level of confidence oozing through his veins. "What if, hm?"

"Keep it in your pants," you grumbled, grabbing a jumper from the floor and pulling it over your head. You tried to ignore the way his gaze made you feel.

He shrugged, changing the subject, "I had to make sure Midnight was safe."

"Well, you clearly knew where she was."

He couldn't argue that point, causing an awkward silence to fall upon the room. Awkward until he involuntarily let out a yawn.

"That's what you get for being up so early," you mumbled, climbing back into your bed and under the sheets. Midnight immediately began cosying up to you.

"I couldn't sleep."

You regarded him carefully: it was strange to see a Slytherin boy so evidently worried about another living being.

"Here she is, then," you said, gesturing towards the feline, "Take her and go sleep before people see you were here."

"Embarrassed of me?" he chuckled, moving to pick up Midnight.

"I'd rather not get called a slut," you snapped.

He didn't reply to that comment, wrapping his hands around his cat who did not take kindly to the action: not that she tried to scratch him or anything, but she immediately wriggled out of his arms to return to you.

"Midnight, you're my cat, you can't stay here," he grumbled, trying to pick her up again. You watched the scene play out through half-shut eyes, feeling quite amused by the whole ordeal.

Once again, she escaped his grasp.

"This is unbelievable."

"What? Unbelievable that she likes me so much?" you chuckled sleepily.

Lorenzo scowled, "I'm not leaving until she comes with me."

You sighed, realising that you may not be able to escape any slut rumours at this rate. "Fine. But I'm going back to sleep."

Lorenzo watched as your breathing became slower and more laboured, unable to process the absurdity of the situation that he was in. However, he could process how peaceful and adorable you looked while sleeping, all while his furry feline cuddled up next to you with deep purrs. Eventually, he felt his lack of sleep catch up to him, his body finally allowing itself to relax now that he knew Midnight was definitely safe and sound. He sat down on your bed, reaching his hand out to stroke his cat. She mewled at the action, making him feel relieved that she hadn't started to hate him all of a sudden.

"Am I not enough for you, hm?" he murmured softly, sitting up against the headboard. His head began to lull back as he felt sleep overcome him.

***

You woke up properly at around nine o'clock, safe in the knowledge that you didn't have a lesson until eleven that day. With a soft yawn and a stretch of your limbs, you only remembered the events of earlier when you rolled over to see a sleeping Lorenzo slouched against your headboard, and Midnight sprawled across his lap.

Merlin, your usually mundane and repetitive life had really taken a turn. Unfortunately, despite the insanity of everything he had done, you didn't have the heart to wake him. You couldn't help but think that you would have done the same if Midnight was your cat. Plus, Lorenzo was very physically attractive— you knew that, everyone knew that. Yet, it was your bed that he was asleep on.

Sighing, you sat up, reaching over to scratch Midnight's head affectionally, causing her to wake up and start stretching. The action made Lorenzo stir in his sleep, and once his cat let out a soft mewl, he finally woke up fully. Immediately, you quirked an eyebrow at him, and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Comfortable?"

He grumbled, "No."

You chuckled softly, "Your friends will be wondering where you are."

The proximity between the two of you was quite close: you were sat cross-legged with a mere inch between your limbs. It didn't feel strange, though, in fact it felt quite natural.

"Anyway," you tried to ignore the closeness, "As much as this has been fun, you can't come in here every time Midnight does."

"Why not?"

"I told you earlier. I don't need people making assumptions about me."

His eyes met yours, and you felt your stomach flip. "What if we made the assumptions true?"

You froze, then relaxed, "You don't mean that."

He shrugged.

***

Despite your hopes and dreams, people saw Lorenzo Berkshire leaving your dormitory, and the rumours spread throughout Hogwarts at a rapid speed. And, of course, as he was one of the Slytherin boys who were notorious for sleeping around— albeit less so than the others— you had been dubbed as his next conquest. It was a nuisance, but you weren't insecure, and knew that it would pass before long.

"If you didn't fuck, why was he in your dorm?" Iris, your friend from another house, asked. You were sat at a table in the library together, doing homework. Well, you were doing homework, Iris was borderline interrogating you instead.

"I had his cat," you replied simply.

"You stole his cat?"

You rolled your eyes, "No, Iris, his cat came to me."

"Isn't his cat the really vicious one who hates everyone?"

You hummed absent-mindedly, running your finger down the contents page of a book you were using for your essay.

"Why did it go to you then?"

"She likes me," you murmured, finding the page that you wanted and turning to it.

"That doesn't explain why he was in your dorm so long though."

"No, it doesn't."

Iris huffed, clearly irritated that you were giving her little to no information. You loved her dearly, but she was a bit of a gossip. Suddenly, she gasped. "Are you courting?"

"Who even uses that word anymore?" you scrunched up your nose, "And, no, we're not." Although, you couldn't help but think back to his suggestive comments.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want to believe."

"You're no fun," she pouted.

"Meow."

You looked down to your side in surprise, to see that the familiar black feline was stood by your chair with her tail raised indignantly. "Speak of the devil," you muttered, leaning down to pick her up.

"Midnight!" you heard a yell as the library doors swung upon. You watched as Lorenzo was quickly shushed by the librarian. He apologised to her whilst scanning the room, soon spotting you with his cat sat on your lap. He hurried over.

"You need to stop freaking out whenever she goes wandering," you chastised when he was within a few feet of your table.

He scoffed, "You try not to freak out when you have an incredibly hostile cat who could be banned from Hogwarts."

"I think I do, in a way," you raised Midnight up into the air above you, examining her carefully.

"She's still my cat."

"Relax," you said, "I was just joking."

He glared at you, but there was no real threat in it.

"At least this means you get to see me so much," you grinned cheekily, making him shake his head with a sigh.

"How unfortunate for me."

"Wow, that hurts, Lorenzo." Since when did you feel like you could call him by his first name?"

"Well, Y/N, sorry for not enjoying running like a madman after my little terror."

"Then start thinking of it as running like a madman straight towards me."

He seemed surprised at that comment, and went silent for a few moments. These few moments were when Iris decided to cut in, having been observing silently until then.

"Seems like flirting to me."

You scowled at her.

"I'm just saying, would it not make sense to date the one other person who your cat likes?" she said this more towards Lorenzo than you.

He stared blankly at your friend, a finger on his right hand twitching ever so slightly. You didn't know what to make of that reaction, but decided that you wanted to learn more about what Lorenzo's body language said.

"Can I have my cat back?" he finally spoke.

"Can I please just keep her for a little bit?" you pleaded, "I can't have a cat because my mum's allergic."

Lorenzo surveyed you carefully: your half-hearted attempt at puppy dog eyes and the way Midnight nuzzled her head into your chest. He felt a pang of jealousy: strange and twisting. Weirdly, he didn't think he felt that envious of his cat's affections for you, so he didn't know why he felt jealous. A flashback of the skimpy pyjamas you had been wearing the other night crossed through his mind.

Shit.

"Yeah, uh, sure," he said all too quickly, "Only an hour though."

You hadn't expected him to agree so easily. Nonetheless, you beamed, and said, "Thank you, Enzo."

Enzo. He only let his friends use that nickname. Scratch that: he generally only tolerated when his friends used that nickname. But from you, it sounded sweet, and soft. He knew that he was a more civil and selfless person than the rest of the Slytherin boys, but he doubted many people would go as far as to say his name with such gentleness.

Gulping, he turned and walked away without another word.

***

A little over an hour later, you found Lorenzo in the Great Hall with his friends. They appeared to be enjoying a late lunch, as the tables were sparsely populated and only a few dishes remained. Just the sight of food made your stomach grumble, so you made your way over to him with Midnight curled up in your arms.

"Hello," you smiled, standing next to Lorenzo.

"Hi," he replied, before cooing at his cat who mewled happily.

Your stomach grumbled again, louder this time, and you shrugged sheepishly. "Haven't eaten yet."

"Then eat," Mattheo Riddle said from across the table, gesturing to the food.

You handed the cat over to her owner, and questioned, "Here?" You had never sat at the Slytherin table before.

Riddle shrugged, "Why not?"

You couldn't argue with that, and took a seat beside Lorenzo, dishing food on to your plate in a hurry.

"Where's Arachwood?" Enzo asked, referring to Iris.

"Got distracted by the boy she likes."

"Who does she like?" Riddle asked, clearly a lover of gossip and rumours— much like Iris.

You quirked an eyebrow, "Why should I divulge my friend's secrets?"

"She doesn't seem to have much regard for yours," Lorenzo piped in.

"Yeah, she does run her mouth a bit, but she's my friend," you scooped a large mouthful on to your fork, "I just take care not to tell her my most personal secrets." You then finally allowed yourself to taste the mouth-watering nourishment.

"So? Who does she like?" Riddle asked.

You stared at him incredulously as your mouth was full.

"I think the bigger question is who does L/N like," Theodore Nott added, smirking as he watched the eyes of you and Enzo widen.

Swallowing your food, you turned the topic back to Iris, "She likes Boot."

"Terry Boot?" Riddle clarified, and you nodded.

"I'm only saying that because she makes no effort to keep it private."

"But what about you?" Nott pushed again.

You paused, as in truth, you hadn't really fancied anyone for a while— that was, until, you remembered how gorgeous Lorenzo had looked sleeping on your bed. You felt your face burn.

"No one," you murmured, but your tone was anything but believable. You scooped more food into your mouth so you couldn't answer any further questions, but none were asked.

"We're having a party tonight," Riddle said, "You should come."

You were unable to reply as you chewed.

"It's really just Slytherins," he continued, "But we're all allowed a plus one. You can be Enzo's."

Cautiously, you looked at Lorenzo to gauge his reaction to that suggestion, but he didn't seem to have one as he mindlessly stroked Midnight.

"Yeah, if you want," he said, clearing his throat.

Finally, you swallowed, "That sounds fun. Should I bring alcohol?"

"I would recommend it," Riddle replied.

You were a mix of nervous and excited.

***

When you arrived at the Slytherin dungeons that evening, you were greeted by two fourth years at the door who seemed to be taking the job of security guard very seriously.

"Name?" one of them asked.

"Y/N L/N."

"And who are you here with?"

"Lorenzo Berkshire."

One of them wandered off into the party as the other turned to you, "We just have to validate this. Standard procedure."

You suppressed a giggle.

Not too long later, the other fourth year returned with Lorenzo by his side. With a nod to his friend, you were beckoned in and went over to Enzo.

"Very formal," you finally let out the giggle as the two of you began walking into the main party.

He shrugged, "Riddle insists on it. Salazar knows why."

You gazed around the Slytherin common room, taking in the green and black decor that you had never had the chance to lay eyes on before. There was music playing quite loudly, but you hadn't been able to hear it from outside— likely thanks to a sound-proofing charm.

"Have you started drinking yet?" he asked you.

"I had one while I was getting ready, you?"

"I've had a couple," he shrugged, stopping in his tracks for a few moments to properly look at you, "You look very pretty."

A blush crept on to your cheeks, "Thank you."

You could have sworn a small smirk graced his lips.

"L/N! You made it," the booming voice of Riddle thundered from nearby, and you turned to see him approaching with a bottle in his hand.

"Yeah," you chuckled, "Don't know how I'm gonna make it back without getting caught though."

"Just stay in Enzo's room," he said, clearly already too drunk to think over his words.

Before you could respond to his statement, he had spotted someone else and hurried over to them.

"You can if you want," Lorenzo said quietly, "I've crashed your room before."

You chuckled at the strangely fond memory, "Scared the shit out of me."

He grimaced, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, just give me a little more warning next time."

"Next time?" he repeated, a suggestive lilt to his tone.

"Where's Midnight?" you changed the subject.

"Up in my room, probably."

You hummed, "Right, I need to get more alcohol in me." And with that comment, you wandered off, not wanting Lorenzo to feel like you were following him around like a lost puppy— despite how much you had realised you wanted to be around him. It was a strange realisation: it was the first time a crush had snuck up on you rather than you more or less picking someone you found attractive to fancy.

And with that thought lingering, you poured yourself a shot, downed it, and then made a mixed drink to join the party with.

***

The increasing amount of alcohol danced through your bloodstream as the night went on and you found yourself dancing with some Slytherin girls, and having a full blown debate with a Ravenclaw guy who was there with his Slytherin girlfriend. You were having a lot of fun, but you found your drunken self wanting to go search for Lorenzo. So, you did just that, scanning the large room for any sight of him. Finally, your eyes locked on to the familiar tuft of brown hair sat on a sofa, with his friends all sat around him.

You walked over, somewhat clumsily, and immediately beamed widely, "Hi, Enzo," you said.

His gaze flicked to you and a small smile crept on to his face, "How are you doing?"

"I missed you," you said without thinking, sitting down next to him and bringing your legs up on to the sofa to curl into his side. His arm was spread out, resting behind you on the back of the settee.

"Did you?" he chuckled, taking a sip of his drink, which he held in his other hand.

You nodded, "Did you miss me? Wait, don't answer that."

His lips stretched into a full grin, "I might have missed you."

You narrowed your eyes at him, "Don't play with my feelings, Berkshire. I know you're not as much of a player as the others, but I'm still suspicious."

"Never," he said, leaning closer to you so he could say in a husky quiet voice, "Call me Berkshire."

You raised an eyebrow, "Don't think I won't leave if you show signs of leading me on." How had this turned into a full blown confession? Wasn't it a bit premature for that?

"Who could ever leave me, darling?" The alcohol had clearly inflated his already radiant confidence.

"But who could stay?" you whispered in his ear, before stumbling to your feet, only to feel his hand grasp around your wrist. You turned back, to see that he was looking at you with his mouth folded in a thin line.

"You could," he eventually muttered, "Midnight would miss you too much."

"Just Midnight?" you teased, finding that your drunkenness was filling you with reckless abandon.

He sighed, "I would, too."

You grinned, sitting back down next to him.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade next weekend?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask."

And, when you woke up the next morning cuddled up with Lorenzo and Midnight in his bed, you smiled despite your pounding headache— and slight urge to throw up. Scratch that: huge urge to throw up. But when you stumbled to the bathroom, waking up Lorenzo in the process, he followed you and held back your hair, talking you through it.

It was peculiar, really, how everything was still so new, but you didn't feel the least bit embarrassed about him seeing you in such an ugly state.

—————————————————

masterlist

written; 26/04/2024 —> 09/05/2024 published; 12/05/2024 edited; —/—/——

128 notes · View notes

harmonicakai · 2 days

Text

Midas Touch

Part 2 of the "Somebody Else" series

Pairing: Soobin x Reader, Yeonjun x Reader

Summary: As you and Soobin work on becoming a more believable fake couple, you both realize your initial impressions of each other aren't as accurate as you thought.

Tropes: love triangle, unrequited love, fake dating, frat boy!yeonjun, nerd!soobin, roommates, college AU, childhood best friends

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: sexual TENSION (mdni!), swearing, yj is an asshole, mentions of masturbation and sex

A/N: Yeonjun is barely in this sorry guys :-(

"The look of you when I open my eyes So bright that I couldn’t dare to approach My heart that wants to be like you Gets colored, filled with you" —New, Yves

Your room is much nicer than Soobin’s, albeit messier. There’s clothes scattered all across the floor, and your twin sized bed is covered in stuffed animals.

“Sorry,” you apologize, piling things onto your desk chair. “I didn’t think anybody would actually be coming over tonight. I mean, not like anybody is here any other night, either.”

“That’s okay,” Soobin reassures you. He’s relieved to hear that you don’t tend to have any late night visitors. You grab one of your favorite throw blankets and chuck it at him.

“Hope you’re okay with the floor,” you say. “If this actually becomes a regular thing, I’ll work out a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.”

“I’m good with whatever,” he says. Really, he thinks that if you let him sleep in your bed with you, he’d probably explode, so this is a good thing.

“Here,” you say, handing him a spare toothbrush. “Let’s get unready.”

Soobin is mesmerized at watching your nighttime routine, but he’s especially interested in the way you remove your makeup and layer on a complex combination of skincare products. You’re even nice enough to share and guide him through each step.

“This one brightens your face,” you explain, “And this one helps with texture.”

Soobin’s never considered any of these issues before. He kind of just rinses his face with water and things work out okay for him.

You watch him to make sure he goes in the right order, and he can’t help but notice how you’re equally as beautiful without makeup. You’ve got a silly plush headband pushing your hair out of your face, and you’ve given him one to match.

It all feels a bit too real standing at the bathroom sink together.

“All done?” you ask, snapping him out of his daydream. He nods, and you lead him back to your bedroom.

When you get back, your roommate, Jia, is sitting in the common room eating a tub of ice cream and watching TV. She’s cool with you bringing Yeonjun around all the time, but isn’t used to seeing new faces pop up.

“Hi,” you greet her, before gesturing to your guest. “This is Soobin. Soobin, this is my roommate, Jia.”

“Hi,” he says, giving an awkward wave. Jia gives a half grin, her mouth full, before waving and shooting you a look that says she’s going to need every detail later.

“We’ll be in my room,” you say, grabbing Soobin’s hand and dragging him along.

While things felt blissfully domestic in the bathroom, they’re as awkward as can be in the bedroom. The two of you really know nothing about each other, except for maybe the classes you take.

Soobin wonders if you’re just tired or you just don’t want to talk to him. For his sake, he decides on the former, watching as you switch the lamp off and turn to face the wall.

“Goodnight, Soobin,” you say, hoping he’s comfortable enough on your floor.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies. His heartbeat is still racing, and he spends a good portion of the night listening to the way your breathing becomes slow and steady, willing himself to match its pace. That night, all he dreams about is you.

—————-

If things were awkward right before bed, they’re even worse when you and Soobin wake up to a fire alarm.

“Soobin,” you say, crawling out of bed and shaking him. He must be a heavy sleeper. “Soobin, get up.”

His eyes flutter open and he’s got a dopey smile when he sees you. “Huh? What time is it?”

“It’s only six, but there’s a fire alarm. We have to go outside.” You offer a hand to help him up, but he looks at you funny. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t get up,” he gulps, glancing at his crotch. “Morning wood.”

“Nobody will care,” you huff, covering your ears in an attempt to dampen the siren. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t stand loud noises.”

A little embarrassment is nothing compared to making sure you’re comfortable. In an instant, Soobin is up, your blanket wrapped around him like a cape as you file into the crowd of evacuating students.

“Hold my hand,” you whisper, and he doesn’t need anymore convincing before lacing his fingers into yours. To everybody, you look like a real couple. People mostly know you around campus as Yeonjun’s friend, so hopefully they’ll start to talk when they see you with another guy for once.

Soobin notices how you’re shivering in just a t-shirt and sleep shorts and wraps the blanket around you too, pulling you in to share his body heat. He’s so cozy, and his chest feels more solid than you expected.

“Thank you,” you say, peering up at him, your arms finding their way around his waist. His hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it, but it somehow works for him. He smiles back at you, and you note his dimples and the way his eyes light up.

Choi Soobin is cute. He might not be your type, but any girl would be lucky to have him.

Even though he doesn’t really want to, Soobin heads back to his own room after the fire alarm is over. It was really sweet of him to keep you company while you waited, you think to yourself.

When Soobin gets back, Yeonjun is sitting in the kitchen, nursing his hangover with a huge spread of breakfast.

“Look who’s back,” Yeonjun slurs, wearing sunglasses indoors. “Have fun with Y/N?”

“I did, actually. She showed me her skincare routine.”

“Is that all she showed you?” He’s lifted his sunglasses up now.

“Yes.” Soobin knows if he says more, it’ll be too obvious the relationship is fake.

“So the girl of your dreams took you to her bedroom and you didn’t hook up with her?”

“It’s not like that between us,” Soobin asserts. “I want to take my time. Treat her right.”

“Soob,” Yeonjun starts, a grin plastered on his face. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

“I knew it!” Yeonjun leans into the couch, clapping.

“I’m going to shower,” Soobin says, walking towards the bathroom.

“Don’t take too long jacking off to Y/N,” his roommate calls after him.

“You’re gross!”

“Maybe, but I’m right, aren’t I?”

Yeonjun is right. As soon as Soobin steps under the hot water, he can’t get you off of his mind. The way your fingers felt laced through his hair, or the taste of your lip gloss. Your cute moles that your foundation usually covers up and the way you snuggled into him to keep warm.

He’s got it bad, finishing after he’s barely even touched himself. That’s the kind of effect you have on him, and he knows that if he’s going to be around you more and more, he’s going to have to learn to control himself.

When he gets out of the shower, you’re sitting on the couch, looking as beautiful as ever. Soobin stops dead in his tracks, blinking back the water that’s dripping from his hair. In an attempt to cover up his bare chest, he almost drops the towel from around his waist.

“Y/N! Hi–hey!” he stutters, his eyes wide. What were you doing here and why were you so dressed up?

“Hi, Soobie,” you smile at him, standing up and hugging him. “Ooh, bad idea. You’re getting me all wet.”

“That’s probably the only way he can,” Yeonjun chuckles. You turn and shoot him a dirty look.

“Hurry up and put some clothes on,” you tell Soobin. “I don’t want to lose our reservation.”

“Right, yes. Sorry,” he says, walking past you and into his room.

“Please tell me you’re not just messing with that poor boy,” Yeonjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think he’d ever recover.”

“No, Yeonjun,” you cross your arms. “Unlike some people, it matters who I bring home with me.”

“So, you actually like him?”

“He’s sweet,” you reason, refusing to elaborate any further.

“Am I not?” You couldn’t tell if you could sense a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“Why don’t you ask one of the other girls you kissed the other night and get back to me?” Your anger catches both you and him off guard. Usually, you’re Yeonjun’s doormat.

You stare at each other in silence before finally looking away. It feels like hours before Soobin comes back out of his room, wearing his glasses and a white button down. It’s nerdy, but in a cute way. It’s quintessentially him.

“Ready?” you ask, holding out your hand for him.

“Yeah, ready,” he says, lacing his fingers into yours. “Bye, Yeonjun. We’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” he mutters, eyes locked on his phone screen. “Have fun.”

You close the door behind you without a word.

—————-

“This isn’t what I was expecting when you said we had a reservation,” Soobin says, eyeing the study room in the library that you’ve rented out for the next couple of hours. “I could’ve at least brought some homework to do.”

“This isn’t a study date,” you clarify. “Well, technically it is, except we’re studying each other. If we’re going to be a couple, we need to look and act like one.”

“Agreed.” Soobin’s palms are already starting to sweat. He had always thought of you as quiet and sweet around Yeonjun, but you seem so confident when it’s just you and him.

“I brought a game for us to play to get to know each other better,” you say, opening up your tote bag and digging out a deck of cards. “We’ll start with level one. What was the first thing you noticed about me?”

“You’re beautiful,” Soobin blurts out. His wording sticks in your head. Usually, people call you cute or pretty, but beautiful has a whole other meaning to it.

“Thank you,” you say, hoping he can’t see you blush. “I noticed how nice you were.”

“Or you didn’t notice me at all,” he says, staring at the floor.

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking at him in confusion.

“We’ve technically met twice. You were drunk the first time, and you didn’t really remember, so the second time we met, you thought it was the first. I had to reintroduce myself.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” He thought you were beautiful even when you were blackout drunk.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It gave me a second chance to make a good first impression.”

“And you did,” you assure him. “All of Yeonjun’s friends are dicks, so it was really nice to meet one who isn’t.”

“I don’t think me and Yeonjun are friends,” he mutters.

“You don’t?” It had never occurred to you that Soobin didn’t like Yeonjun.

“Does it seem like we’re friends?”

“Well… no, I guess not,” you say, looking back at the deck in your hands.

“He’s kind of an asshole,” Soobin laughs. He’s right, you think to yourself, but it’s not something you’ve ever been willing to accept.

“He wasn’t always like that,” you quip back. “He used to be really sweet. I don’t know. Something just changed between highschool and college. He wanted to be cool and went on this whole journey to reinvent himself.”

“So, he’s completely different, but you’re still in love with him?”

You have no idea how to answer that question. Soobin knows he shouldn’t have asked it.

“Let’s skip to level two,” you change the subject, digging through the cards. “What's the most attractive thing I do without realizing it?”

Soobin swallows hard. He thinks everything you do is attractive. Even the way you’re looking at him right now, the corners of your mouth slightly upturned, makes his heart beat faster. He weighs his options. “You’re bossy.”

“You like that?” you laugh. There were so many other things he could have picked about you.

“Yes. You know exactly what you want and you aren’t afraid to tell me. It’s–it’s very attractive.”

“Fair enough.” You lean back in your chair, eyeing him up and down. “You have nice hands.”

“Really?” he says, looking at them. “Nobody’s ever told me that.”

“Dude,” you say, taking one into your grasp and comparing it to yours. “They’re huge. It’s hot.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, pulling his hand away and hiding his face.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask him. He looks up at you, surprised.

“No! I’m just, I’m not used to being complimented. Especially not on my appearance.” It’s never occurred to you that some people don’t get showered with comments on how good they look all the time, especially someone as handsome as Soobin.

“Soobin,” you say, locking eyes with him. “You are very attractive. From one pretty person to another, okay?”

“Okay,” he laughs awkwardly. “It’s hard to argue with that.”

“You know what?” You set the deck of cards down on the table. “Fuck the game. Let’s do something more fun.”

“Like what?”

“Kissing lessons,” you grin.

“What!?” Soobin looks terrified. He checks behind his shoulder to make sure the room’s blinds are shut.

“If we want to make Yeonjun jealous, you’re going to have to look like you can kiss me better than he can. That’ll really get on his nerves.”

“Was I… bad at kissing the other night?”

“No, but you were a little desperate,” you explain.

“Sorry.” He’s looking away again.

“Stop apologizing to me. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“Oh. Then why do I need lessons?”

“Listen, I’m all for my fake boyfriend seeming obsessed with me, but if you keep kissing me like it’s the end of the world, it’s not going to seem like we do it on the regular.”

“Makes sense.”

“Exactly. So, let’s practice. We’ll start easy with cheek kisses. Don’t flinch.” You lean over and place a quick kiss on Soobin’s cheek, and he does his best to stay still. “See, was that so hard?”

“I guess not,” he breathes out.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You guess?”

“It wasn’t,” he clarifies. “What’s next?”

You grab both of his hands and pull him to his feet. “Hug me like you missed me.”

He doesn’t need much more instruction, wrapping his arms around your waist until there’s no space between the two of you. “Now what?”

“Kiss the top of my head.” Soobin places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head, your shampoo smelling like citrus. You look up at him with a smile.

“Good job,” you say. “Now my forehead, and then my cheek, and then my nose.”

One of his hands moves to cup your face, following your instructions carefully. Once he’s placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, he doesn’t pull away. “And your mouth?”

You nod, leaning in until your lips connect. He’s more cautious this time, making sure it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to swallow you whole.

“How was that?” he asks, breaking away.

“It was nice,” you say. “Maybe a little too gentle.”

Instead of replying, Soobin pulls you into another kiss, his grip on your waist tightening and his mouth open. “Better?”

“Better,” you affirm before kissing him again. Your hands slip into his hair, tugging on it slightly. Soobin leans further into you until you’re pressed against the blackboard.

His tongue finds its way into your mouth and to your surprise, you whimper. And just like that, Soobin is hard, all of his nervousness melting away to focus on pleasing you. He pulls away, his lips kissing their way down your jaw and onto your neck.

“Does this feel good?” he asks you, sucking on the sensitive skin. The best answer you can give him is a strained moan. You pray he doesn’t leave a mark.

“You—you’re a fast learner,” you stammer. One of his hands brushes the hemline of your shirt, prompting you to snap into reality and push him away. “That was good. You did good.”

Soobin steps back, his body no longer keeping you upright. You both do your best to regain your composure, wiping your lips dry and fixing your hair.

“I have a good teacher,” he says, suddenly feeling awkward again. He prays you don’t notice his hard on, even though it was just pressed up against you. Except it’s all you can think about.

If it were anybody else, you’d probably laugh and tease them about it, but not Soobin. You had no idea how much you’d enjoy this. Sure, kissing him while drunk and heartbroken at the party was fun, but this was different.

“Well, I think we’ve had a successful day,” you say, quickly gathering the cards off the table and shoving them into your bag. “I have to run. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay,” he smiles, his stupid dimples showing. “I’ll see you later, Y/N!”

And with that, you’ve slammed the study room’s door behind you, willing yourself to think about literally anything or anyone else on the way back to your dorm.

—————-

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