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artficlly · 3 months ago

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the art of pretending [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x agent!reader

being mentored by bucky is nothing short of torture; he’s cold, infuriating, and impossible to please. but when a mission gone wrong leaves you stranded in a freezing safehouse together, you start to wonder if all that supposed hatred has just been hiding something else entirely.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, shower sex, unprotected sex, fingering, forced proximity, one bed, kissing, enemies to lovers-ish?, sexual tension, sparring, mentor bucky, bickering, insults, violence, bit of blood/gore/wound descriptions, bucky has issues, protective bucky, slut shaming (not from bucky), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 12.4k

A/N: hi! this is for some requests i received (one and two). i combined two of the requests because they were pretty similar, hope thats okay and i hope you enjoy! this took me... so long to write. i hope it doesn't flop <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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You had two goals for the night: get shitfaced and get railed. So, catching your asshole boyfriend wrist-deep in some girl’s panties, doing the kind of finger work he never even bothered to learn for you, wasn’t part of your itinerary.

You could’ve cried, you could’ve begged, or collapsed into a sad cliché with a tub of ice cream and Sex and the City reruns. But no, you had a mission, and one mission alone. Get so unbelievably drunk on whatever you could get your hands on, so drunk in fact that you wanted to black out before midnight and preferably unconscious until sunset the next day.

Tony’s penthouse parties weren’t usually your scene. Too many sleazy rich men with superiority complexes, trophy wives sipping champagne through botoxed grins, and a carousel of extras that Stark always vehemently denied were hookers. What you did know was that, being an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D., your name was always on the list, and tonight, free top-shelf booze felt like divine intervention.

You just had to get in, get drunk, and avoid eye contact with your co-workers long enough to pull off a quiet mental breakdown and ignore the fact that you were rather underdressed for the type of party Stark was hosting. Scantily clad club clothing clashed hard with the pearls and Prada crowd.

A few raised brows and vague greetings followed you as you slithered through the gathering.

But you held back a groan when you spotted the trio parked at the bar: Yelena, Steve, and Bucky. Great. The Greek god chorus of shame, in all their sculpted, judgmental glory. They looked just as uncomfortable as you felt, loitering by the bar instead of mingling with Stark’s circus.

You ignored their stares and made a beeline for the shelves behind the bartender—some poor kid who looked far too green for this gig. He gave you a look of dismay as you grabbed a bottle of tequila without asking. Slamming down a shot glass, you poured with shaky hands and knocked it back with the elegance of a car crash.

You barely registered the silence that followed until you glanced up and saw the stunned expressions staring back at you.

Yelena was the first to speak. “What happened to you? You never come to these things.”

You poured another shot. “Free drinks,” you muttered, then downed it, already lining up the next. No salt. No lime. Just pain, raw and unfiltered, sliding down your throat.

“I thought you were going out with your boyfriend?” She continued to press, while Steve looked rather scandalised as he watched you swallow back your third shot in a row with a shudder.

Yelena reached over and snatched the bottle from your hand before you could pour again. “You should slow down.”

You blinked at her, teeth gritted, blood thrumming loud in your ears. She meant well. Of course she did. You’d always gotten along—ever since she’d been assigned as your mentor in your early days at S.H.I.E.L.D. You two had clicked effortlessly. It was all a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s long-term strategy to make field missions run smoother and reduce casualties. Avengers were paired with up-and-coming agents to pass down their experience and training, with the hope that one day, those hard-earned skills would save lives.

But everything changed when they reassigned you.

You’d been told it was to ‘broaden your skillset’, that it was about growth, adaptability, and learning from different leadership styles. What they didn’t say was that it would mean training under James Buchanan Barnes, aka Mr. No-Praise-All-Pain.

You’d tried. Really. At first, you gave it your all. Took his criticism, bit your tongue, pushed harder. But Bucky didn’t bend. He didn’t compliment. Didn’t guide. He just judged, cold and final, like every failure confirmed whatever low expectations he had of you.

Five months of that, and you were drowning. You begged for reassignment—back to Yelena, to Natasha, to anyone—but were denied every time. Some higher-up probably thought your mutual disdain was ‘motivating’, like locking two angry wolves in a cage and expecting them not to rip each other’s throats out.

And now here he was. Bucky Barnes. His suit jacket was slung carelessly over the back of his bar stool, his tie loosened just enough to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone. His dress shirt clung to his muscular frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing those unfairly defined forearms and the gleam of vibranium wrapped around a bottle of beer. His expression was stony, but familiar—stern brow, mouth set in a tight line, like he was already displeased with you and you hadn’t even said a word yet.

That look. That look you couldn’t stand.

Disappointment, or maybe pity. You couldn’t tell. Either way, it made your skin itch.

You wanted to punch him in his sullen, pouty face.

Instead, you laughed bitterly and reached for the bottle again, only for Yelena to hold it further away, firm.

“I said slow down,” she warned.

You made a face at Yelena. “Uh, you can’t talk. I saw you do shots out of a candle holder once.”

She didn’t even blink.

“Yes. And you called me messy. So I stopped.” She turned away just long enough to vanish the tequila bottle from sight like some sleight-of-hand magician. “This is me returning the favour. Stop it. You’re being messy.”

You barked out a harsh laugh and rubbed a hand down your face, smearing frustration across your cheeks. “You know what’s messy? My boyfriend. Well—ex-boyfriend.”

Across the bar, Bucky shook his head and muttered something low under his breath. You didn’t catch it, but you were sure it was vile because even Steve glanced over at him in disbelief, his eyebrows climbing high. Great. Judgment from Captain Morality and the Tin Soldier. Just what you needed.

Yelena sighed, already exhausted. “What did he do this time?”

You could tell she was reaching the end of her patience, and honestly, it was fair. She’d been your reluctant witness through the entire tragic saga of your love life. Two and a half years of emotional landmines and loser boyfriends who all somehow managed to be worse than the last. It was impressive, in a bleak kind of way.

You gestured vaguely, your expression somewhere between rage and disbelief. “I was supposed to meet him at some sleazy club downtown, his buddy was DJing—-fucking terrible DJ by the way. I’d barely walked in the door when I caught him in a back booth, fingering some girl who wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it!”

Yelena’s lips pursed. Steve stared like he’d never heard someone use the word ‘fingering’ out loud before.

“What did you do?” Yelena asked, her voice low, careful.

“Oh, the usual,” you said sweetly. “I punched him. Hard. He hit the floor like a sack of shit. Then I stepped on his hand until I felt something snap.”

Steve choked on his beer, coughing violently into his elbow. Bucky just watched you with the world's best poker face, a slight clench in his jaw muscles.

You smiled at Steve, feral and unbothered. “Don’t worry, Cap. He won’t be playing DJ with anyone’s body parts anytime soon.”

Yelena gave a low whistle, somewhere between impressed and alarmed. “You actually broke his hand?”

“Felt like justice.” You shrugged. “Plus, he was always texting with that hand. Two birds, one stomp.”

“That’s assault,” Steve managed, his voice slightly strangled.

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “We’ve all done worse.”

Across the bar, Bucky finally spoke, his voice gravel-edged and unimpressed. “And now you’re here, drinking like a lunatic in front of half the team. Real graceful recovery.”

Your shoulders tensed, that familiar heat creeping up your spine.

“I’m not showing up for training tomorrow,” you said flatly. “Hell, I don’t plan on being conscious tomorrow.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “It’s going on your report.”

Your mid-year report. Just another excuse for Bucky to publicly drag you, whining to the higher-ups about what a terrible mentee you were. How you needed to ‘apply yourself’, ‘show initiative’, or whatever corporate nonsense they lapped up. And of course, those same higher-ups were always looking for a reason to cut dead weight. One misstep, and you were done.

“Of course it is,” you snapped, spinning on your heel. “You miserable, ancient cunt.”

Steve choked on his beer again.

Without another word, you reached behind the overwhelmed bartender, who looked about five seconds from quitting, and grabbed the nearest bottle. You didn’t even look at the label. You stormed off with tequila already burning in your veins and spite lighting the way.

—

You were leaning casually against the wall outside the gym’s changing rooms, dressed in workout gear that was probably a little more flattering than necessary. Tight enough to flatter your waist, breathable enough to pass as practical. Around you, the low hum of chatter buzzed from a small group of fellow agents. You were killing time before your dreaded one-on-one training session with Barnes.

Theo leaned a shoulder beside yours, towelling sweat from the back of his neck. He’d been an agent about as long as you had—charming, competent, and a little too easy to get along with. The two of you were part of that unofficial after-hours crew: drinks on Fridays, complaints about the job, stumbling home tipsy and hungover texts on Saturday mornings.

“You’re on sparring duty all week too?” Theo asked, glancing at you with mock pity. “I swear Rogers gets off on making me eat mat.”

“I know what you mean. Barnes definitely loves making me suffer,” you replied with a grimace. “That man has a personal vendetta against me.”

Theo grinned, tossing the towel over his shoulder, and he gave you a playful sidelong look. “When I get knocked on my ass, promise you’ll kiss it better?”

You arched a brow, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Careful. I’m starting to think you’re flirting with me.”

“Starting to?” he shot back, unfazed. “Let me make it clearer. If I don’t get my ass handed to me by Rogers, I’ll buy you a drink Friday.”

You leaned back against the wall, arms folding over your chest. “And if Rogers wins?”

Theo leaned in, voice low and smooth as his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just a moment too long. “Then I’ll buy you two,” he murmured.

You opened your mouth to respond. Flattered, a little surprised, already mentally debating whether it was worth shaving your legs, when a voice cut through the hallway like a blade.

“Agent. You’re late.”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. That gravel-edged tone, sharpened with disapproval, could only belong to one man.

Bucky stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, jaw set like granite. His black compression shirt clung to every sculpted line of his chest, joggers slung low on his hips in a way that really shouldn't have been legal. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a combat simulation and into a fitness magazine.

But the expression on his face? Full-on battlefield.

That signature scowl was locked in place, thunderclouds brewing behind his eyes as he stared straight past you, straight at Theo. Typical. You hadn’t even done anything, yet somehow, he already looked pissed.

“Training doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.” You reminded him.

He didn’t seem interested in whatever argument you were about to make, and he turned on his heel without another word.

You sighed, uncrossing your arms as you pushed off the wall and flashed Theo an apologetic smile.

Jogging to catch up, your boots thudding against the hallway floor, you called after Bucky. “You know, there’s this really neat thing called a schedule. Maybe try sticking to it?”

He didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “You could use the extra time.”

You scoffed in disbelief at his audacity. Classic Barnes, gruelling, joyless, always ready with a critique and never a compliment. He’d made it his mission to grind you down, one scathing remark at a time. And yet, you knew you were one of the top agents. The higher-ups had told you as much in your mid-year review, even going so far as to say that your mentorship with Barnes was working brilliantly. You hadn’t bothered correcting them, though it irritated more than you liked to admit. All your hard work, and somehow, he got the credit.

Bucky didn’t stop until you were both inside one of the gym’s private sparring rooms. The door clicked shut behind you. No audience. No distractions. Just him and you and the electric tension that always seemed to spark the moment you were alone together.

“Seriously, Barnes, what’s your problem today?”

Bucky stepped onto the mat, gesturing for you to follow.

“You’re here to train, not flirt in the hallway.”

You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Bucky always had a problem whenever your love life even breathed into the conversation. Said it was irrelevant. Unprofessional. A distraction.

Back when Yelena was your partner, the two of you used to spar and gossip at the same time, her dodging your punches while you gave dramatic play-by-plays of whatever your latest fling had done to you in bed the night before. She lived for it. Bucky? Not so much.

He’d cut the conversation short every time. Couldn’t even stand the sight of you laughing a little too long with someone else. He’d yank you away with some bullshit excuse like, ‘distractions on the field will get you killed’, or ‘do I need to report you for slacking off?’ Like you were breaking protocol instead of just being a human being.

You stepped into position across from him, tightening your stance, heat already prickling beneath your skin. From the glare he was giving you, he looked ready to fight. Good. So were you.

“Are you always such an asshole,” you said, voice flat, “or is that just a special little treat you save for me?”

He gave you a look, deadpan and infuriating. “Only when I’m working with someone who’s constantly late, distracted, or hungover.”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose and threw a lazy jab, just to shut him up. He deflected it with a flick of his wrist like he could’ve done it in his sleep.

“And yet,” you muttered, circling to your right, “you wrote me a glowing mid-year report.”

His hand faltered for a split second. It was brief, but you caught it, a crack in the armour he hid behind.

“So you read it,” he replied, already shifting back into motion.

“Hard not to. Maria practically quoted it word for word at me in the hallway.”

His mouth flattened. “It was accurate.”

You scoffed and came at him again, this time with more force, a blow aimed at his jaw. He blocked with ease, catching your wrist mid-air and twisting just enough to tip your balance. You staggered, caught yourself, then stepped back with a glare.

“‘Most adaptive mentee in the current program,’” you quoted, circling him again.

A jab. He blocked it.

“‘Performs under pressure.’”

You followed up with a low kick aimed at his calf. He side-stepped like you were moving in slow motion.

“‘Good instincts in the field.’”

Another punch, this one he met palm to palm, stopping your momentum cold. You grit your teeth and shoved him off.

“‘Promising.’” You swept your foot in a feint and then struck at his ribs. He pivoted out of reach, breath barely changed. “‘Capable.’”

He lunged this time, arm out, trying to lock your elbow, but you twisted under it, ducking away, the mat skimming under your feet.

“‘Excellent recall.’”

You squared off again, eyes locked on his.

“Why the hell,” you asked, low and angry, “are you always such an asshole to my face when you’re singing my praises behind my back?”

He didn’t answer right away, moving like a shadow around you, eyes locked on yours.

“As much as it pains me,” he finally spoke, tone flat, “you are my best mentee. Even if I dislike you personally, I felt your report should reflect that.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown. That was… probably the most praise you’d ever got from him—buried beneath the usual bullshit, sure, but praise nonetheless. On a good day, you might get a grunted ‘good’ if you were lucky. Most of the time, training with Bucky was just an endless list of everything you were doing wrong, punctuated by a jab to the ribs for emphasis.

“Do you always make your compliments sound like insults?”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Just the truth.”

You threw a kick toward his side, fast and impulsive. He caught your ankle and held it, grip firm around your calf for a second too long. His vibranium fingers were cold, even through the fabric of your leggings. You could’ve sworn they tightened around the muscle just a fraction as your eyes swept up to give him a look of disbelief. But instead of pulling away, you leaned into the moment and used the hold for balance. You pivoted hard on your grounded foot, letting the captured leg swing inward. Then you launched yourself forward, hooking your other leg around his waist, aiming to bring him down with you.

For a half-second, it worked. His balance shifted. Your hips were flush against him, legs locked tight around his torso as you twisted your weight, trying to drag him off his feet.

With a grunt, he straightened, twisted, and you suddenly found yourself airborne.

You hit the mat hard, slamming against it with a thud that knocked the breath out of you. The ceiling lights above blurred for a second as the impact rattled through your spine. His shadow hovered for a beat, chest rising with exertion, jaw clenched.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat. Just stared down at you, maybe it was the oncoming concussion you probably just suffered, but you could’ve sworn there was a flash of concern in his eyes.

“Next time, I won’t let it slide if you don’t turn up because you’re hungover.” He wiped a forearm across his brow.

“How do you know my heart wasn’t broken?” You asked, shaking off the blow as you rose to your feet once more, feet finding their usual stance.

He arched a brow, unimpressed.

“Don’t you have sympathy for me?” you asked, somewhere between a joke and a challenge.

“I wouldn’t call it sympathy,” he said coolly. “More like pity.”

That stung more than you cared to admit. You rolled your shoulders, stepping in again. Your guard was up, but there was a crack in it now, frustration flaring under your skin.

“I can’t imagine you were actually that sad about it.” Bucky bit out, not even bothering to hide his annoyance now. “Don’t you have a new fling every other week? Sure sounded like you were lining up another one in the hallway.”

“Oh wow,” you drawled, voice harsh. “Slut shaming? This isn’t the 1940s, Barnes.”

“It’s not my fault who you choose to date.”

You exhaled, long and low. The tension between you had teeth now, gnawing at the air. “Y’know, for someone who hates me, you sure pay a lot of attention.”

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, fists flexing at his sides, poker-faced.

You waited, ready to shoulder any insult he laid on you. You could see irritation simmering under his skin, jaw ticking, knuckles white.

“I think you should take a lap or two around the room.” He huffed finally. “Your blocks are late, your punches are soft, and your stance is a joke. Try warming up before you embarrass both of us.”

You grinned back at him, though it was closer to baring your teeth than a show of amusement. “But I’m still your best mentee, huh?”

“Let’s make it five laps then.”

You gave him a lazy salute and turned for the edge of the mat.

“Whatever you say, Sergeant.”

As you jogged the first lap, footsteps echoing lightly in the private room, you could feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement and watching you like a hawk, like a fuse lit, waiting.

And damn it, you ran a little faster because of it.

—

If you’d known how this mission was going to turn out, you would’ve called in sick. Faked a family emergency. Broken your own damn leg. Anything to avoid being stuck alone with Bucky Barnes in a freezing H.Y.D.R.A. bunker from hell. You’d even considered whispering a desperate prayer to whatever all-seeing god might be listening—or hell, maybe begging Stephen Strange to yank you into an alternate universe where this wasn’t your reality.

Gunfire rattled somewhere outside the cement walls, and you imagined your fellow agents in the middle of all the fun, chucking grenades, dodging bullets, living the dream. Meanwhile, you were practically glued at the hip with Sergeant Sunshine, babysitting an ancient Soviet-era computer that looked like it still ran on dial-up.

You were perched on the edge of a desk, legs swinging, having shoved aside a mountain of dusty files scribbled in Russian. All completely useless to you.

“What is it with H.Y.D.R.A. and brutalist architecture?” you muttered, eyeing the thick ceiling. “Why does concrete get them so hard?”

“I can’t concentrate with all your whining.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s literally the first thing I’ve said in ten minutes, Barnes.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even throw you one of his signature grunts. Just kept clicking away like the keyboard had wronged him personally, eyes narrowed at the screen as if trying to decode the goddamn Rosetta Stone.

You groaned and rolled your head back, staring up at the ceiling.

More concrete.

You weren’t usually this unbearable on missions, but this? This whole situation felt like a personal attack. You’d been mid-flirt with Theo on the quinjet (who had been very committed to making bedroom eyes at you) when they’d called out team assignments. The second you heard your name paired with Barnes, tasked with data extraction while everyone else got to blow things up, you’d spun around to glare at him.

He’d been sitting there in his usual cold, statue-like stillness beside Steve, as if this wasn’t a death sentence. You’d stormed over, demanded if he knew anything. He just shrugged and muttered something about ‘higher-ups’.

The walls shook suddenly—another explosion—and dust drifted from the ceiling. You blinked it out of your lashes and slid lazily off the desk, sauntering over to where Bucky hunched at the terminal.

“Can you hurry it up? At this rate, they’re going to bury us alive in here.”

“Give me a second,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You leaned in slightly, eyeing the screen. A wall of Cyrillic met you, completely unreadable. You couldn’t help the exasperated sigh that left your lips.

“Remind me again why we’re the ones doing this? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to send someone who actually speaks Russian to help you? Or, I don’t know, someone who has the patience to teach you how to use a flash drive?”

He didn’t answer, just kept typing and clicking, as if the keys owed him money.

You crossed your arms, scowling. The only thing more miserable than being stuck in a concrete crypt was being stuck in one with him. When he was distracted, like now, he forgot to wear that usual look of thinly veiled disappointment. His brow furrowed in focus, lips twitching as he muttered to himself in low, clipped Russian. He looked—God help you—human. Not like the cold-hearted pain-in-your-ass who’d spent the last six months tearing you down. But like someone thoughtful. Careful. Quietly brilliant.

And stupidly, stupidly attractive.

You hated how your eyes lingered on the way his rolled-up sleeves hugged his forearms. The way the shadows danced over his cheekbones and the little groove between his brows. The way that little furrow deepened when something didn’t go his way, like he was trying to wrestle the entire world into submission with sheer concentration alone.

It would’ve been easier if he were just awful. Easier if you didn’t catch glimpses of something else beneath the gruffness. Something that made your chest tighten a little when you weren’t focusing.

You swallowed hard, forcing your eyes to the screen. What was wrong with you?

The download bar finally appeared on the screen, crawling forward at a snail’s pace. You exhaled loudly, half in relief, half in impatience.

“About time,” you muttered.

He shot you a look, cold and flat. “You wanna do it?”

You turned your back on him, pacing the room. Your nerves were coiled tight, the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions growing louder. The base was a pressure cooker and the damn download bar still hovered at 34%.

While you were busy taking your own turn brooding, the heavy metal door at the far end of the room slammed open with a deafening clang, nearly launching you out of your skin. Three armed H.Y.D.R.A. agents stormed in, rifles raised, eyes locked on target.

So much for the diversion. Clearly, it hadn’t been enough—or worse, H.Y.D.R.A. had seen through it. They must’ve realised it wasn’t a full-blown William-the-Conqueror-style invasion, just a cleverly dressed-up distraction.

“Company,” Bucky muttered, pulling his sidearm in one smooth motion.

You were already moving, instincts kicking in before your brain could catch up. You dove low, sliding across the slick concrete floor as a hail of bullets tore through the room. You grabbed the nearest overturned chair, dragging it into place just in time as metal pinged and sparked against it.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. A single, precise shot rang out, dropping the first H.Y.D.R.A. agent without a flinch. You didn’t stop to think. You surged forward, catching the second agent by surprise, your knee slamming into his gut with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He doubled over, right into the crack of your gun butt across his temple. He crumpled, unconscious, before he hit the floor.

Then you saw the third.

Rifle up.

Aimed right at you.

“Get down!”

The shout was raw, sharp enough to slice through the chaos. You barely had time to turn your head before a body crashed into yours. His arm slammed into your torso, hurling you sideways just as the trigger was pulled.

The shot cracked like thunder.

Your back hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor. Pain flared along your shoulder, but it was nothing compared to the sound that followed, the harsh, guttural grunt that tore out of Bucky’s throat.

You twisted around.

He was down, gasping, clutching at his side and blood already soaking through the black fabric of his suit.

You scrambled back to him just as the final agent aimed again. Snarling, you fired three quick shots into the bastard’s chest before he collapsed in a heap.

The air went still for only a moment, then the ground trembled violently before you had a chance to assess the damage done to Bucky. Chunks of the ceiling cracked and began to rain down. Concrete groaned like a beast waking from a long sleep.

You turned to the computer, some unreadable symbols flashing across the screen, but you were quick enough to decipher that it meant the download was complete. Snatching the flash drive, you spun back to Bucky, who was trying to sit up, blood spilling between his fingers as he pressed them hard against the wound in his side.

“Get up,” you barked, crouching beside him. “We need to move, Barnes!”

—

The two of you had spent nearly two damn hours stumbling through the snow-blanketed mountainside, following the rough coordinates burned into your mind from the mission briefing. By the time the cabin finally came into view—half-buried in the snow, smoke long gone from the chimney—you were soaked to the bone and one more smart comment away from throttling him.

The escape had been messy, the H.Y.D.R.A base nearly becoming your tomb. You’d been forced to bolt through a collapsing back corridor, dragging the injured super soldier along with the last of your adrenaline. Between the debris, the gunfire, and the growing dark stain across his side, you weren’t sure how either of you had made it out. Worse still, you’d missed the quinjet extraction window by twenty minutes. The skies had turned black with storm clouds, wind howling across the range as ice and snow stung your cheeks. The base had finally picked up your call for aid on the mission-assigned satellite phone, but due to zero visibility and increased H.Y.D.R.A activity in the area, the replacement quinjet wouldn’t arrive until first light.

Which meant you were stuck together. In the cold. For the whole night.

The safehouse, at least, was still intact. A small timber cabin tucked between trees, barely standing but just enough. It had a lounge no bigger than a broom closet, a wood-burning stove long dead and cold, a bathroom you prayed had running water, and a single bedroom with a mattress that looked like it had seen better decades.

Your breath misted in the air as you slammed the door behind you, the wind nearly ripping the handle from your grip. Bucky collapsed onto the torn couch by the stove without a word, letting out a low groan that he probably thought you didn’t hear.

You should’ve made starting the fire your first priority. But one look at the blood soaking through Bucky’s side made that choice for you.

Now, kneeling between his legs with the remnants of the first-aid kit splayed out on the coffee table, whoever had been here last hadn’t restocked it properly. You glared up at Bucky as he shifted under your touch again. “Stop squirming.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you hissed, dabbing antiseptic across the wound with a gauze pad. “You keep flinching.”

“Because you’re digging in like you’re trying to punish me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” you muttered.

He scoffed, muscles twitching beneath your hands as you pressed down. “Are you always this demanding?”

“Are you always this whiny?”

His glare was instant, eyes narrowed. “Is it your goal to piss everyone off?”

“I’m a fucking delight, and you know that.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “I think you’re mistaken. I definitely don’t like you.”

You lifted your brows, trying to keep your voice light despite the roiling mix of emotions spilling out. “You say that like you didn’t just take a bullet for me.”

You hadn’t even had the time to process it when it happened. The crash of his body slamming into yours, the sound of the gunshot, and the sickening thud of him hitting the ground. But now, with him sitting across from you, shirt dark with blood and a fresh gash still weeping crimson, the weight of it began to settle in.

He took a bullet for you.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Part of you expected him to twist it somehow, to throw it back in your face as some kind of lesson that you were careless. That you’d left an opening. That he had to clean up your mess. You were already bracing for it, the sting of snide remarks spread over weeks like salt in a wound, little digs during training about how you ‘owe him one’ or how ‘distractions get people killed’.

And yet... he hadn’t said any of that.

Instead, he just shrugged, wincing slightly. “I heal faster because of the serum,” he muttered, voice gruff but quieter than usual. “I’ll be back on the field faster than you ever could.”

You stared at him.

At the stubborn line of his jaw, the tight press of his lips as he tried not to show how much pain he was in. The way his hand gripped his side was too tight. The blood beneath his fingernails.

Why had he done that?

You weren’t always the easiest to get along with. You’d spent months pushing each other’s buttons, arguing, fighting, constantly locked in a cold war of insults and bruises. So why? Why would he throw himself into a bullet’s path for you?

It was hard not to feel... something. Flattered, maybe. A little shocked. And, against your better judgment, grateful. You didn’t want to be grateful—not to him, of all people—but your stomach wrenched every time you replayed the moment in your head.

You didn’t ask him to do it. And yet, he did.

And now he was pretending it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t made a split-second decision to put your life before his own. What if that bullet had hit a little higher? His heart? His throat? His skull?

“Sure,” you drawled, trying to cover for your sudden silence. “Great excuse.”

“It’s the truth.” He muttered.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the floor and said nothing.

Which, somehow, said everything.

You stared at him for a moment longer, shaking your head as you tossed the bloodied gauze into the small bin beside the couch. The cold was starting to settle into your bones, your fingers stiff with it.

“Whatever. I’m going to try to find some firewood before we freeze to death.”

He glanced toward the boarded-up window, ice clinging to the edges. “You sure there’s any left out there?”

“Nope.” You pulled on your jacket. “But I’d rather get eaten by a bear than stay in here with you.”

You were halfway to the door before you paused, glancing over your shoulder.

“Can you get to that bed yourself, or do you need me to do that for you, too, super soldier?”

His answer came quickly, teeth clenched. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

You couldn’t deny the nausea in your stomach. Not from worry. Definitely not that. Just frustration. That’s all it was.

The wind nearly ripped the door from your hands as you stepped outside. Snow came in sideways, biting at your skin the second you crossed the threshold. You tugged your jacket tighter and trudged into the blizzard, squinting against the blur of white.

The woodshed was exactly where the briefing had said it’d be, about ten feet from the side of the cabin, half-hidden by trees. Or at least, had been. What you found instead was a crooked mess of collapsed timber and broken beams. Snow had settled deep into the heap, and every piece of wood you managed to drag free was soaked, the logs heavy with ice and rot.

You swore, breath clouding in the air.

You searched anyway, fingers numb, arms shaking. You tried the back of the cabin. Nothing. Even the branches scattered beneath the trees were too damp. No kindling, no dry bark, not even a damn pinecone. The cold was sinking deeper now, crawling down your spine and settling like an anchor in your chest. You didn’t want to push further into the wilderness, not in this weather and not with H.Y.D.R.A. agents crawling all over the mountainside.

By the time you stumbled back inside and forced the door closed again, you could hardly feel your fingers or toes. Every limb ached like they were five seconds away from turning purple and black from frostbite. The cabin felt just as cold as the outside, but it was a momentary relief to be out of the wind that cut through your thick layers.

Bucky was on the bed, half-sitting up against the wall, the blanket pulled low across his hips. His eyes flicked up as you entered, taking in your dripping hair and shaking hands.

"Let me guess," he muttered. "No luck?"

You didn’t answer right away, just peeled your jacket off and dropped it near the door with a wet splat. “Everything’s soaked. The shed’s collapsed.”

He exhaled through his nose, chest deflating with the effort. “You’re freezing.”

You ignored him, stomping the snow off your boots. “I’ll live.”

“Not if you keep acting like a damn idiot.”

You turned to glare at him. “I’m sorry, which one of us got shot again?”

You crouched down, your knees protesting as you bent to untie your boots, but your fingers were too stiff, trembling from the cold. The laces had frozen slightly, the knots tight and uncooperative. You hissed through your teeth, fumbling and cursing under your breath as you tugged uselessly at them.

Bucky watched from the bed, arms crossed over his broad chest. He didn’t move to help, but you could feel his eyes on you. He tilted his head slightly and gave you a look that was half-concerned, half-exasperated, like you did this to yourself.

With a final frustrated yank, you freed your boot and kicked it off, followed quickly by the other. A damp string of muttered profanities trailed from your lips as you scrambled back to your feet, wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

“Which one of us,” Bucky spoke pointedly, breath fogging in the air between you, “went outside to play in a blizzard and came back looking like a drowned rat?”

You were shivering now, teeth on the verge of chattering, but you still squared your shoulders and stared him down, as defiant as ever. A bead of melted snow trailed down your temple. He stared right back.

“Get over here,” he said finally.

“Excuse me?”

“You need to warm up.” His tone was flat, too practical. “And the bed’s the only warm place in this shithole.”

“Oh, now you care about my well-being?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. Just lifted the edge of the blanket.

You hesitated, eyeing the small mattress like it might bite you. "You’re the worst."

"And you’re still standing in wet clothes. Take them off and get in."

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“Not all of them,” he said, eyes rolling. “Just the top layer before you die of hypothermia. Stop being dramatic.”

With a theatrical sigh for good measure, you peeled off your wet sweater, leaving the thermal shirt beneath and then your pants. You did not check to see if he was watching you shivering in your underwear, cheeks flushed. You padded toward the bed like it was a walk to your own execution, hesitating again at the edge.

You tried—really tried—not to let your eyes linger on the broad plane of his chest, but it was impossible not to. His shirt was rumpled and half-untucked, the hem tugged up where he’d peeled it back to expose the bandage on his side. The white gauze was already marred with deep red, blooming in uneven patches that made you pause with something halfway between guilt and concern. Your gaze drifted to the sharp curve of his waist, the ridge of muscle visible beneath the bloodied wrappings.

It was distracting.

He was distracting.

But what you tried hardest not to think about was the bed. Specifically, how absurdly small the mattress looked with him sitting on it, shoulders nearly brushing both edges. There was no way you’d both fit. You’d be pressed against him. Shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, knee to thigh.

You swallowed hard and told yourself not to think about it.

But you were already thinking about it.

“Don’t make it weird,” Bucky muttered.

“I’m not making it weird.”

He let out a low, tired huff, the kind that told you he was in pain but too stubborn to say it. You rolled your eyes in reply, more at yourself than him, and climbed in carefully, slipping beneath the blanket with a reluctant shiver. The bed was warmer than expected. Or rather, he was. Bucky radiated heat like a furnace, the kind that seeped into your skin and made your limbs relax before your mind could catch up. You hovered near the edge of the mattress, body stiff, spine straight like it might help you keep your distance. But it was a hopeless attempt. The bed was tiny—criminally small, really—and with him taking up so much space, there was nowhere to go but closer. One wrong move and you’d be on the floor.

“God, you’re warm,” you muttered into the pillow, trying not to sound too affected.

“Serum,” he replied shortly, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Slowly, inch by inch, you gave in. The chill in the air made it too easy to justify. You shifted toward him, the blanket tugging between you as your arm brushed against his. Then your hip. Then your thigh. Until, somehow, your bodies were nearly flush.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t say a word.

And that somehow made it worse.

The silence settled between you, heavy and warm and intimate, like the air itself had thickened. You could hear his breathing, steady, but a little too deliberate. You could see his chest rise and fall from the corner of your eye. And worse, you could feel him. Every inch of him. The solid line of muscle at your side. The way your knees had somehow locked together under the blanket. How your forearm grazed his with every breath you took.

You needed a distraction. Desperately.

Reaching over to the nightstand, you snatched up the battered satellite phone, almost too quickly. The cold metal was jarring against your palm. For a moment, you considered activating the self-destruct protocol and blowing both of you up to end your shared misery. You flicked it on, the screen’s pale light casting long shadows across the room and across him.

Your eyes flicked over before you could stop them.

He was already staring at the ceiling, the faint furrow between his brows still present even in rest. His profile was defined in the low light, long lashes, strong nose, and the stubble on his jaw catching just a hint of light.

You forced yourself to look back at the tiny screen to check for any new updates.

Nothing. You were well and truly in for the night.

You scrolled to the mission briefing instead, flicking through the files to pass time, anything to distract you.

And then you saw it.

There, buried under the pre-mission notes, weather expectations, and extraction protocol, was a small addendum in the personnel request section.

Operation HARVEST: Agent Barnes, James B.Requested field partner: Agent 00149. Request approved.

You stared at it, the room suddenly quieter than it had been all night.

That was your agent number.

He asked for you.

The same man who had spent the last six months grunting his way through every interaction, who seemed perpetually annoyed by your existence, who had made a point never to give you more than an ounce of credit, had explicitly asked to be paired with you.

You felt your throat tighten.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, as if he could sense your world shattering around you. His voice was low, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion

You didn’t answer right away. You sat there, still curled under the heavy covers. The warmth of his body was helping, yes—but your blood was starting to simmer for a very different reason.

You turned slowly, holding the satellite phone up between your fingers.

“You want to tell me why it says on the briefing notes that you requested me as your partner for this mission?”

Bucky blinked once. His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“I asked you on the quinjet if you knew anything,” you went on, voice harsh now. “You told me it was a higher-up’s decision. You lied to my face.”

Bucky sighed through his nose, already bracing himself as he sat up straighter against the headboard. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Didn’t matter?” you scoffed, pushing yourself to your knees to face him, ignoring the goosebumps that rose as the blankets fell from your shoulders. “You picked me. You had me assigned to a mission with you, just the two of us, didn’t tell me, and then lied about it.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“You did lie.”

He dragged a hand down his face, slow and weary, but there was tension in the movement, an edge of frustration barely restrained. “I didn’t want you partnered with the other guys, alright?”

You faltered, unsure if you heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“No, you can’t just say that and not explain—”

“Fine!” He groaned, exasperated. His eyes dropped away from yours, fixing instead on a knot in the cabin’s dark wood wall. “I heard them talking. Theo and a few of the other agents.”

“What?” you asked, voice tight. “What were they saying about me?”

He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy and awful.

“Just say it,” you bit out.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And it hit you square in the chest, something dark and protective burning behind his eyes. But it was reluctant, too, as if he hated that he was about to say it out loud.

His voice was low and rough when it came. “That you’re easy. That it’d be simple to get you into bed because you’re always asking for it. That you’re a slut. I gave them a piece of my mind and reported them, but I still don’t want you around them.”

You felt it like a punch to the gut.

Your breath caught, the sting behind your eyes immediate and hot. You blinked once. Twice. The words echoed, raw and ugly, and for a second, all you could do was try not to let them settle too deep. Not to let them stick.

You weren’t naïve. You knew you didn’t sleep around any more than anyone else your age. You knew that if the situation were flipped, if you were a man, no one would bat an eye. And still, the weight of it settled heavy in your gut, all twisted up with something darker. Dread. Shame. Fury. And under it all… that sick, crawling feeling that maybe Bucky had said something. Given them reason to think they could say it. That maybe he thought the same thing deep down.

That, maybe, to him, you were just some mess he had to clean up.

The words came fast, your voice shaking. “And what, you thought you’d ride in and defend me like some white knight? You know I could easily drop Theo, I could easily drop any of those assholes!” Bucky blinked, caught off guard, but you were already going, bitter heat rising in your throat like bile.

“You thought that would make it better?” you snapped. “You think that helps? They’re probably all laughing behind my back about how I can’t defend myself—”

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let them talk about you like that!”

“Why?” you demanded. “Because you didn’t want to hear it? Or because you’ve thought the same fucking thing?”

His eyes flared with disbelief, maybe even insult.

“I would never think of you that way,” he barked, and his voice cracked like thunder. “Let alone say it out loud. Because I’m not an asshole. Not like those guys you date.”

You laughed, blunt and hollow. “Why do you care who I date?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t come up with any words, but to your surprise, he exploded before you. “Maybe because you deserve better!” he shouted, the words ripping out of him before he could take them back.

The silence after that was suffocating.

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest, a strange cocktail of feelings in your stomach that you didn’t care to identify. He sat there, breathing hard, his hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to speak again.

“Jesus,” you muttered. You weren’t foolish enough to believe him, to fall victim to whatever joke he was trying to play. “Give me a break.”

“I’m serious,” he mumbled this time.

You turned your face away. “Oh yeah? Like you could do any better? Don’t be ridiculous.”

His breath hitched, like you’d slapped him. You could feel him shift beside you under the covers.

“You really think that?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But Bucky didn’t let it stay quiet.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked, voice low and rough, as if the words had been caged for too long in his throat. “Fine.”

You turned back toward him, uncertain what expression you were even wearing anymore.

“I’ve liked you since the first damn time I saw you,” he said. “Group training. You were paired with some agent twice your size, and you still knocked him on his ass.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“I thought you were… brilliant. And sharp. And confident. And yeah, beautiful too. You had this way of looking right through people—through me—and it scared the shit out of me. When they assigned me to mentor you, I panicked,” he said, with a dry, bitter laugh. “I thought if I pretended, if I was distant, if I acted cold, I could make it go away. Trick myself out of it.”

“But it just got worse,” he went on. “Every time I saw you smiling at some sleaze who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, every time I had to watch you flirt with some smug asshole agents, I wanted to break something. Because it should’ve been me.”

You shook your head slowly, stunned. “Bucky…”

“I hated watching you get your heart broken over and over again,” he said. “Hated seeing you walk into training after pretending like nothing happened. You didn’t deserve that. Not when I knew I could treat you better if I just had the fucking guts to say something.”

Your ribs felt suddenly too small for your body, bones pressing into your lungs.

“And now we’re stuck on a mountainside,” he said, his voice softer, hoarser, “and I’m here bleeding in a bed with you, still lying to you, still trying to act like it doesn’t kill me every time you look at me like I’m just your mentor who you hate.”

You gaped in stunned silence, heartbeat pounding in your ears. Bucky watched you expectantly.

No. No, that couldn’t be what he meant. Not really.

“I don’t know what kind of cruel joke you’re playing on me,” you finally said, voice shaking, fingers knotted in the sheets. “I don’t get it. You’ve spent this whole time being…”

“I’m being serious,” he said, eyes locked on you. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I’ve fucked this up too many times. But I swear on my life, I’m not playing a game.”

You stared at him, blinking hard. “So what, this entire time you’ve been an asshole because you were what, pretending? Pretending that you didn’t like me, pretending that you weren’t jealous, when you could’ve just talked to me?”

His silence was immediate. Heavy. It told you everything you needed to know.

Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your mind was spinning, flipping through every memory like a film reel: his cold shoulder, his clipped instructions, the scowls when you joked with someone else, the way he always hovered a few steps too close in combat zones. The way he always caught you when you fell. There had been moments. Tiny fractures in his mask. The way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The time he bandaged your hand without a word, but so gently it had made your throat tighten. The night you caught him staring at you across the gym like he was in pain.

How had you missed it?

“I need to…” You whispered, slumping back under the sheets, pulling the blanket higher around yourself as if it might guard you from the ache in your ribs. “We should sleep. It’s late. Evac’s coming once the sun is up.”

He didn’t protest. He just nodded once, jaw tight.

Neither of you said another word.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

—

You hadn’t seen much of Bucky since you were both airlifted off the mountain.

He’d been recovering from his wound, officially. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was avoiding you. No texts. No nods in the hallway. No eye contact across the cafeteria. Just cold silence.

Coward.

You’d spent the past week half-waiting for him to come to his senses. The other half had been consumed wondering what the hell you’d do if he did. Because yes, you found him infuriating. Yes, he was emotionally constipated and moody and had the charm of a brick wall. But he was also gorgeous in that tortured-soul, sharp-jawed, arms-too-big-for-his-shirts kind of way. He cared about you, in his own twisted Bucky way. He’d taken a bullet for you. Defended you. Chose you.

And now he was just… gone.

You were leaning against the wall at the edge of the main gym, arms crossed, purposefully not looking at Theo and the other assholes you had suspected Bucky had been right about, when you heard footsteps and someone cleared their throat beside you.

Yelena stood beside you, her smirk suspiciously wider than usual.

You turned, brows knitting in apprehension. “Hey.”

“Congratulations,”

“For what?” You replied hesitantly, watching as her brows lifted in delighted surprise.

“You haven’t heard?” Her voice was alarmingly gleeful, like she was especially thrilled to be the bearer of whatever news she was about to lay upon you. “Barnes finally accepted your mentor transfer request.”

Your heart flatlined for a second.

“What?”

Yelena, oblivious to your distress, continued to dig further. “I don’t know what you did to him up on that mountain, but… damn. I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

“I didn’t ask for a mentor transfer,” you muttered, dread settling in your chest.

Yelena’s expression faltered. “Oh. Well, you have one now. You’re with Thor. They tried to pawn you off onto me, but you know, got my hands busy with the new group coming in—”

“Thor?!” You snapped, interrupting her spiel, “He’s a drunk! And he’s not even here half the time, too busy in Asgard—”

Yelena gave you a helpless shrug, and that’s when the doors to the gym opened and in walked the ghost of your week-long frustration.

Bucky was in full training gear, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, compression shirt clinging to him like a second skin. His hair was ruffled, pushed back half-heartedly like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it, a few strands falling into his eyes. The corded muscles of his arms were on full display, the glint of his vibranium arm catching the light with every step. He looked unfairly good, carved from grief and sleepless nights. But it was the way he wouldn’t look at you that struck harder than anything else. His jaw was tight, lips set in a permanent pout, that brooding scowl etched so deep it felt deliberate. He looked everywhere but at you, like you weren’t even there.

Your blood boiled.

Without a word, you peeled yourself from the wall and marched toward him. He spotted you mid-stride, his posture tensing like he was preparing for impact.

“Hey—” he started.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, voice low and venom-laced.

“Not here,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the other agents filtering in behind you. A few of them had already glanced over curiously, settling in for whatever show was about to unfold.

“Too late,” you hissed. “You requested a mentor transfer for me without even telling me?”

“I thought it was what you wanted.” You both knew he was lying, and he refused to meet your eye. This wasn’t about what you wanted. It was about him feeling embarrassed after his outburst on the mountain.

“Oh, really?” You stepped closer. “Because I don’t remember asking you to make my career decisions for me.”

“I was doing you a favour.”

“Yeah? Maybe try talking to me like a normal fucking person, and then I’ll tell you what I want.”

His eyes flickered up, stormy blues locking onto your face. “And what is it you want?”

You stared him down, tilting your head slightly, weighing the war going on inside you.

You.

I want you.

The thought was immediate, impulsive, and so painfully real it made your chest ache. But you shoved it down, crushed it before it could breathe. No. That was stupid. Why the hell would you want him—this man-child who’d ghosted you for a week, who’d spent the last six months acting like every word out of your mouth was a personal offence, who seemed to find joy in making you feel like nothing?

But then again… maybe you both had been trying so hard to deny the truth, burying something under six months of thinly veiled insults and sparring matches that got too rough. Maybe he was pushing you away because he didn’t trust himself to keep it professional. And maybe you were just as bad, biting back, rising to the bait, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered or the way his voice softened when you were actually hurt.

You had to know if it was real.

The shuffle of movement and muffled chatter around you signalled the start of group training, slicing through your heated stand-off. Agents around you began to pair off, leaving you and Bucky still locked in place, face to face, breath mingling.

You lifted your chin. “Be my sparring partner?” you asked, voice loud enough for the others to hear, but eyes fixed solely on him.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. Just nodded once, tight-lipped, like he’d been waiting for the invitation all along.

You squared off on the mat, bouncing on your toes, adrenaline already coiling in your veins. Bucky moved like a soldier, controlled, fluid, annoyingly graceful.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he muttered as you circled.

“I’m not,” you said, “Just testing a theory.”

He raised a brow. “What theory?”

You lunged, caught his arm, and twisted into a low grapple—just enough to draw him in.

His chest brushed yours. His breath hitched.

Then you kissed him.

Hard.

Your lips crashed against his mid-motion, stealing the next move right off his tongue. You felt him freeze, just for a heartbeat, before his hands twitched at your waist like he didn’t know whether to shove you away or pull you in. You felt the tension roll off him in waves. The way his body reacted was instinct. Shock. Hunger.

His movements hesitated, and to your delight, despite the entire gym watching, he began to kiss you back.

And that hesitation?

It was all you needed.

You shifted fast, breaking the kiss, then ducking low, hooking your leg behind his knee as you spun. In one fluid motion, you swept his legs out from under him and used the twist of your momentum to pull him down with you. He stumbled, off-balance, and you moved like lightning, hips snapping around his waist, thighs locking tight. You rotated with the drop, forcing him onto his back as you rolled with the momentum.

He hit the mat hard.

You were straddling him, thighs clamped around his ribs, palms flat on his chest. You smirked down at him, panting.

Bucky stared up at you, winded, stunned, and very, very pinned. “That was dirty.”

You leaned down, your face just inches from his again. “So was your little mentor stunt. Call it even.”

Throughout the room, the entire gym was dead silent, staring. You gracefully dismounted him and marched off the mat, but Bucky scrambled up and followed you.

“Oh, now you want to talk?” you snapped as he caught up beside you.

“You can’t just kiss me and then walk away like that!”

“Why not?”

“You kissed me to mess with me.”

“I kissed you to see if you meant what you said on the mountain.”

The two of you burst through the gym doors and into the hallway. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. Bucky’s heavy footsteps were right behind you, his presence unmistakable, all coiled frustration and breathless anger.

A few agents stood frozen near the water station, others lingering by the mission board, all of them caught mid-conversation as they turned to witness the fallout. You were aware of the eyes on you, the awkward silence that followed, but you didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them gossip.

You stormed past them without pause as Bucky chased you like a dog on a leash that was just about to snap.

“You just kissed me in the middle of sparring,” he shouted after you, voice ragged and accusing. “In front of everyone. Is this a joke to you?”

You didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. The elevator was too slow, too exposed. Instead, you veered to the stairwell and shoved the door open with enough force that it bounced off the wall. The clanging echo followed you as you started up, two steps at a time.

“Oh my god, would you just shut up already?” you snapped over your shoulder, breath catching as your hand slid along the metal railing, spiralling up the concrete stairwell.

Behind you, Bucky cursed under his breath. “It was unfair.”

He reached for you and just missed your wrist. You yanked it away before he could try again, your skin buzzing with the ghost of contact.

“Isn’t that what you taught me to do? Use anything to my advantage?” you bit out, pushing through the next door as you reached your floor. The hall here was quieter and dimmer. You passed rows of familiar doors. Your apartment was at the end of the corridor, and every step toward it made your pulse throb louder in your ears. “What, you have a problem with me using my assets against you?

“Assets, huh? You know, you really are unbelievable—”

You let out an exasperated groan, cutting him back. “You kissed me back.”

That stopped him.

His boots scraped the floor as he slowed a few paces behind you, chest heaving, eyes wide with shock.

“What?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your key in the door. The metal clicked, and you pushed it open with a little more care this time.

“You kissed me back,” you repeated softly, almost to yourself this time and stepped inside.

Bucky barged in after you.

“You don’t understand—I’m… I’m trying to protect you!” His voice followed you into the room, desperate.

You kicked off your shoes without looking at him. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Would you just listen for once—” he snapped, shutting the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes and started pulling off your shirt, tossing it onto your bed and turned to face him, arms crossed. “I am listening, you’re the one not listening to me.”

Bucky stood just inside the door, like he hadn’t decided whether to walk out or burn the whole damn building down.

“I shouldn’t have told you that on the mountain, it was unprofessional of me.” His voice cracked as his words poured out faster than it seemed he could stop them, emotion thick in every syllable. “I requested the mentor switch because I don’t trust myself to keep pretending. I can’t control myself around you!”

You padded barefoot across the room to the small bathroom.

“How am I supposed to go on training you?” He muttered, gesturing vaguely in your direction. He was repeating himself now, rambling like a crazed man completely oblivious to your actions. “You pull that stunt in the middle of training, humiliate both of us in front of the others, and then act like it meant nothing? Jesus, I can’t even think straight when you—”

You peeled your leggings off and let it fall to the floor behind you.

“—and don’t even get me started on that assets comment! What the hell does that even mean? You can’t just go around weaponising your—”

You unclasped your bra and bent to turn on the shower. The hiss of water filled the room, steam already curling up the mirror.

“—I mean, are you even hearing yourself? You just, what? Decided to tackle and kiss me like it was some kind of training tactic?! That’s not even…Are you using my confession against me? God, you’re impossible, I swear—”

He looked up.

And stopped.

Mid-sentence. Mid-breath.

There you were, back turned, steam catching on the bare curve of your spine and trailing over the lines of your thighs, standing in nothing but your underwear.

His words died in his throat like a car slamming into a wall.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes locked.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, saw the exact moment it hit him and raised a brow, feigning casual curiosity as you stepped toward the open shower door, letting the foggy heat billow around your legs.

“You joining me?” you asked sweetly. “Sure sounds like you need to cool off.”

He said nothing.

Just stared.

Like you’d just knocked the wind out of him for the second time that day. Just that haunted, hungry look in his eyes like he was trying to figure out if he’d died and gone to hell. Or heaven.

His mouth opened, like he had something to say, some half-assed rebuttal, some snarky comeback.

But no words came out.

Only a low, helpless breath.

“I wasn’t using it against you.” You clarified as you dragged your underwear down your legs, tossing them somewhere across the room. “I was seeing if you meant what you said.”

You stepped nto the shower, leaving him stood stunned in the bathroom doorway. A soft sigh slipped from your lips as warm water poured down your shoulders and back, washing away the dull ache in your muscles. For a moment, you simply stood there, facing the stream, eyes closed, the patter of droplets against your scalp soothing like white noise in a storm.

Then came the soft rattle of the shower door behind you. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was him.

The subtle swish of movement was followed by the cool press of metal against your waist, his vibranium arm snaking around you, cool against the heat of the water and your flushed skin. Goosebumps prickled instantly across your stomach, nipples peaking at the contrast.

You turned slowly, steam swirling around you in thick waves as you met Bucky’s eyes. His wet hair was slicked against his neck, droplets clinging to the dark strands and sliding down his jawline. Beads of water traced the line of his throat and the rise of his Adam’s apple, disappearing over the muscle of his chest. His hands found your hips, warm and solid, the grip almost possessive.

You tried not to look down, tried not to let your eyes drift to the answer to a question you’d been too proud to ask. Instead, a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you stepped into him, letting your palms slide up the hard planes of his chest, past his dogtags and looped around the back of his neck.

“I think this is going to do the opposite of cooling me down,” he muttered, voice husky, half-lost beneath the steady rhythm of water hitting tile.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, and then you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

Your mouths crashed together like you’d both been holding back for too long. Hungry. Desperate. Sloppy. The water only made it messier, lips sliding, catching, breath hissing as teeth grazed. He kissed like he needed to claim this moment before the world snapped back into place. You returned the kiss with equal urgency, fingers threading into his wet hair, tugging, needing more.

His hands slid down your back, firm, sure, guiding you until your spine pressed against the slick wall of the shower. You wrapped a leg around his hip, instinctive, needy, and he growled softly into your mouth as his hand dropped to support your thigh, holding you steady. You ground your hips into him, once, twice. His grip tightened, and the next thing you knew, he was lifting you, hands firm on your ass as he carried you effortlessly from the shower. The bathroom was thick with steam, fog curling along the edges of the mirror and dripping from the ceiling. Water trailed down both of you, soaking the tiles as he strode across the room.

Your back met the edge of the counter with a soft thud, followed by the chill of the fogged-up mirror behind you. The coolness shocked your skin and made your spine arch sharply, drawing a low noise from your throat. Bucky didn’t miss a beat. He was still kissing you, still swallowing your gasp as his hands ran down your thighs and urged them further apart.

He stepped in, slotting himself between your legs, his body flush against yours. The sensation of him made your head spin. Water from the still-running shower continued to hiss in the background, steam billowing out and filling the room like a cocoon. You were both soaked, skin slick and glistening, lips swollen, breaths short. Your fingers found the back of his neck again, anchoring yourself as he kissed you deeper, slower now, like he was savouring every second.

His hands slid down your hips and tugged you forward until your thighs bracketed his waist. You felt his cock, solid and insistent, pulsing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and your breath caught.

“I think I’ve dreamt of this moment.” He confessed between kisses, before consuming you again.

It took little resistance for him to push into you in one smooth motion. You weren’t just drenched from the shower. Your whole body sang from the shock of it, a strangled sound tearing from your throat as your fingers fisted in his wet hair. His mouth tore from yours with a ragged gasp, trailing down your jaw, your neck, leaving fire in his wake. Bucky braced a hand behind you on the counter, the other gripping your thigh, steadying you as his hips began to move precise and relentless.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he muttered into the curve of your neck, voice wrecked. His lips brushed against your pulse, the edge of his teeth grazing the skin like he was half a second from losing control. “How many nights I told myself I couldn’t touch you... shouldn’t want you, couldn’t have you.”

You let out a breathless laugh that quickly turned into a gasp as his hips snapped forward again.

“Keep going,” you rasped, one hand clawing up the curve of his back, the other buried in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

His only reply was a low, broken groan against your skin, like he was coming apart just from the feel of you wrapped around him. You locked your ankles behind him and rocked your hips forward, drawing him deeper. A spark of pleasure flared up your spine, making your head fall back against the fogged-up mirror..

“I tried so fucking hard to keep my distance.” He chuckled low against your collarbone, though the sound was strained, caught between shallow pants and a raw groan of need. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His vibranium hand slid between your bodies. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with gentle strokes, and your body jolted in response. An uncontrollable whimper left you as your thighs trembled around him.

“I’ve been dying to hear those sounds from you.” Bucky panted against your ear.

You pressed closer to him, shaking legs tightening around his waist as you pursued his fingers. He chuckled at your poorly hidden desperation, chest vibrating from the sound. As his fingers swirled, cock pumping in and out, you felt your body clench involuntarily around him, drawing a moan from him.

“Fuck, Bucky, ” you breathed, barely able to form the word as your pleasure surged, unrelenting and dizzying. “If I’d known this was what you were holding back, I would’ve pushed harder.”

Bucky’s rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming uneven and desperate, chasing the high he could feel coiling tighter in both of you. Your raw moans echoed around the small bathroom, rising above the hiss of the shower and the frantic beat of the slap of wet skin. Your climax broke over you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your entire body arched, legs trembling as you whimpered, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. Pleasure tore through you like lightning, leaving your nerves sparking in its wake.

With a guttural groan muffled against your neck, Bucky followed you over the edge. You felt him twitch inside you, warmth spreading as he spilt into you, his hips stuttering erratically as he buried himself as deep as he could go. His arms tightened around you, as though he needed to hold you close to keep himself grounded.

For a long, breathless moment, you stayed like that. Tangled together, trembling, the heat of the afterglow. The water still rained behind you, forgotten, as you both came down slowly, limbs heavy and slick with sweat and steam. Then, slowly, Bucky lifted his head to look at you. His hair was plastered to his forehead in wet strands, water trailing down the lines of his cheekbones and along his jaw. His eyes, dark and hungry, searched yours with a mix of dazed satisfaction and something else. A flicker of awe, maybe. Or disbelief.

You gave him a slow, wicked smirk and reached up to brush a dripping lock of hair off his brow, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I need you to pull that transfer request, by the way,” you murmured, voice low and rough with breath. “There is no way in hell I’m training with Thor.”

His lips twitched, a hoarse laugh escaping him, short and surprised. But the fire in his gaze didn’t fade. If anything, it darkened.

“I’ll pull it…” he said, voice thick with promise as his hands slid back down to your waist, “…when I’m done with you.”

From the way his fingers gripped your hips, you had a feeling that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

---

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spideyjimin · 2 months ago

Text

Break my heart | jjk

— pairing: jungkook x female reader

— genre: college au, roommates au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, kind of friends to enemies, and enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, and smut

— rating: 18+

— summary: jungkook, a mask, and a party. three things that made you weak enough to break all the rules of friendship. you did with him what you usually do with strangers… but he was never supposed to be a one-night stand. there’s too much history. too much comfort. and now, the aftermath of that wild and steamy night has made living with him unbearable, but also impossible to walk away. because you’re falling. fast. deep. and maybe deep enough to let each other break your own hearts.

— words: 18,123

— warnings: implied sex, mention of alcohol, heavy sexual tension, so much teasing, strong language, lots of kissing, swearing, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, protected sex, mention of sex, kind of heartbreak, crying, fighting, mention of masturbation, flirting, mention of bathroom sex, oc throws very bad jokes at him, mention of toxic relationship, some jealousy, fingering, handjob, and multiple sex scenes

— author’s note: the fic is finally out!! i’ve had so much fun writing it & i hope you’ll enjoyed it 🥰 i know i said that i was taking a break but i had some days off & my hand is finally getting better so i just wrote 🫣 this is also like a “thank you” fic for all the milestones i reached in the past months i really appreciate you all & thank you so so much for everything 🩵🩵 hope you’ll enjoy this fic ✨

— playlist: OTRO CAPÍTULO | QUE HACES | sports car | railway | die for you

MASTERLIST

As you step inside the impressive ballroom, your eyes look around. The room is already full of people, which doesn’t surprise you, and it’s quite dark. Since it’s a masquerade ball, every single person is wearing a mask. Some are fancier than others, but in general, everybody looks fantastic with their masks on.

You turn to your left, your eyes meeting Jungkook’s before you look down at where your left hand rests on his strong arm. Your best friend looks incredibly well in his black tuxedo and with his phantom half mask. It’s rare to see him wearing such a classic outfit. He usually goes with jeans and large shirts.

“Let’s go?” he asks with a growing smile.

You simply nod. This isn’t the type of party you usually go to. Most of the time, it’s just a random party organized by a student, and you’ll get drunk before getting laid. Or you’ll simply get laid. But tonight is different. You’re not even sure what you’re supposed to do or how to act. You don’t envision flirting with someone like you used to at “regular” parties.

As you make your way to the crowd, you text your friend Lena to check where she is. She told you a couple of minutes ago that she was already inside with her boyfriend, Hoseok, and Jin, another friend of yours.

“Lena told me to join her at the bar,” you say to your best friend, your eyes detaching from your phone.

You and Jungkook walk side by side, your feet moving in sync. Strings of colorful lights illuminate the room, but you’re focused on finding the bar. Your fingers tighten around his arm. Not because you might trip or lose your way, but because, for a split second, you’re afraid he might let you go.

When you reach Lena, your face breaks into a real smile, the kind that slips out before you can stop it.

“You both look stunning!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling beneath her mask.

She throws her arms around you without hesitation, and you laugh as she pulls you into a hug. As her arms slide around your neck, you loosen your grip on Jungkook’s arm. But the absence of this warmth doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by you. And not by him.

“Ready for tonight?” she asks in your ear.

You simply nod while your arms wrap around her waist to hold her close.

“I’ve already noticed some handsome men you might want to end up with tonight,” she whispers.

You chuckle. She always does this when she arrives at a party before you, scouting the room like your personal wingwoman. She knows how you like to flirt with a man or two before settling on the one you’ll take home.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, shaking your head.

She steps back, meeting your eyes with a grin.

“I’m saving you some time. You’ll find your man quicker.”

“Yn doesn’t need help finding her night companion,” Jungkook says. “Give her ten minutes, and she’ll be whispering the dirtiest things in some poor guy’s ear.”

“Eeeh, like you’re any better,” you try to defend yourself.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he smirks, completely unbothered.

You shake your head; they are both annoying.

Lena leads you through the crowd toward a corner booth glowing under soft string lights. Jin and Hoseok are already there, drinks in hand, their laughter spilling over the music. You greet them with easy smiles, sliding into the seat beside Lena. A couple of minutes later, more familiar faces join you. Taehyung, Jimin, and Mara, Taehyung’s girlfriend.

The table fills quickly with chatter and laughter, a rhythm you know well. You let yourself lean into it—the comfort of inside jokes, the clinking of glasses, the way someone’s always teasing someone else. Being with your friends always warms your heart. It feels like time completely stops when you’re with them.

A few guys glance your way. One even makes a move to approach. But you don’t engage. Not because no one’s attractive. Not because you don’t know how. You just don’t feel like it. Your attention stays anchored at the table, where the people know you, where nothing feels like a game.

And somehow, that’s enough tonight. More than enough. The idea of flirting, of peeling yourself open for a stranger, even just for fun, feels tiring in a way you can’t explain. So instead, you laugh at Jin’s stupid jokes. You steal a sip from Jimin’s drink to hear him complain. You keep catching Jungkook’s eye across the table for half a second too long. And then you look away.

Before you even have the time to process, Jungkook is standing next to you, his hand on the small of your back, his lips close to your ear.

“Would you like to dance with me?” he proposes.

A smile appears on your face, your eyes meeting his. You nod, but the motion falters when you realize that he’s close. Too close. Close enough that his breath, warm and laced with mint, brushes across your cheek. It catches you off guard, not because Jungkook hasn’t been in your space before, but because this time, it feels different.

Your heart beats extremely fast in your chest, and you swear you can feel your cheeks burning. But you brush everything away as he guides you to the dance floor, where tons of students are dancing like the night is still young.

Soon enough, you’re both dancing in the middle of the crowd, your gaze locked on his. The world around you completely disappears. There’s only you and Jungkook. You dance like you always do. Like two crazy kids. Nothing makes real sense, but it does to you and him. You giggle when he does silly moves.

This isn’t something new. You always dance with Jungkook at a party. You always enjoy each other's company before finding somebody to spend the night with.

When the music changes to Die for You by The Weeknd, the entire mood shifts in the room, especially between you and Jungkook. Neither of you moves. You simply stand there, in front of each other, and caught in each other’s gaze like the song was meant for this exact second.

Just as you start to turn, deciding to go back to the table with your friends before things get too heavy. Jungkook’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you turn around, your eyes meet his intense gaze. Your heartbeat increases drastically when you realize how close you are.

Your eyes look down for a second at his lips, his hot breath brushing against your cheek. His hand places yours on his shoulder, bringing you even closer to him. His other hand finds its way to the small of your back, pressing your body against his.

“What are you doing?” you ask with a shaky voice.

“Dancing with you,” he replies, his dark eyes staring deep into yours.

His body starts to sway, quietly inviting yours to follow him. Your gaze never leaves his as you let him guide you, your steps syncing instinctively with his. The bass pulses beneath your feet like a shared heartbeat. You don’t speak; there’s no need to.

His hand finds your waist, light at first, then firmer as you settle into the rhythm together. His chest nearly brushes yours with each slow step, and his thumb traces the fabric of your dress like he’s memorizing it. And your heart hammers.

You can smell the same familiar scent he always wears, but tonight, it hits differently. Tonight, it feels dangerous.

He leans in, just barely, his mouth near your ear.

“Still want to walk away?” he murmurs, voice low and almost smug.

You exhale, shaky but defiant. You swallow with difficulty as you realize who you have in front of you. You have the flirtatious version of your best friend. The guy who flirts with any girl he meets. But this guy, you never got to meet him because there was only friendship between you.

Tonight, everything is different. You noticed it the second you stepped out of your room. You noticed it when his eyes devoured you back at your shared apartment. You noticed it when you did the same. Tonight, there’s an unexplained longing between you. You ignore where this comes from, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to be your night companion.

“Maybe I just needed a reason to stay.”

His eyes say more than words ever could. They are locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. He wants you. Desperately. He craves you with his entire soul. And he doesn’t mind as well if you’re his night companion this evening.

And from the way your pulse jumps, the way you look at him, he knows. He knows that you want this too. His hand shifts, his fingers grazing your waist. A light touch, but enough to send a wave of heat through you. Your breath catches. And he notices. Of course he does.

Then, that slow and wicked smirk of his forms. The one that screams trouble. The one he gives to his flirts. The one that usually makes you laugh because it was never meant for you. But now, it doesn’t make you laugh. It makes you weak. It makes you an easy prey for him.

“And what’s that reason?” he murmurs, leaning in, voice thick with heat and tease. “Is it the suit?” he pauses. “I noticed the way you looked at me at home.”

You slowly slide a finger along the lapel of his jacket. You’re trying to hide the fact that this man right here is making it difficult for you to remain composed. How can you resist him? Honestly, now you understand why there isn’t a single woman who can resist his charms. You used to make fun of them, but now, you understand them.

“Should I remind you of the way you looked at me?” your voice is also filled with heat and tease.

He leans in. Closer. His lips hover just beside your cheek, near your ear, but he doesn’t touch.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” he confesses.

Your fingers move down, tracing now invisible circles on his chest while your bodies keep moving at the music’s rhythm.

“Such cheesy words,” you reply, a smirk arising on your face. “That’s what I deliver to the men I want in between my legs.”

Jungkook’s lips curl into a mischievous smile, his eyes darkening even more.

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

This makes you go still. Although it’s written all over his face that it’s what he wants, hearing it out loud makes it real. And if this is real, it means your friendship will never be the same anymore. It means that you’ve ruined the friendship. There won’t be any coming back after this night. You won’t even be able to blame it on the alcohol. You barely drank anything.

The music continues around you, bodies moving on every side, but your world has narrowed down to him. His breath. His stare. The way his hand flexes, like he’s seconds from pulling you in. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate a second when the next words leave his lips.

“Say the word,” he breathes. “And I’m yours tonight.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, trying to process what he just said and what is happening. Your fingers resume brushing over his strong chest. Both your hearts are beating extremely fast. If you say yes, you’ll both leave this place and go to yours to have the most mind-blowing sex ever.

“You already are,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to your fingers playing on his chest. “You became mine the second your eyes devoured me back at home.”

Jungkook freezes entirely, as if he fears that moving too quickly will ruin the moment. His breath catches, and for a heartbeat, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at you, like he’s seeing something he’s wanted for far too long.

Then, slowly, his eyes flick to your lips. And when they return to yours, when he sees you looking at his mouth, not pulling away, not breathing, that’s all the permission he needs.

His hand slides to the side of your face, fingers brushing your jaw with aching care. And then, he crashes into you. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s not soft or tentative. It’s fierce. Hungry. The kind of kiss that comes from too many stolen glances.

You answer it instantly, hands fisting in his jacket, body leaning into him like you’ve been waiting forever. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him like he wants to feel every part of you.

You gasp when his teeth graze your lower lip, and he takes that moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping in. This is overwhelming. Way too overwhelming. Jungkook is by far one of the best kissers you’ve got to meet. His lips are addicting, and his touch is fire. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to ever let go of him.

Although this is overwhelming, it’s not enough.

A little moan escapes your mouth as the kiss gets more and more desperate. A moan that Jungkook swallows. It’s getting clear that you crave more than just a kiss. It’s clear you want him between your legs.

And before you start to give too much of a show, you break apart. You’re both breathless, foreheads resting together, and chests pressed together. Neither of you speaks at first. The only sound is the distant throb of music from inside and the rush of blood in your ears.

Jungkook’s thumb brushes your cheek slowly and tenderly. A sharp contrast to the fire in his kiss. Amidst this overwhelming desire, it’s remarkable that he manages to be gentle.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers.

Your eyes take him in for a moment. His eyes are filled with lust, his lips are swollen, and his breathing is erratic. Your lips get closer, brushing against his, but you don’t kiss him. Not yet.

“Why?” you whisper.

“We’re friends,” he instantly answers.

Jungkook is trying to resist the urge to kiss you once more. His entire soul wants to do it, but he isn’t sure if he should.

“It’s too late now,” your tongue tards out to lick his lower lip. “We have already ruined our friendship.”

Your eyes never leave his. Although desire is written all over his face, there’s also worry. He’s worried about losing you, but now, no matter what happens, it’s already too late. He’ll lose you if he chooses to.

“I’m all yours tonight, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t respond right away. He simply stares at you like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs. Like he’s not sure he heard you right. His hand, which was resting on your waist, pulls you in closer, pressing your body even more against his.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek before going down to your jaw and throat.

“I’m all yours,” you repeat, softer this time.

As he hears your words, he lets out a low, shaky breath against your skin. It sounds like half a groan and half a surrender.

“Let’s get out of here before I rip this dress off you,” he mumbles as he presses a gentle kiss on the crook of your neck.

“We need to tell our friends,” you tell him as you take a step back. “Lena will get worried if I disappear just like that.”

“Okay,” he nods.

You both head back to the table, your fingers entwined together as you navigate through the heavy crowd. The second your eyes notice Lena, you let go of Jungkook’s hand. Somehow, you don’t want her to understand what’s going on between the two of you. You know she’ll dissuade you from doing it, and you don’t want it.

“We’re leaving,” you basically scream in her ear.

“Getting bored?” she asks.

You nod. What you ignore at that moment is that she saw everything. She saw the way you danced, the way you kissed, and the way you almost fucked each other in the middle of the crowd. But she isn’t going to say anything. She’s just surprised this moment didn’t happen earlier. A fuckboy and a fuckgirl living under the same roof, it was honestly bound to explode at some point.

“Text me when you’re at home,” she asks, although she’s certain you won’t do it, too busy to get railed by Jungkook.

“Can you let the others know?” Jungkook asks her.

She nods, and you both leave in a hurry. Jungkook drives as fast as he can, your heartbeats going crazy and your bodies aching for each other like never before. This new sensation is scary, but also so damn good at the same time.

The moment the door to your apartment shuts behind you, Jungkook pushes you against it, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless, like you ran the whole way there, which isn’t far from the truth.

“You sure?” he whispers, his hand finding yours again, grounding himself in your skin.

You nod, not needing words, because tonight, nothing’s uncertain anymore. Tonight, you want him, not a stranger.

“Absolutely,” you answer.

Your lips press hard against his, your hands move to his head to cup his face. You bite his lips lightly, so he opens his mouth, and your tongue finds his quickly. You passionately kiss each other while you’re pressed against the entrance door. Not the way you picture things, but having his lips on yours feels like a dream.

When you break the kiss, you take his mask off to get a better view of his face. Following your lead, he removes yours. And just like that, there’s nothing left to hide behind. No mystery, no playful distance.

Just him. Just you. Bare and exposed in the soft light, no excuses or costumes between you anymore.

His gaze lingers on your face like he’s memorizing the version of you he knows best. The one without masks, without armor. Then, gently, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your lips. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just soft and certain. And your heart stumbles in your chest.

“Much better,” you whisper as you take him in without the mask.

A slow smile curves his lips, like he’s about to do or say something reckless. And he is. Without giving you a second to breathe, he leans in and crashes his mouth against yours again. His hand cups your jaw firmly, grounding you as his lips move against yours.

When your mouth parts in a soft gasp, his thumb is already there, brushing your bottom lip before gently tugging it down. A low sound rumbles in his chest as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue inside like he owns the right to.

You melt into him, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer—closer than you should. But right now, there’s no space between you. No masks. No rules. Just heat and need.

His hands hold you tight against him as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. This kiss is desperate and wild, but so desperately wanted. When he pulls back, you’re both breathless, and his dark eyes lock with yours. Your hands remain fisted on his shirt.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs, his fingers leaving your body to gently caress your cheek.

“Wait till you see me without this dress,” you whisper, your eyes never looking away.

“Can’t wait,” he smirks.

He presses a quick kiss on your lips, his hand moving to your back to pull you closer so you can feel his growing desire against your belly. You instantly moan at the sensation. Man, you’re desperate to feel him.

“I can see that,” you mumble against his lips.

Before you can comprehend what’s going on, Jungkook drags you to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. There’s absolutely no need to do it, but in some way, it makes this moment even more intimate. It doesn’t feel like you’re about to have sex with some random guy you met a couple of hours ago.

This is your best friend.

He’s the only man you ever trusted, apart from your father. You’d give him anything, even your heart, if he asked. You’d even let him break your heart.

His mouth finds yours for another kiss while your fingers find their way to his hair to play with it. The kiss quickly deepens, leaving no room for doubt about what is about to happen. His fingers move to the straps of your dress.

“Undress for me, baby,” he commands.

You nod, then reach for the side zipper, taking all your time to remove the dress to give this man a little show. The fabric slides down your body and pools around your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. The second you unveil your body, you notice his jaw flexing.

“Fuck,” he swears in his breath. “You’re no joke.”

“Told you,” you smirk and wink at him.

Jungkook has already seen you like this before at the pool, in summer clothes, and lounging around the apartment, and it never seemed to faze him. But right now, with the way he’s so desperate to touch you, his eyes look at you very differently. His eyes are full of hunger and are looking at you intensely.

You’re not just attractive. You’re irresistible.

He bites his lower lip while his hungry eyes roam over your body. You’re a fucking dream. He wonders how on earth this didn’t happen before.

“Sit on the bed,” he instructs.

You follow his instructions, sitting at the edge of the bed. The man kneels before you, his hands spreading your legs to give him a view of your core. His face gets closer to your thigh, pressing a featherlight kiss on it. His warm lips move up, getting dangerously close to your wet core. His breath is hot against your skin, which sends shivers down your spine. Jungkook stops when he reaches your clothed core.

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear, slowly pushing the fabric down. He takes his time, while his eyes are locked with yours. He’s so hot, no doubt that he can easily get any girl he wants at his feet.

And yet, he’s here. With you.

It’s wild to think about it. You’ve known each other for years, and he’s been your go-to person for everything. When you were sad, he’d bring you food and sit in silence beside you until you were ready to talk. When you were bored, he’d annoy you on purpose. You always felt safe around him because he’d let everything down when you needed him. He’d drop any girl he’d be flirting with if you called him.

You’re not supposed to be here, your legs spread with his head so fucking close to your core. You’re not supposed to be ruining the friendship. You’re not supposed to sleep together.

But who cares? You both want this.

And it leaves you wondering. Was there something stronger all those years beneath the friendship? What if you always loved each other? What if this was supposed to happen?

All your thoughts are pushed away when your hungry eyes look down at the man so damn close to your core.

Jungkook leans back in. His lips graze your skin as he presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the warmth of his breath brushing over you and making your muscles tense.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he mumbles more to himself than for you. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” his eyes meet yours again.

For a second, his gaze moves down to your core. Jungkook has seen many of them in his life, and although he found them all appealing, yours is even prettier. And he’s so damn excited to taste you. His hard dick is the proof of it.

His fingers dig into your hips, holding you firmly in place as his lips finally taste you without hesitation. Jungkook initially teases you, his eyes looking up at you to catch your reaction. A smirk grows on his face when you arch your back and moan. This is exactly what he wanted.

Without wasting more time, his lips seal around your sensitive bundle of nerves. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth as pleasure takes over you. Your eyes look down at the man pleasuring you. It’s a fucking sight you never imagined you’d ever witness in your entire life. He’s eating you out like a starving man.

“Fuck,” you moan.

As you moan, he can’t help but moan back. He loves hearing you moan, especially knowing it’s because of him this time. He’s heard you before, but those moans were for other men. It might sound weird to think that he already heard you moan, but it isn’t for him. You’ve both brought many night companions home, and let’s just say, the walls are thin.

The vibration of his voice sends a wave of pleasure straight through your body. Your hips buck forward, pushing his face closer, and your fingers find their way to his hair as a trail of moans falls from your lips.

His mouth works you over with hunger, tongue torturing you like never before while his lips seal around your clit. His nose presses into you, dragging against your cunt with each movement.

Your eyes flutter shut as you enjoy every second of his mouth on your pussy. You throw your head back while moans flow out of your mouth. The growing pleasure is overwhelming but in a fantastic way, and your body trembles beneath his relentless tongue.

Jungkook is savoring every second, and if he could, he’d make the whole world hear you moan. A satisfied hum vibrates against you, sending shocks through your core, and when your fingers tighten in his hair, he takes it as encouragement, deepening his devotion, and pushing you further.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you moan.

The way you say his name makes him grow harder in his pants.

“Tell me, baby,” his eyes look up at you.

“I’m gonna cum,” you manage to say between moans.

Before you even realize it, your orgasm violently hits you, your legs shaking, and your walls clenching around emptiness. Even though you’re coming hard against his lips, Jungkook doesn’t stop lapping at your juices falling all over his tongue. He savors every drop because damn, he’s never tasted something as addicting as you.

You can tell without any doubt that this man is the first one to eat out dreamily. Many guys did it before him, and a lot of them were great, but Jungkook surpasses them all. For sure, his experience with girls is a plus right now.

Once you come down from your high, he pulls away. His face glistens with your slick, his lips swollen, and his eyes dark with hunger. Jungkook stands up, a bright smile on his face, before he pushes down his pants and boxers. A sigh of relief leaves his lips the second his cock is finally free. It was getting pretty painful to keep it inside his pants.

You lean back as you hold yourself with your upper arms, your eyes hungrily admiring the man who his stripping for you.

“Already hard?” your eyes look up to meet his.

Jungkook gives you a little show while he removes every piece of his black tuxedo. Your eyes admire the way his muscles flex. You’ve already seen him with only is underwear on, but this time, you can’t help but find him so damn attractive. Suddenly, his tattooed arm becomes a massive turn-on.

“You taste like heaven. I could come in my pants while only eating you out,” he admits.

Once he’s fully naked, his right hand finds its way to his cock, stroking himself. He’s not even sure he’ll last long. His grip tightens around his cock, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve a pretty cock,” you wink at him. “No wonder every girl wants to take a ride,” you tease him.

Jungkook has quite a slightly bigger dick than average. You’ve seen many cocks of all sorts. Big, thick, small, long, and tiny. Jungkook’s dick is of average length, but he’s a bit thicker. But over the years, you’ve come to realize that the size isn’t what truly matters.

What matters is how the guy uses it, and also all the other aspects of a sexual moment. There’s the flirting, the teasing, the oral sex. And for you, that is what makes sex better.

“Of course, what did you think?” he answers. “There wouldn’t be this fuss if it were tiny.”

You shake your head with a smile on your face.

“Now it’s your time to take a ride,” he winks at you.

He gets closer to you, his free hand gently pushing you down on the mattress of his bed. And then, his lips crash against yours while his hand leaves his cock so he can cup your face. His body presses flush against yours, heat radiating between your bodies as he deepens the kiss.

When you break the kiss, he opens the drawer of his nightstand to grab a condom. Even though he’d like to really feel you, it’s better to use protection. Let’s avoid getting you pregnant. He knows you’re not on the pill, you never liked it, but you keep good track of your cycle. And he knows you’re on your ovulation period; you told him this morning.

Once the condom is fully on his cock, he holds you open as he guides the head of his cock into your sopping entrance. For a moment, he teases you first, dragging the tip through your slick folds, spreading your arousal before finally pushing in with a slow, deliberate thrust.

A deep moan leaves your throat as he stretches you open. Your walls clench around him as his dick makes his way inside your pussy. Your back instantly arches, your thighs trembling around his waist as he buries himself deeper.

“Fuck,” he mumbles the second he looks down, watching the way your body takes him in.

Neither of you expected how incredible it would feel to be connected like this. Jungkook pushes himself further until he bottoms out. The second he’s fully inside, he halts to give you both a moment to adjust.

Having him still inside you is torture. You can’t handle staying like this, you need him to move and fuck you like there’s no tomorrow.

“Jungkook, move please,” you beg him.

“As you wish, baby,” he teases as he slowly pulls back.

He pauses for a second when only the thick head of his cock remains inside. Without any warning, he pushes back. Feeling his thick shaft pushing deeply back into you is beyond satisfying. Damn, it even makes you see stars. Both of you moan loudly as he starts pounding into you. This man right here just knows how to screw you.

Throughout the past few years, you’ve gotten to taste different dicks. Usually, they knew how to use it; some were really bad, but Jungkook surpasses them all by far. And it’s only the beginning. You don’t want to imagine how you’ll feel when you come around his thick shaft.

His pace is restless, and his hands grip your waist tightly. The room quickly gets filled with the slick sound of your moans, of the headboard hitting the wall, and of your bodies slapping together. The heat builds in your core as he slams into you, filling you completely with each thrust.

Your hands grip the sheets as hard as possible to steady yourself from Jungkook’s hard thrusts. His lips meet yours for a sloppy kiss while his thrusts grow rougher and quicker.

The familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach while he moans your name. Hearing him pronounce your name this way feels wonderful. You’ve already heard him moaning a lot of times, but now that you’re the reason behind it, it tastes wonderful.

Jungkook is getting more and more lost in his pleasure. The only thing you’re both focused on now is chasing your high, and the heat between you is unbearable. You both know you won’t be lasting much longer.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” you manage to say, the desperation filling your voice.

His cock twitches inside you at your words, and well, that action causes your orgasm to crash over you. When your orgasm hits you completely and violently, your walls squeeze him tightly. Jungkook groans when he feels your wall clenching around his cock.

His thrusts get more desperate as he chases his own high. He’s so fucking close. Jungkook closes his eyes because the simple view of your face contorting with pleasure is just too much. Your walls keep tightening around him, a torture you impose him to help him cum.

“Fuck,” he groans.

And then, with one last thrust, he falls apart. Deep groans fall from his lips as he releases his hot semen inside the condom. His hands tighten around your waist, holding you still while he releases himself. He looks incredibly sexy when the orgasm hits him. Jungkook collapses next to you in bed.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, both trying to catch your breath. Your eyes are completely shut, while his are fixed on the ceiling of his bedroom. Slowly, he removes the condom, makes a knot, and throws it in the trash.

“Let’s take a shower,” he tells you as he stands up.

You open your eyes to be greeted with his sweet face. He looks adorable with his big doe eyes. How can a man looks so cute after fucking the shit out of you? And to think that this is what all the other girls got to see.

Jungkook offers you his hand to help you stand up, and you gladly take it. His fingers intertwine with yours while he guides you to your shared bathroom. You shower in silence, your arms wrapped around his body with your head pressed against his chest. You only focus on his heartbeat while the water falls over your bodies.

You try to push away all the questions that start to arise in your mind, but it’s hard to suppress them. What will happen now that you broke all the rules of friendship? Will you pretend that nothing ever happened? Or will you keep fucking around?

You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to have the answers to your questions. For now, you just want to stay in this little bubble.

When Jungkook wakes up, he realizes that you’re not in the bed. He instantly imagines that you might have gone to the bathroom or might be in the living room or something like that. But when he doesn’t find you in the apartment, he finds it weird. Where could you be?

By instinct, he calls you several times, but you don’t pick up. He’s starting to worry about you. You’ve never disappeared like this. Well, he can’t say that you never did it because it’s the first time you shared an intimate moment.

He tries to tell himself you had something urgent, or maybe just needed space. But the silence on the other end of the phone, the absence of a note, a message, or anything, feels too familiar. Too final.

A heavy weight settles in his chest as he walks into the apartment, running a hand through his hair. He frowns as he wonders why you left without a word. He gets back to his bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. He glances at the rumpled sheets, still warm from where you lay hours ago. The echo of your laughter, your breath, the way your fingers clung to his skin, it’s all still there, as vivid as a memory can be.

But you’re not.

Jungkook exhales sharply, frustrated by the ache creeping up his chest. Last night didn’t feel like something casual, at least not to him. You looked at him like he mattered, like it was more, like it meant something.

So why does this feel like goodbye?

He stands up and starts pacing the apartment, checking again the kitchen, the balcony, even the laundry room. Maybe you just went out for coffee? But your keys are gone. Your coat too. He notices it now. A pit opens in his stomach.

And then, it hits him.

You’ve done to him what you do with the others. You slept with him and now, you ran away before he even got to wake up. It hurts him that you saw last night as a one-night stand because he loved every second of it. He wouldn’t have flirted with you if he didn’t enjoy it. But somehow, deep down, he hoped this wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

He secretly hoped for more.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself before collapsing on the couch.

Then, his phone starts buzzing and he quickly grabs it, hoping it’d be you. However, his hopes are broken when his friend’s name shows up.

“Hi Tae,” he says when picking up.

“Hi Kook,” he says. “How was last night with yn?”

Jungkook instantly freezes.

“How…” he begins, but his friend interrupts him.

“We all saw it,” he answers. “Man, you were kissing her like a starving man in the middle of the dance floor. And then, you left with her so no need to be a genius to know you fucked her.”

Jungkook groans while rubbing his face. This is what he wanted to avoid. He’s frustrated because you left him like a dirty sock, and all your friends saw you last night. They will for sure tease the two of you forever with that. And he knows that things have forever changed. Nothing will ever be the same now.

“Yeah, we did it,” he admits without really answering the question. “But let’s forget it.”

“Why?” his friend sounds confused.

“She was just a booty call.”

At that exact moment, you walk into the apartment with the brightest smile on your face, and with some pastries in your hands, but when you hear your best friend’s words, your entire world falls apart.

How can he say that? Why is he even saying it?

You thought last night meant something, that he enjoyed it, but after all, he seemed not to reciprocate. And it hurts.

“So you’re telling me you two just hooked up for fun?” his voice cuts in, sharp with disbelief. “There were hundreds of people you could have slept with, Jungkook! Why her?”

Taehyung sounds angry, and honestly? He should be. Jungkook should never have touched you, not like that. Now everything blew up, and he’s never going to be able to look at you without feeling a bit of pain.

Yeah, the sex was great. Actually, more than great, but the aftermath isn’t.

“Look, I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “She was there, I knew I could have her, so I did.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jungkook,” he swears under his breath. “Friends don’t do that even if they are into casual shit.”

Jungkook perfectly knows that he screwed up, but he didn’t expect the fallout to feel this awful. He thought maybe, somehow, everything would go back to normal. But he was dead wrong.

Jungkook’s words hit you harder than you expected. Sleeping with him was different than with any other guy. But now? He proved to you that he’s just like every other guy. Only thinking with his dick. Taking what he wants and moving on without a second thought.

And just like that, ten years of friendship feel like they’re cracking under the weight of one moment, one mistake, he can’t take back.

You disappear into your room to do something you never did before. Crying over a man. But you promise yourself that it’ll be the first and last time.

A week later

Things with Jungkook have gotten worse. You’re not able to speak without fighting and insulting him, but you know that’s because you’re hurt. You never imagined your friendship going down this badly. You always loved him, you still do, but he hurt you like nobody else ever did.

“Jungkook!” you scream as you pound on the bathroom door.

The man has been inside for like an hour. You need to take a shower before going out. You’re going to a party with your friends, and Jungkook will also be there, but who cares? You’ll only get there to find your night companion, and forget about what Jungkook did to you.

“I need to shower!” you continue.

“Not my problem,” he shouts.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no way you’re going to wait any longer. You take the spare key before opening the door and storming into the room. Jungkook is fully naked, but you couldn’t care less. For a moment, your eyes quickly scan him. He’s still incredibly hot.

“Leave,” you order flatly.

“No,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

You let out a heavy sigh, growing increasingly annoyed by this man's attitude. This man’s been testing every ounce of your patience since that night. You swear, if he keeps this up, you might actually smack that smug face of his.

“Dickhead,” you spit.

“You should find another nickname,” he says, unfazed. “You’ve been calling me that for a week now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Asshole. Is that better?” you say, crossing your arms against your chest.

“Slight improvement,” he smirks.

“Now, if you would kindly get the fuck out of this room, asshole, that’d be great,” you emphasize on ‘asshole’.

“I already told you, no,” he replies while applying moisturizer to his face.

You throw your arms up.

“Okay, fine,” you say.

Instead of making him leave, you turn the water on and undress. There’s no way you’ll wait any longer because he’s decided to ruin your life. He has already seen you naked, so no need to be shy around him.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, not expecting this at all, but he doesn’t move. His eyes even dare to stare at your body, one that has been driving him crazy for a week. He’s stopped counting the times he’s been stroking his dick while thinking of you.

“Didn’t know you were desperate to let me fuck you again,” he teases you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble while shaking your head. “Only in your dreams, idiot.”

“Wow, another cute nickname,” he pretends to be excited. “You’ve improved in the span of five minutes. I’m proud of you, yn.”

You roll your eyes, not caring at all about his stupid words. You get inside the shower and clean yourself while Jungkook is still in the bathroom. He doesn’t move, continuing to get ready for tonight’s party. This is the first party since you fucked, and even though he wished things were different, he will do everything in his power to at least come back home with a random chick to forget about last week.

After the shower and getting dressed, you wait for Lena to come and pick you up. She knows about this damn tension between you, and she isn’t really happy about it. She’s mainly sad that your ten-year friendship with Jungkook got blown up because of sex.

For now, and until you patch things up with him, she’ll gladly pick you up. She’ll also do everything in her power to get things back to how they were. So, she’ll push you to sleep with random guys. She believes it’s the only way to make you forget that night.

Lena arrives around 10 pm and drives you to the party. Jungkook left with Taehyung in order to avoid being with you in the car. There’s no way he’s staying around you tonight. He wants to dance, get drunk, and have sex.

“How are things going at home?” she asks while driving.

“As long as I don’t see him, fine,” you reply.

“If it’s too much, you can come to mine for a while. I wouldn’t mind,” her eyes quickly leave the road to look at you. “My parents would also be happy to have you around.”

“I’m not going to leave because of him,” you mutter. “If he’s not happy, he can leave. I’m not holding him hostage.”

She shakes her head.

“For how long will you keep acting like that?”

“Until he stops being a jerk.”

Lena really doesn’t understand how things went this wrong. You both said it was a one-night stand, but you’ve been acting like it wasn’t. You’ve been acting like you’re both hurt. She’ll try to help as much as she can, but you both need to solve your problems. Otherwise, it’ll just blow up one day, and it’ll be bad.

“I never imagined you’d ever call him a jerk,” she tries to lighten the mood. “It’s so weird.”

“Me neither,” you mumble to yourself. “Let’s not speak about him anymore. I want to party and have fun.”

She simply nods, and you talk about something completely different for the rest of the drive. You quickly reach the house where the party is taking place. There are already many people. Most of them are already completely wasted. They most probably drank before joining the party. People do that a lot.

You and Lena make your way inside the house while you hold each other's hands. Hoseok, her boyfriend, isn’t coming because he’s sick. He hasn’t been feeling well for the past two days, but he still encouraged her to join the party.

As you walk, your eyes instinctively look for Jungkook. It’s a habit anchored in yourself so deep that even if you’re on bad terms today, you still do it. Very quickly, you find his broad back. Even from behind he looks great, and fuck, you wish he could be protecting you from the crowd while whispering the dirtiest shit in your ear.

There’s absolutely no way you’ll survive this party without this deep desire to spread your legs for him once more.

Easily, you find Mara. Obviously, she’s with Tae, her boyfriend. Jin and Jimin are also with them, and you greet them all. Nobody says a damn thing about you and Jungkook which is honestly a relief for you.

However, as much as you love them, you want to get ruined tonight, so you try to look for a man. In a matter of seconds, you find one who’s hungrily looking at you.

“This is my guy,” you tell them. “See you tomorrow, guys!” You wave your hand before walking to this hot and sexy guy. Unfortunately, he isn’t as sexy as your infamous roommate.

“Stop thinking about him!” you mumble to yourself. “You’re not going anywhere like that…”

When you reach the guy and start talking to him, you feel burning eyes on your body. For a moment, you ignore it, but at some point, you turn your head. Your eyes instantly meet Jungkook’s. They are dark as hell, and a smirk arises on your face before you throw a middle finger at him.

Then, you resume flirting with the guy and start to dance to the loud music. As you move your body around him, your eyes are glued on Jungkook. Just like the girl grinding her ass against his hips, you do the same with the random guy you’re with. That position makes you face your roommate.

This is dirty and wild.

The man behind you is long forgotten. Your entire focus is on Jungkook, and nobody else. You keep dancing and drinking. The guy behind you sometimes whispers dirty words into your ear, but you barely register them. He doesn’t even seem to realize that you don’t give a shit about him.

His hands slide on your hips, bringing you closer to him and making you feel his growing erection. You almost moan when you feel it, since your mind actually imagines it being Jungkook. Jungkook’s eyes get darker, and he swears he was about to moan when he notices your fucked up state. You both crave each other in an unhealthy way, but you perfectly know that nothing is going to happen. At least not tonight.

You both know you'll end up sleeping with the person you're dancing with, even though your minds will be somewhere else. You'll be thinking about each other, about how good it felt when your bodies were connected. You'll remember the moans, the whimpers, the way you came undone together. You'll be replaying every moment, every touch, every gasp. Because the sex wasn’t just great, it was unforgettable.

Tonight, none of you felt like bringing someone to your place. So you had sex in this exact house, in the bathrooms, to be more precise. It was great, but it couldn’t compare to how it felt last week. You know nothing will ever come close to the way you felt with each other.

Two weeks later

For the past two weeks, things have been getting more intense with your roommate. You’ve been avoiding each other at all costs at home. You’d both prefer being out than inside. The casual hookups with random people kept going, just like nothing ever happened.

But it wasn’t true.

Jungkook couldn’t kiss a girl without comparing her to you. You couldn’t open your legs without picturing Jungkook in between them. Every single hookup was a reminder of that night. And because of that, you even increased the number of men you slept with. You just wanted to forget that night and at the same time, relive it all over again.

The worst part was when you’d stumble upon your roommate. You’d fight over silly things, but it was your only way of communicating. Well, it’s still the case. You’re unable to look at this man without wanting to strangle him.

While you’re preparing your breakfast, Jungkook makes his way inside the kitchen. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with a pair of dark blue jeans. His tattoos are on full display, and even though you’re not going to say it out loud, you absolutely like it.

“Will you be home at two?” you ask as he walks past you.

“Why?” he says, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk like he couldn’t care less.

“Some guy is coming,” you answer, your eyes following his strong figure.

You watch his muscles flex as he reaches for a glass. It’s almost unfair how someone so infuriating can look that good. Buff. Strong. Dangerous in all the right ways. If he weren’t such an asshole, you might just let him ruin you again.

“Who?” he asks without looking at you.

“Why do you want to know?” you counter, eyes glued on him.

He avoids your gaze, pouring the milk like the carton suddenly became fascinating.

“Because you’re the one talking about it,” he mumbles

A devious smirk grows on your face as you step closer—dangerously close now. He straightens up, facing you, eyes finally locking with yours.

“Are you looking for a guy?” you ask, cocking your head with a teasing grin.

“What?” his scowl is immediate, and you try as hard as possible to repress the smile growing on your face.

You almost laugh at his expression. It’s ridiculous how easy it is to rile him up. But you hold it in. No cracks. Not yet. You're about to push him further. Annoying him is your new favorite pastime.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” you tease him.

Thank God he wasn’t drinking his milk. Otherwise, he would have choked. His brows draw together, clearly caught off guard.

“I’m not gay,” he says flatly, casually even, but his tone is clipped.

“Jungkook,” you shrug innocently. “You can be whoever you want. I support you, bestie.”

He rolls his eyes and drinks a sip of milk from the cup. Despite being annoyed, his heart skips a beat when you call him ‘bestie’. He hasn’t heard that nickname since that infamous night. You’ve called him jerk, asshole, idiot, stupid, fuckboy, dickhead, and many other things like that for the past three weeks.

“Why are you insisting?”

A little mustache of milk forms on his upper lip when he removes the cup. He looks absolutely adorable, like a little boy trapped in the body of a man who could destroy you with a single touch.

“Because I get it,” you smile. “I like men too.”

He wipes the milk mustache off with the back of his hand, but this time, the playful glint in his eyes disappears. He’s serious now.

“Stop it, yn,” his voice is sharp, like a warning. “You know I don’t like men.”

“Me?” you pretend to be innocent. “I don’t know anything. You’re very mysterious lately.”

Without a warning, he steps closer—your heart hammers in your chest with this sudden proximity. The air thickens between you, and you feel his hot and minty breath against your cheek. This reminds you of that wild night in the ballroom

“Yes, you do,” he whispers, voice dropping into something husky. His lips graze your ear. “And if you’ve forgotten, I can remind you.”

His fingers brush your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

“I can make you moan my name again…” he pauses for a split second. “Or scream it, if you’d prefer.”

He tilts your face toward his, gaze locked on yours—intense, unreadable, and full of heat. He’s daring you to push back, to test him again. Your breath hitches.

Is he serious right now? Or just playing another dangerous game?

You don’t get the chance to answer because suddenly, Lena pops up in the kitchen.

“Yn!” she screams cheerfully, unaware of the storm she just walked into.

Jungkook instantly steps back, reaching for his glass of milk like it’s some sort of shield. He takes a sip, pretending he has been drinking it all this time. But his eyes remain on you like he’s unwilling to break whatever had just almost happened.

Lena pauses, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She’s not stupid. She saw how close your faces were. She saw the heat. And above anything else, she can feel the heavy tension in the air.

“Seems like…” she stutters, clearly caught off guard. “Seems like I interrupted something.”

She half-turns like she’s going to walk back out, giving you and Jungkook some space.

“I’ll leave you two to what you were doing,” she gestures vaguely at the doorway.

“No need,” you answer while never looking away from Jungkook. Your voice is cool, calm, but laced with something pointed. “I was just about to leave.”

You hold his gaze a second longer—daring him to stop you, say something, or do something. But he doesn’t. So you walk away, pulse pounding, and the confused silence trailing behind you. You want to look back, but you don’t dare to do it, knowing perfectly how weak you’d look.

You’re at Mara and Taehyung’s place for a girls' night with Lena and Mara.

Taehyung is out of town, and his girlfriend immediately organized a little pajama party for the three of you. It’s been a while since you haven’t spent some good time with just the two of them. Life always seems so busy between classes and exams.

“So any life updates?” Mara asks.

“Not really,” Lena answers. “With Hobi, we’re considering moving together, but we still need to find something.”

Hoseok and Lena have been together since they were sixteen, so it’s been like five years. They still live at their parents’ houses, but now that you’re all reaching the end of your college years, they’ve been considering moving in together.

“You definitely should!” Mara replies with enthusiasm. “It’s so great.”

She’s been living with Tae for three months now. Since she lives far away from college, she was sleeping in the dorms, but after a while, her boyfriend suggested they could move in together. At first, she was hesitant because they’d been together for like two years. She was scared to move on too fast, but then, she decided to go for it.

“You get to have sex whenever you want,” she wiggles her eyebrows in a teasing way. “And cuddles when you desperately need one.”

“I know, but it makes me nervous, too. Like, my parents will freak out. Jennie is still at home.”

Jennie is her older sister. She’s twenty-six, but she doesn’t seem to want to move out of her parents’ place. Lena always believed the first child should be the first to get married, have children, and move out. Jennie is far away from that. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend yet.

“This is your life, not hers,” you tell her. “If you feel ready to take that huge step with Hobi, then do it. Your parents will understand you, I’m sure of it. You’ve been with him for so long.”

You’ve known her parents since you were a baby. They might appear as strict parents, but they are pretty cool. You don’t doubt they’ll let their daughter move in with her boyfriend. They adore Hobi. Who doesn’t?

“Let’s see,” she mumbles. “I still need to speak with them about it.”

You totally understand her nervousness. You felt the same when you told your parents you’d be moving in with your best friend instead of going to a dorm. They took it well since they already knew Jungkook and appreciated him. You wanted to have a bit more privacy, although back then you weren’t hooking up with random guys. You’d also feel safer coming home to a friend instead of a place full of strangers.

“And you, yn?” Mara looks at you. “Any news from your side?”

“No,” you shake your head without even thinking twice.

Lena chuckles. “No?” she raises an eyebrow. “You’re such a liar, yn.”

You frown with confusion, not understanding what she’s referring to. Is she thinking about one of the many men you slept with? There’s nothing to say about it. You barely remember their names, and you lost track of how many you hooked up with lately.

“I just caught you kissing Jungkook,” she continues.

Your eyes widen while your mouth falls open. Mara starts laughing. She’s surprised it only happened now because the tension between you and Jungkook is thick as fuck. All of your friends noticed how you now “flirt” at parties. They saw how you absolutely don’t give two shits about the person you’re with because you’re both too focused on each other. It’s like you’re flirting through Bluetooth.

“That’s not true,” you reply.

“Not true?” Lena repeats, and you nod.

Well, on this one, Lena is totally wrong. You weren’t kissing Jungkook, but there was no doubt that it would have happened if she hadn’t shown up.

“Aren’t you tired of playing cat and mouse for weeks?” Mara asks.

You take a sip of wine in an attempt to cool down. This is a very sensitive subject. Jungkook makes you feel hot and bothered, especially after the kitchen incident of earlier.

“Something has been going on between you for almost a month,” she adds. “Admit it.”

You try to act like it isn’t true, although you’re dying on the inside.

“Look, I’m just staying because the wine is good,” you inform them before taking a sip.

They chuckle because they know you’re trying to avoid answering them.

“We’ve been tiptoeing around you and Jungkook, but damn, you should fuck again because the tension is unbearable for everybody,” Lena adds.

“And let’s not speak about the flirting at the parties.”

Your eyes widen even more, and you’re sure you’ll die right here with their comments. They laugh even more at your reaction.

“You thought we didn’t notice?” Mara adds. “It’s honestly amusing, even though I feel sorry for the people you use.”

“You’re saying nonsense,” you shake your head while lying to their faces.

“Really?” Lena arches a brow. “Then, at the next party, I don’t want you to eye fucking him.”

“You’re crazy.”

She’s actually not joking.

“I’m serious, yn,” she continues. “Either you stop or you finally flirt with him like a normal person.”

“Okay, I’ll stop it.”

You would rather die than flirt with him, and you’re sure you can go through a party without eye-fucking him. Or at least, you want to convince yourself of that.

The next day

You’re studying in your bedroom for the upcoming exams with some background music. You’re one of those people who cannot study without background noise. It might be weird, but it isn’t for you.

Your entire life, you grew up with constant noise at home. With four brothers, one sister, and a niece, it makes a lot of noise, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. The house was so alive with all of you. However, being nine people living together under the same roof also made you move in with Jungkook for your college years.

It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was in your best interests. You constantly miss your family, and sometimes, it feels too quiet. You know that you’re partying because of that. You’re partying to be surrounded by people. Being alone isn’t for you. And that’s also why you have tons of hookups.

The idea of being alone for the rest of your life frightens you more than it should, but you also don’t ever want to be in a relationship. People find it odd because your parents are the perfect example of a successful marriage. They’ve been together since high school, got married after graduating from college, and had their first kid right after. They’ve been together for almost 35 years. It’s a lot.

However, your reason is simple. You’re afraid of falling in love. Your oldest sister, who’s ten years older than you, got into a very toxic relationship when you were still young. She was constantly crying and arguing with her then-boyfriend. He knocked her up at eighteen and disappeared under the excuse that he wasn’t ready to be a father. That broke your heart for her, but at least you got to grow up with a niece. She’s thirteen now, and you absolutely adore her.

Nevertheless, that vision of love showed you how messed up it can be when you fall for the wrong person. Your sister has moved on and is now in a perfectly healthy relationship, but you still don’t want to make the same mistake.

Hooking up makes everything easier. You have sex without any commitment. You take the best without falling in love, and that’s perfectly fine for you. At least, it was until recently.

But right now, with what’s going on with Jungkook, sometimes you wonder if you have feelings for him. You wonder if you’re falling for him, but you brush it off. He’s been your best friend for ten years. You’ve basically known him for half of your life. His friendship has always meant the world to you, but since you’ve broken all the rules of friendship, everything is just so different with him.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re falling for him. Falling very hard.

Honestly, never in your entire life have you imagined yourself developing feelings for him. He was the neighbors’ youngest kid who simply wanted to play with you. Being around him made you genuinely happy. You’d go to school together, come back together, and play in front of the houses while your mothers would speak together.

A day without him felt faded, and it still does.

For ten years, you’ve always been together. There hasn’t been a day when you haven’t seen him. Even now that you hate each other. And you can’t imagine yourself going through a day without seeing him.

Suddenly, the doorbell interrupts your focus, and you stand up. You’re not sure if Jungkook is at home, so it’s best if you go open the door. As you make your way to the entrance, you notice your roommate walking to the door as well.

He’s wearing loose clothes, and somehow, you find him ethereal. His black hair hangs messily, his t-shirt barely hides his tattooed arm, and his black jogging pants suit him perfectly. From afar, you simply admire him. And you wonder how you haven’t ever found him so attractive.

No wonder all the girls want to be seen with him or spend a hot and steamy night with him.

All of a sudden, his face turns, and your eyes meet.

“Did you order something?” he calls out, his tone curt, his jaw tight.

“Mmm yeah,” you respond, trying to remember if you were expecting something today. “Maybe something from Amazon.”

You decide to get closer, next to him. A delivery guy stands awkwardly in the hallway, box in hand, eyes flicking between the two of you. There’s a brief moment of silence, and you don’t really know what to say.

“Who’s the pack for?” Jungkook asks.

The guy turns his head while bringing the box closer to his face.

“Miss yn,” he says, trying to pronounce your name correctly.

“It’s for me.”

Before you even get a chance to grab the package, Jungkook takes it with a quick thank you and shuts the door before the guy can say another word. His eyes land back on you, dark and unamused.

“You’re so fucking rude,” you huff while trying to tear the package from his hand. “And that’s mine.”

But of course, he doesn’t let go. Jungkook is way stronger than you and doesn’t want to give it to you. The package stays firmly in his grip as his dark gaze is on you, causing you to shiver, and instantly, you back off. Even if you like to tease him and all that, you’re not really in the mood for one of your usual verbal duels. Maybe because you’re quite nervous about the upcoming exams.

“Your fucking delivery disturbed me,” he growls.

“I didn’t know something was coming,” you admit.

He shakes his head, and he’s fighting the urge to smile. You’ve always been like this. You order some shit but then forget you did so when it’s delivered, you don’t remember it. But he has to admit that he always enjoyed watching your reaction when you’d unpack the box. You always seem so surprised and happy.

“You never know,” he mumbles. “You order half of Amazon and forget every time.”

“Not my fault,” you shrug like it’s not a big deal.

He rolls his eyes.

“It is,” he shoots back. “Try keeping track of what you buy, maybe?”

“I do as I please,” you tell him. “You’re not my dad.”

“Thank God I’m not,” he says without missing a beat. “No way I could deal with someone like you as my daughter.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you cross your arms while narrowing your eyes.

Jungkook takes a slow, deliberate step closer, and suddenly his presence is overwhelming. His tall, broad frame towers over you, radiating heat and intensity. The space between you evaporates, replaced by a charged stillness that makes your breath catch. His body feels dangerously close, like he’s daring you to move or daring you not to.

“That you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Wrong person,” you roll your eyes. “You’re the asshole here.”

“Oh, we’re back to ‘asshole’?” he smirks. “I thought it was the week of ‘jerk’.”

You take a deep breath, trying to remain calm because you’re so close to snapping his angelic face. He’s so fucking annoying.

“Give me my package,” you say with a sharp voice. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit today.”

A chuckle escapes his pretty lips.

“Oh, you can’t handle me now?”

His voice drops, and his body remains close. Way too close. You roll your eyes and try to snatch the package, but Jungkook lifts it above his head like you’re a child.

“Jungkook,” you warn.

“What?” he grins, enjoying every second. “If you want your order, you’ll have to come get it.”

“You’re a dick.”

You have zero patience for this. If he doesn’t hand you the package, you’ll just go back to your bedroom and leave him alone.

“Asshole, jerk, and now dick,” he says. “Which one will be next?”

You don’t even try to give him an answer. Instead, you try to reach for the box again, moving closer to him. You can’t possibly be closer to him. Your chest is basically pressed against his while you tiptoe. As much as Jungkook enjoys this proximity, he takes a step back.

“Seriously, give it to me. I’m not in the mood.”

Jungkook takes another step back, but that’s too much. You leave him there, turning your back on him while you walk to your bedroom.

“Keep it,” you scream as you move away from him.

“You’re so sensitive.”

You give him a middle finger before slamming your bedroom door. Jungkook laughs and decides to put the pack down in front of your door.

Two days later

As you’re walking on the campus with Jimin and Lena, you notice Jungkook from afar. He looks busy with some girl, and she’s giggling like a schoolgirl while he’s smiling. Pff, he looks pathetic with her.

When you focus again on your friends, you end up meeting Chris, a cute guy you sometimes speak with. He was in a relationship not so long ago, and you’ve already slept with him once. He’s one of the very few guys you've stayed in touch with. He’s nice and easy to talk to.

“Hi,” he offers you a smile when he’s in front of you.

“Hi, Chris,” you smile back at him.

Your friends greet him as well, and you speak about classes and all that. After a while, Jimin and Lena leave you alone with Chris.

“So how’s life going?” he asks while he resumes walking.

Beyond being cute, Chris is a very handsome guy who happens to hit the gym quite often. He’s well built, and sometimes, you wonder how his ex-girlfriend ever broke up with him. If you were to ever settle down with someone, you might choose him. After Jungkook, your subconscious tells you.

“Fine,” you shrug. “Nothing special has been going on lately.”

“Still partying and hooking up?” he asks.

“Yeah, pretty much,” you nod. “What about you?”

“I’m working hard, trying to hide the heartbreak behind books, but it’s not easy every day. Sometimes, I wish I could be like you, and get my dick wet to forget how I feel,” he confesses.

“A guy like you shouldn’t be hooking up,” you offer him a smile. “You’re the type of guy a woman wants to marry.”

Your words warm his heart.

“And believe me, sleeping with someone doesn’t help with a heartbreak.”

You don’t really know how it feels to be heartbroken, but you know damn well that sex doesn’t make you forget your emotions. Obviously, for a brief moment, you forget about everything, but it’s temporary. That’s why you like it. You don’t commit to anyone. You don’t fall in love. You just get a one-time thing with a guy you’ll forget about the day after.

Chris seems to hesitate about his next words, but you don’t push him. If he doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind, you’re not going to force him.

“Rumors are saying something is going on between you and Jungkook.”

For a moment, you close your eyes. You can’t believe people are already speculating about what’s going on between you.

“How?” you ask.

“Apparently, he was with a girl at a party. She was having fun with him, but she noticed he’d never look at her. He was looking at you and you were looking at him too with burning desire,” he explains.

Fuck, other people noticed it too! You place a strand of hair behind your ear while you try to calm down. In a way, it makes sense. If your friends noticed it, everybody else did too, especially the people you’d be “flirting” with. But this is something you didn’t want to hear.

“And she also said that they never fucked although he brought her to his place.”

You frown. This doesn’t sound like Jungkook at all. He’s never done that before, and it doesn’t make sense. Why would he bring someone home if it wasn’t to have sex with her?

“She’s lying,” you instantly reply. “She’s probably frustrated that he didn’t give her what she wanted, so she started spreading nonsense.”

“Well, it’s just rumors,” he says, looking at you for a second. “Nobody said it was the truth.”

When you look over to where Jungkook was standing just minutes ago with his new girl, you find the spot empty. He must have taken her somewhere more private. That thought makes you feel weird. Almost as if you’re jealous of the girl. Oh God, this is not good! You can’t be jealous!

“Well, I want you to know that it’s not true,” you offer him a smile.

When you reach the lecture hall, you attend the classes with him. The class was quite interesting. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t share this class with you, so you didn’t get to see him. It was a relief, honestly.

After that, Chris walked you home. Nobody ever did this to you, except for your friends, which includes Jungkook. He’s such a sweet guy.

“Thanks,” you say once you’re in front of the complex. “It was nice to speak with you,” you offer him a smile.

“It definitely was,” he smiles as well.

There is a little non-awkward silence between you. Your mind keeps wondering how it would feel if you ever decided to take this any further with him. For sure, it’d be great to have him as a first real boyfriend.

But you know you can’t do this. You’re too fucked up and you don’t want to hurt him. He deserves to have a nice girl with him. Someone who would be able to love him as he deserves. And that can’t be you…

“I have to go,” he informs you. “My shift is starting in thirty minutes.”

Chris works in a coffee shop as a barista. You should definitely stop by one day to try one of his coffees.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow, I guess?” you say with some uncertainty.

You definitely wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

“Yeah, if you want,” he smiles.

You get closer to him before you press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“See you tomorrow then.”

You get inside the building complex, but you never look back. You want to, but you don’t do it. You’ve learned over time that it’d be a sign that you’re interested in someone, and you never want anybody to discover who you’re into. No matter how nice and charming the guy might be, you’ll never do it.

Seconds later, you’re walking into your apartment. You’re welcomed by a Jungkook walking past you.

“That was the guy you saw the other day?” he stops right in front of you, making his strong scent wrap around you.

“You’re spying on me now?” you say, taking your shoes and coat off.

“I have more interesting things to do,” his eyes lock with yours, and a shiver runs down your spine when his deep stare meets yours.

“Like what?” you raise a brow. “Promising a good fuck to a girl and then leaving her hanging?”

“Who told you that?”

The rumors are then true. Jungkook definitely brought someone here, but never slept with her. That’s new, but something you can now use against him whenever he’s being too annoying.

“So you’re not denying…” you smirk. “Never picture the big bad Jungkookie doing that.”

His eyes look away for a moment before his gaze locks with yours once more. Damn, this look makes you weak. You’d get down on your knees right now if he asked you.

“It’s not true,” he mumbles.

“That she’s not what she’s saying,” you keep teasing him.

Jungkook takes a step closer.

“I don’t care,” he says.

You chuckle.

“You’re such a jerk,” you shake your head. “Can’t even admit you let down a girl.”

The other day’s conversation is brought back to your mind. And man, you have to tease him even more.

“Was it because you’re into guys now?” you raise a brow. “I’m warning you, I don’t like sharing.”

Jungkook steps even closer, his face is a breath away from yours. Your heart is beating at a crazy pace in your chest. His eyes are dark, which makes you understand that you’ve pushed him to the edge. If you say one more word, he’ll explode. And that’s exactly what you want.

“I already told you that I’m not gay,” his voice is so deep.

“I’m starting to doubt it,” you smirk.

“Yn,” he warns you. “Stop it.”

“Why would I do that?” your eyes scan his face. “I’m having fun.”

“You’re having fun calling me gay when you know perfectly well I’m not?” he asks, clearly irritated. “What kind of fun is that?” he mumbles, but you don’t hear it.

“Yep. Just like you had fun when you fucked me.”

You regret the words the second they leave your mouth. Jungkook’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you snap, pushing past him, desperate to escape.

But he doesn’t let you. His hand grabs your wrist, just like he did a month ago.

“Yn,” he says, his voice softer now.

“Let me go,” you plead, yanking at his grip. “Please.”

You can’t do this. You can’t fall apart in front of him. If you do, he’ll know how much he hurt you. He’ll know the power he has, and you hate that.

“Not until you repeat what you said.”

“You heard me,” you say through gritted teeth. “I’m not repeating it.”

He rolls his eyes.

“You’re so fucking stubborn.”

That’s it. You snap.

“Fuck you,” you nearly scream.

You try to pull your wrist from his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. Not harshly, but firmly, like he needs you to stay. Like if he releases you now, something between you will unravel for good.

He’s stronger than you—physically, yes—but right now, he also has the upper hand emotionally. And he knows it. Still, his grip isn’t meant to hurt you. It’s to hold you in place long enough for the truth to rise to the surface.

Your eyes lock with his, and for the first time in a long time, you feel completely exposed. Stripped bare. Not because you’re angry, but because you’re heartbroken. You’ve been pretending you’re fine, like none of this mattered, but here, under his gaze, there’s nowhere left to hide.

No man has ever made you feel this raw.

You realize with terrifying clarity: you’re falling for Jungkook. Maybe you always were. Maybe all these years, under the laughter and sarcasm and closeness, it was already there, waiting to bloom.

You want to blame him for everything. For that night, and for letting the air between you become so sharp and bitter. But the truth is, if it were just sex, you wouldn’t be hurting. You’ve slept with others before. They were bodies, motions, and noise. Nothing stayed.

But him? He stayed. He’s under your skin. And that night? It meant something. It wasn’t just heat and skin; it was more. It was the way he kissed you with passion, and the safety in the way he held you after.

Your voice trembles, but you say it anyway.

“I said… you had fun when you fucked me.”

The words don’t explode. They land softly. Bitter. Tired. But not accusing. Just honest.

Jungkook is close. So close you can feel the faint warmth of his breath on your cheek. One more step and his lips would meet yours. He doesn’t move. He just looks at you like he’s really seeing you for the first time—not the shielded version of you, not the flirty, not the sarcastic girl who throws jabs to hide her pain. He really sees you.

At first, he says nothing. Because at first, he doesn't understand. He’s thinking of that night, how it felt like the most natural thing in the world to have you in his arms. Of course, it was fun. But suddenly, he realizes this isn’t about sex. Not even close.

You weren’t saying it was fun. You were saying you meant it. And that it broke you to think he didn’t. He lets go of your wrist. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Yn,” he breathes, voice low. “You think I didn’t care?”

“That’s what you said,” your voice almost sounds childish.

“I never said that,” he frowns.

“Yes, you did,” you reply. “You said those words the morning after.”

He remembers. He said those words to Taehyung when he didn’t find you the next day. He thought you had run away like you did with the others. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, blaming himself for all the chaos he caused.

“I was hurt,” he confesses. “I couldn’t find you, and I thought you considered me as a one-night stand.”

You surprise yourself when your hand lands on his cheek to stroke it. This comforting gesture makes him rest his face on your hand. He missed your warmth. He actually missed you.

“I have to confess that at first I ran away,” you admit. “I was scared about what happened and what it meant, but then, I decided to pick up some croissants for breakfast. When I came back home, I heard you, so I went to my room because those words hurt me.”

What you both realize now is that you’re both stupid. This was all a misunderstanding.

Surprisingly, Jungkook chuckles as you lay your forehead against his chest. His strong arms wrap around your body, holding you close against him.

“We’re so stupid,” he whispers.

You groan against him before wrapping your arms around his waist. You’ve spent this past month hating him unnecessarily. If he was a dickhead, then you were an asshole.

“More than stupid,” you mumble.

You lift your head to look at him. His gaze is different now. It’s not filed anymore with that hatred you’ve gotten to see for the past weeks. And you want to get lost in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologies. “I’m so sorry,” he says while his hands cup your face.

His face moves dangerously closer to yours until you feel his hot breath on your skin. Your heart hammers faster and faster in your chest, and for a brief moment, nothing else matters. His nose brushes against yours, his warmth pulling you in, and your lips are a breath away from meeting. But you’re interrupted by the doorbell. You both close your eyes before stepping back.

“I had invited Taehyung to come over,” Jungkook informs you.

You nod.

“I’ll go to my room then.”

And without saying anything else, you disappear into your room while your roommate opens the door to his best friend.

The next morning, you don’t see Jungkook at your place, but you don’t overthink it. You’ve been texting Chris the entire night, even though your mind was occupied with someone else—Jungkook. You’re nervous about meeting him again because you’re unsure of what to say or do.

Now, you’re walking with Chris through campus. You agreed that he’d pick you up and walk with you until the campus. You actually really like him, but only as a friend. There’s no way anything happens with him after yesterday’s conversation with your roommate.

Suddenly, the said roommate appears in front of you.

Jungkook.

He doesn’t say a word at first, but you can tell he’s not very happy to see you laughing and talking with Chris. His eyes shift to your friend for a moment, and a smirk appears on your face. Jealousy does look good on him, and there’s absolutely no way you’re letting this moment slip away without teasing him.

“What do you want?” you ask, crossing your arms and pretending to be indifferent.

“To speak with you,” he flatly replies, his tone clipped and jaw tight.

“I’m with Chris right now,” you say, looking at your friend. “So wait for your turn.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and you want to laugh but bite the inside of your cheek to hold back. He’s so easy to rile up, so you’re not giving in just yet.

Your roommate looks at the man next to you. His gaze is sharp, and he’s not subtle in the slightest. He’s practically shooting daggers at Chris with his eyes, and Chris definitely notices it. The tension between them is thick enough to slice through.

“Please leave us,” you add, your voice deliberately nonchalant.

Jungkook’s eyes move back to you, and man, you have to hold it together before you burst out laughing.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken with you,” he insists, his voice lower now but even more dangerous.

You give him a look, mirroring his stubbornness.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you say, throwing his words from the day before right back at him.

Just like that, you catch that flicker in his eyes. He knows exactly what you’re doing, and it hits him dead on. His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.

Chris looks between you two and sighs.

“I’ll leave you two,” Chris eventually says. “Seems that you have a lot to discuss.”

Chris feels like he’s in the way, so he thinks it’s best to leave. You don’t stop him; there’s no need. Jungkook will stay, no matter what.

“See you later, then,” you offer him a smile.

Once you’re alone with Jungkook, a wide grin spreads across your face. No matter what happens between you two, you’ll never get tired of teasing him. Watching his reactions is just too entertaining.

“Are you jealous, Jungkookie?” you ask while getting closer to him.

He looks at you with a gaze that burns.

“Is it a bad thing if I am?” he doesn’t even hide how he feels.

“No,” you honestly answer.

Your face gets closer, your lips brushing against his ear. You notice the way he shivers, and man, this feels like the biggest win of your life.

“You look hot when you’re jealous,” you whisper.

When you slowly step back, you press a kiss on his cheek, but he turns his face to bring his lips closer to yours. It’s undeniable that he desperately craves to kiss you. Just like you.

“Not here,” you end up saying. “Don’t want to break hearts.”

Jungkook chuckles before shaking his head.

“Can’t wait to be home, then,” he presses a gentle kiss on your cheek before disappearing into the campus.

This man will be the death of you.

The second you arrived at your place after classes, you looked for Jungkook in the apartment. He was sitting at the kitchen table, just finishing eating. In seconds, the plate was pushed away, your body was trapped between the table and him, and his mouth devoured yours.

“Fuck, you’re so damn addictive,” he whispers against your lips.

His hand cups your cheek with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch, his thumb brushing softly beneath your eye. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. For a moment, his eyes are simply lost before he kisses you again.

His other hand slides to your waist, while your fingers curl into the hair at the base of his neck. The kiss quickly deepens as all the tension from the weeks of distance, teasing, and denial erupts between your mouths. You both lean into it, mouths parting with the same hunger that once tore your clothes off, but now, there’s something else. Something careful. Something aching.

You gasp softly into him, and he swallows the sound, kissing you harder. It’s messy, and it’s heated. No doubt that this kiss will turn into him in between your legs, fucking the shit out of you. Just like it happened a month ago. However, this time, things will be different. You know that after this intense moment, Jungkook won’t get back to being an asshole to you. Well, at least that’s what you wish.

Jungkook’s hand wastes no time traveling down your waist to the side of your leg. He places his hand underneath the bottom of your dress and begins traveling upwards to feel how wet you are. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers begin traveling up the side of your leg.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, stepping back to take a full, hungry look at you. “How did it feel to provoke me every day for the past month?”

A slow smirk curves on your lips as you remember every time you pushed his buttons, every look, every comment.

“Fantastic,” you reply. “Honestly? I could do it forever.”

He leans in, his voice low, his breath grazing your ear.

“Then I guess it’s my turn to make you pay for it, isn’t it?”

You feel the shiver run down your spine, the air between your bodies thick with the kind of electricity you’ve both pretended not to feel for weeks.

“Oh yeah?” you breathe, your hands sliding up his chest. “And what exactly do you plan to do, Jungkook?”

He grins, that cocky smirk you’ve both hated and loved, and pulls you flush against him.

“Something that’ll make you think twice before you ever call me gay again,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours with a heat that makes your knees weak.

His mouth crashes into yours. There’s no hesitation this time. His hands grip your waist, yours bury in his hair. His kiss is fire, but it’s not just lust. It’s anger, tension, longing, all tangled up in the month you’ve danced around this.

You break apart for a second, breathless, lips tingling.

“Still want to tease me?” he growls softly.

“Always,” you whisper.

Then his lips are on yours again. He begins rubbing you over your underwear, which makes you gasp. His other hand makes its way to your breast and begins caressing you over your dress.

“Jungkook…” You moan, and this time you feel him pull his hand away.

He takes a step away from you and slowly drags his eyes over your body. He can’t believe that this is truly happening. For the past month, he’s been dreaming about it, and he has also masturbated himself a lot while thinking about you.

“Sit,” he says, motioning for you to move backward to sit on the kitchen table. He comes in your direction and takes a proper look at you. “Now, spread your legs.”

As you open your legs a bit, you feel your dress going up, revealing a bit more of your skin to your roommate.

“Wider, I want to get a good look at you.”

You do as he says and feel the hem of your dress rise up to the top of your thighs. As he kneels down in front of you, Jungkook pulls the hem of your dress up to your stomach and reveals your lace panties.

“Wow, I love these panties,” his eyes look up at you with the biggest smile on his face.

“I only wear pretty stuff, Jungkookie,” you smile back at him. “You should already know that.”

He rolls his eyes before he places his hands on your thighs and slowly begins kissing his way towards your aching core. His face meets your clothed folds, and he bites his bottom lip, definitely very impatient to taste you.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste you all over again,” he whispers, his voice rough with anticipation.

“Then, do it,” you murmur, breathless.

He lets out a low chuckle, brushing his lips near your neck.

“Somebody’s desperate,” he teases, the smirk in his voice unmistakable, while his hands rest on your thighs. You feel goosebumps rise up when his fingers linger on you.

His fingers slowly dance up and down your thighs, and you lean your head back and close your eyes, loving the feeling of his fingertips on your skin. Jungkook leans closer and suddenly brings his lips to your other thigh, sending shivers down your spine.

Your hands find their way to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his dark locks. You need him inside of you now. His mouth, his fingers, his tongue, just something.

One of his fingers brushes against your already soaked panties, and he groans against your skin as he feels your arousal.

“Mmm, baby,” he starts saying against your thighs, “you’re turning me on with how wet you already are.”

Suddenly, he removes his lips and fingers, and that feeling makes your walls clench around emptiness. Damn, you’re dying to feel him touching you again. You suck in a deep breath as you feel him slowly pulling your panties down your legs.

“Shit, I missed this pretty little pussy,” he admits.

There’s absolutely no doubt that you missed each other over the past month. Not just in the heat of lust or the craving of skin on skin, but in the quiet spaces too. You missed the way he made you laugh without trying, and the way his presence used to make the world feel a little lighter, a little less cruel. He missed the way you used to nudge him when he was too serious, how your eyes sparkled when he’d throw a bad joke, and how your voice always cut through the noise in his head like clarity.

You both felt the void in different ways—him, in the silence of midnight when he couldn't sleep; you, in the middle of a crowded room where no one quite made you feel as seen. No hookup, no distraction filled that emptiness.

And now that you’re standing this close again, feeling the heat of each other’s breath, the truth crashes in like a tidal wave: you didn’t just miss the sex. You missed him. And he missed you. Deeply. Desperately.

But right now, all you want is to feel his touch and to feel his long fingers inside of you. You spread your legs wider, hoping he’ll give you something, anything. A smirk appears on his angelic face, clearly understanding how desperate you are for his touch.

He trails a finger up and down your slit. His touch is featherlight and simply not enough. You want more than that. You want him to finger you until the only thing that can come out of your mouth is his name.

You let out a barely audible moan when you feel two of his fingers slowly spreading you open, exposing your heated core. His fingers gather your slick and rub it around your pussy before you feel the tip of his fingers slipping into your core. He flicks his thumb over your clit before softly rubbing.

You quietly move your hips, trying to urge him to go deeper into your core. Jungkook heeds your wants and slips his fingers in slowly until he reaches his second knuckle.

You grab the edge of the table and open your legs fully as you keep moaning like a mess. Your breath slightly quickens as you feel Jungkook pump his fingers in and out of you without any shame. Your roommate looks up at you, enjoying seeing you twitching with pleasure.

His lips find their way to your wet core before he slowly starts licking at it. This is already too much for you, but you’re loving every second of it. You pull his hair quite harshly, making him groan against your clit and his groan echoes in your body. He takes your nub between his lips and softly flicks his tongue against it, causing you to see stars. As he hears your breathing quicken, he can tell you’re getting close.

“Jungkook,” you moan.

“Tell me, baby,” his eyes rest on your figure.

“I need you inside me,” you mumble.

“What if I want to tease you a little longer?” he says while adoring the way you’re writhing with pleasure.

“Then do it,” you instantly reply.

Jungkook stands up, his fingers still inside you, to kiss you. His lips are covered in your arousal, and fuck, he looks like an absolute god. This vision alone can make you come. He presses a sloppy kiss against your lips.

While kissing him fervently, you grab his shaft and massage it through his pants. A deep groan falls from his lips. A smirk grows on your face when you catch his instant reaction.

“Teasing”, you begin, “is a game I can play too,” you whisper in his ear before biting the lobe with your teeth.

In no time, you’re unbuckling his pants to push them with his underwear. Your hand fully holds his cock, his mouth finds yours, and you both pleasure each other at the same pace. It’s incredibly hot, and something you never knew would happen in your entire life.

Jungkook closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your velvety walls around his fingers and your hand on his dick. You’re both so lost in your own pleasure, but that isn’t enough. You both need more.

Suddenly, he removes his hand and quickly spins you around until your back is pressed to his chest.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for the past month,” his lips press a gentle kiss on your neck.

You close your eyes as he gently kisses your neck, his hands moving along your body. His lips and hands make you shiver.

You close your eyes, surrendering to the feeling as his lips slowly and gently kiss your neck. The soft brush of his mouth sends a shiver down your spine, awakening every nerve under your skin. His breath is warm against your neck; man, he’s driving you crazy. Not the way around.

His hands travel your body, fingers tracing the curves of your waist before gliding up your sides. The contrast of his rough palms and your sensitive skin makes you shiver uncontrollably. It’s as if he’s relearning you, mapping you with touch, memorizing every reaction.

He pulls you a little closer, and your body molds instinctively to his. His kisses deepen slightly, his mouth lingering longer, his teeth grazing ever so gently against your neck. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel his growing erection against your ass, and you feel his grip tighten just a little in response.

“Flirting with guys right under my nose,” he whispers against your skin. “And constantly teasing and provoking me.”

“Do I even need to talk about you?” you say, his hands still moving along your body. “You’d eye fucking me while dancing with random chicks.”

“Well, how couldn’t I when you were looking at me with so much hunger?”

Jungkook carefully bends you down over the table. His very hungry eyes take a quick look at your body. Your ass is now on full display for him, and fuck, he adores it.

In no time, he grabs a condom from his pocket to put it on his length. Seconds after, you feel his hardness lining up behind you, rubbing at your wet folds.

“You look pretty like this,” he says while bending to press another kiss on your neck.

“I’m always pretty,” you clap back.

“I’m not saying the opposite.”

Since you’re soaking wet, he buries himself easily and in one motion. Both of you hold back your moans.

“Fuck, yn!” he gasps and gives you both a moment.

He has been dying to do it for the past month, and he feels euphoric to finally do it. His hands grab our waist as he slowly moves out of you, leaving only the tip of his length inside. He slams his cock inside of you with a harsh thrust, and you don’t hold back your moan as your arms give out and you fall forward flat on the table.

“Fuck, this is better than in my dreams,” he whines as he sets a pace.

“In your dreams?” you even manage to tease him while he’s fucking you hard on the kitchen table. “You were that fucking desperate…” you smirk.

Instead of replying, he just goes harder, showing you no mercy. Your ass meets his hips and claps with each thrust. The kitchen is only filled with the sound of his hips meeting your ass as well as the creaking table underneath you. Both you and he moan louder and louder, and man, this is more than wonderful. It’s ecstatic, it’s addictive, and it’s overwhelming.

His grip on your waist is strong as he fucks you deep and relentlessly. After all this time, after all this pent-up tension, you’re both getting lost in this moment. It feels beyond great. Nothing has ever felt as great as this right here. No other hookup can even come close to this moment.

Your eyes roll back into your head at how well he works your body. His thrusts become more and more brutal and deep, and you swear that you could feel him in your stomach. You slowly feel your orgasm building within you.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warns and feels your walls clench around him. “Fuck, don’t tease me.”

“Or what?” you dare to tease me.

“You’re such a fucking tease!” he groans.

Your hand slides down to your clit as you want to cum as soon as possible. Jungkook pumps into you even harder. You know that in a matter of seconds you’d be creaming his cock.

“Kook, gonna cum!” you try not to scream but it’s basically impossible with the pace and strength that he’s fucking into you.

Next thing you know, you’re coming and pulsating around his thickness. He keeps fucking you through your high and he looks with marvel how you’re creaming his length. His breathing is heavy and you can feel that he’s about to cum. And it doesn’t really take him long to fill the condom up with his cum.

“Fuck!” he breathes as he finally comes down from his high.

Your face is resting on the cool surface of the table as your breathing slowly settles back to normal. Jungkook pulls himself out of you, throws the condom in the garbage, and helps you to clean.

“That was fucking good,” you whisper, still breathless, as you pull your panties back on and glance over at your roommate.

Jungkook chuckles lowly, his smile lazy and satisfied. He buttons his jeans and walks back over to you, pressing a few soft, lingering kisses to your lips.

“It was,” he agrees, his voice warm and quiet.

You both collapse onto the kitchen chairs, the air between you thick with everything that just happened, and everything it might mean. Neither of you speaks at first, both staring blankly ahead at the kitchen sink, like it somehow holds the answers.

After a few beats, you finally break the silence. “Just so you don’t freak out after,” you begin, your voice tentative but steady, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You reach for him, your fingers finding his and intertwining naturally, like muscle memory.

“I’m staying… if you want me to,” you add.

He turns to look at you, and that familiar, boyish grin spreads across his face, his doe eyes glowing with something tender and real. “If you’re staying,” he says, squeezing your hand gently, “then I’m staying too.”

A week later

Things with Jungkook are completely different now. He isn’t just your roommate anymore. He’s way more than that. He’s back to being your best friend, but he’s also your fuckbuddy and the man you constantly kiss because you’re so damn addicted to him. It’s been hard to keep your hands to yourself when he’s around, which means all the time.

On campus, you’ve been trying to act like nothing is happening because you don’t want people to talk about you. It was already enough that they were saying you were into each other because of how you were acting before at the parties.

However, it’s been hard not to feed the rumors. When you’re off campus, you don’t hide. You hold hands, kiss in the streets, and tease each other. Anybody with two eyes can see how much you’re into each other. And when you’re partying, it’s even worse. You dance like you’re about to fuck in front of everybody.

But you’ve never been this happy.

You’re cleaning the living room with your Becky G playlist blasting in the background. You’re obsessed, constantly listening to her songs, and Bad Bunny’s too. You even managed to convert Jungkook to liking their songs.

While cleaning, you dance too and sing out loud. Thankfully, Jungkook isn’t home because he would have gotten mad. You’re always too loud—even when you have sex, but he doesn’t complain there—but you don’t care at all. You’d scream in his ears if he complains.

“No digas que no si sí,” you sing out loud. “Si te llamo tú vienes donde mí.”

You turn around in the living room with a cloth in your hands. You’re smiling while singing and dancing, it’s a song that you like a lot.

“Si no me extrañas ahora, ahorita sí,” you continue. “No digas que no si sí.”

“We can hear you in the streets,” Jungkook’s voice suddenly echoes in the room.

You don’t stop, not caring at all about his words. The song is almost over, and you want to enjoy it until the end. Once the song ends, it switches to OTRO CAPÍTULO—your favorite. A smile tugs at your lips as you immediately start dancing in Jungkook’s direction. That familiar, adorable grin grows on his face the moment he recognizes the track.

You sway in front of him playfully until he pulls you closer, his hands finding their place on your waist. You loop your arms around his neck, and the two of you start moving together, perfectly in sync.

“This one’s my favorite,” you murmur with a soft smile.

“I know,” he replies into your hair. “You play it all the time.”

Dancing with him always feels easy, natural, even magical. It feels like home.

“It’s starting to become mine too,” he admits after a moment. “Taehyung won’t stop teasing me about it.”

You laugh, letting the sound float between you.

“Guess I’m a good influence.”

“Not sure I’d go that far,” he teases, though his smile says otherwise.

Still holding your hands, he spins you gently before bringing you back to him. Your fingers stay laced together as they settle at the level of your waist, and your bodies keep moving to the rhythm, wrapped in shared warmth and something deeper neither of you dares to name out loud yet.

Then his voice drops, quiet but certain.

“You’ve broken my heart in ways no one else ever could.”

You blink up at him, surprised but not hurt. There’s a softness in his gaze that tells you it’s not blame. It’s love.

“What a privilege,” you tease, smiling to hide the sudden lump in your throat. “Might have to keep breaking it, then.”

Of course, it’s the last thing you’d ever want. Hurting Jungkook would destroy you.

“Go on, break my heart,” he says, more serious now. “Just promise you’ll be the one to put it back together.”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

“Only if you promise the same.”

Neither of you stops dancing. Even with the seriousness hanging between you like an unspoken vow, your bodies move as one. The music plays on, but all you hear is each other.

“I’ll always pick up every piece,” he says softly. “No matter who breaks it.”

“And I’ll do the same.”

The moment stretches—intimate, quiet, wrapped in the soft pulse of your favorite song. And maybe that’s what love is. Not a grand gesture or perfect timing, but dancing in your living room with someone who sees every part of you and still wants to stay.

This is how two best friends stop pretending. This is how a real love story begins.

And if letting Jungkook hold your heart means he might break it? Then, so be it. Because he’s also the only one you’d trust to put it back together again.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #break my heart #spideyjimin

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oceantornadoo · 7 months ago

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Could you maybe write a fic for Simon pursuing a reader who has no experience despite being in her early 20s?

(disclaimer: this ask said early 20s but i didn't really focus on that exact age for reality and inclusivity purposes)

you like to think you're a pretty calm person. have to be, for the kind of work you do - can't be a hothead when you're dealing with hundreds of other hotheads (a.k.a. military men). that environment, seeing the vicious effects of too much testosterone and loyalty to those who don't deserve it, has led you to this predicament. a lack of experience with men. all the ones you've met are loud or self-absorbed and your work is so time-consuming so that when you've found yourself at this precipice, you realize you have no experience to guide you. only a few drunk kisses and one teenage crush to act as the map for the journey you're about to take.

it was odd, how easily you fell into simon riley. he duped you into your first date, calling it a celebratory post-mission dinner when in reality, he'd had the reservations for weeks. it progressed smoothly from there: coffee and ice cream and a scary movie you didn't want to see alone. a few weeks later and you let him into your sacred apartment, a couch no man had ever sat on. he was so respectful, soft words and light touches to get you comfortable with him.

you intrigued simon. it was like befriending a stray cat; one wrong move and he'd be out in the hall. he'd asked around (a.k.a. asked johnny) and found out you'd never dated anyone on base. not surprising, he hadn't either, but your skittish nature led him to believe you'd never dated anybody. you were comfortable with men, sure, but you'd never made any moves on simon despite seeming to like him so much. if he were a less confident man, he would think you weren't interested, but it was in the way your eyes lingered on him, the glances you shot him when you thought he wasn't looking. he decided a conversation was necessary to clear the air so he didn't keep handling you like a bomb that could go off any second.

the two of you were watching footie, a bowl of popcorn in the middle. your hands brushed occasionally as you ate, your knee touching his, but nothing further. simon was well practiced in restraint, and he would wait as long as he needed to, but he felt like he was operating blind, no night vision goggles in sight. "love." it was like flipping a switch. you jumped up, snatching the popcorn bowl and murmuring something about supplying a refill even though it was more than halfway full. he let you have your freakout in the kitchen, giving you time to collect your thoughts. finally, you came back ten minutes later, hand shaking slightly as you put the bowl back down, which was decidedly not full. "can i ask you somethin'?" his hand gripped your knee before you could get up again, settling you back on the couch. your eyes were wide, searching his at a rapid speed as you tried to figure out what he was asking.

"w-what?" he started stroking your knee slowly, thumb brushing over the fabric of your sweats. he didn't answer right away, letting the rhythm of his thumb calm you until your shoulders dropped a fraction. "do i scare y'?" he murmured in a low tone. your shoulders dropped completely, your head collapsing on the couch behind you. you figured it was time to have this talk anyways. "no, it's nothing like that. i trust you, si." he nodded, checking a question off his list. his thumb was still stroking you, the motion anchoring you to the moment. "did someone hurt y'? before me?" you shook your head. "no, it's nothing like that. i just-" you cut yourself off, biting your lip. you chanced a glance at simon, his face open and patient. "i just don't have a lot of experience with men. and it makes me nervous, thinking i'll do something wrong." simon nodded in understanding. "'s while y're so jumpy. how much experience?" you muttered your answer too low for him to hear. "wot?" ugh. "none." oh. oh.

simon was rewriting scripts in his head. no experience was not what he was expecting, but it didn't put him off. if anything, he felt honored you picked him to give you experience. "doesn't matter, love. we can go 's slow as you want. just gotta tell me what y' want." your hand covered his on your knee. "i want you, si. i just don't know how to show it." he squeezed your knee. "trust me?" you nodded instantly. suddenly, you were being moved, strong hands around your waist dragging you into simon's lap. he arranged you into a straddle, setting you back on the middle of his thighs. simon didn't want to give you the wrong idea by putting you on his cock so soon. there was time.

"ya ever kiss anyone?" you gave him a small smile. "not sober. none that i really remember." he laughed, the feeling vibrating through his chest down to his thighs. it was exhilarating, being so close to him and not being scared. you were still nervous, sure, but there was less expectation hanging over your head now that you had talked. "c'mere. we'll take it slow. close your eyes." he sat up a little, a hand on your hip preventing you from being jostled. you closed your eyes obediently, lips parting slightly with the exhale of your breath. you could feel his body heat come closer. he brushed his lips against yours, pulled back, and then gave you a real kiss.

you weren't sure what to do. you had listened to enough advice podcasts to know you shouldn't use any tongue, but that was it. his lips were soft, if a bit chapped, pressing against yours deliciously. he felt so close, so intimate, and you pushed back against him, just a little. it melted your heart a little as he pushed back, warm and willing. your hands instinctively dove into his hair, finally feeling those strands you'd been dreaming about. it went on and on, experimenting with little licks and bites as you got more confident. unfortunately, the more passionate you became, the less air in your lungs. you pulled back with a gasp.

"fuck." his lips were swollen and red, his hair sticking up at all angles. ravished. "good?" he asked, licking his lips. you nodded. "can we do it again?" the eagerness would have made you cringe if you didn't want it so much. "yeah, baby, anytime you want. c'mere."

i hope i did this justice!! my first kiss was terrible but i was also 14 so i think it would be better with an experienced man lol

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #tornadothoughts #ghost call of duty #fluff #ghost headcanons #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley cod #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley

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shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

Text

how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child | sylus

synopsis : You were just a quiet, book-loving college student trying to survive academia and avoid emotional damage—until Sylus crashed into your life like a hot, smug hurricane who never left. content : fluff, college!au, sylus being drunk(not really), crackhead energy writing, comedy

It was a Saturday night—which, in your world, meant a sacred ritual of staying in your dorm, reading a good book, and letting Spotify decide your fate with its chaotic shuffle.

A peaceful, introvert’s haven.

Your roommate had long since abandoned you for brighter, sweatier pastures, hollering, “I’m gonna get laid tonight!” as she tottered out in an outfit that could’ve doubled as a napkin.

You’d only offered her a solemn nod and returned to your paperback and playlist, cocooned in your sofa bed like a content little hermit.

Nothing could disturb your peace.

Until something did.

A knock.

You blinked at the door. Once. Twice. Frowned. Who knocks past 10 p.m.? Who dares?

Your mind immediately went to one person—your best friend, Sylus. The same Sylus who had texted earlier, bragging about some frat party he was going to “grace with his presence.” You had rolled your eyes then.

You were rolling them again now.

Still, you peeled yourself from the embrace of your blankets with a martyred sigh.

“Coming,” you muttered like a wronged Victorian heroine.

And there he was.

Sylus, leaning on your doorframe like a drunken Greek tragedy. The unmistakable scent of alcohol hit you in the face like an offended slap.

“W-Wha—Sy??” you gasped, arms flailing as you caught his teetering form.

He slumped against you dramatically, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like “Need… y-you,” into the crook of your neck.

Your entire spine straightened. Goosebumps. Betrayal.

“Again?” you asked, somehow dragging his dead weight into your dorm like a disgruntled EMT.

You dumped him onto the sofa, where he sprawled like a starfish in distress.

“How much did you drink?” you asked, already grabbing your emergency water bottle—standard best-friend-care protocol. You tilted it to his lips.

He tried to drink it sideways.

You sighed, loud and long. “Of course you’re useless.”

His eyes fluttered open just a crack as he sipped at the water, managing to prop himself up with one wobbly arm like he was posing for a very tragic Renaissance painting.

“You’re so… nice,” he slurred, dragging the word out with an attempt at a smirk that looked more like a sleepy grimace.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Yeah, yeah. Save the drunk flirting for someone who didn’t just haul your dead weight off the hallway floor.”

This wasn’t your first Sylus Situation.

Probably wouldn’t be your last.

You and Sylus had met on the very first day of college. You’d been an eager, introverted bookworm just trying to get to your dorm before anyone could talk to you.

And then—bam—Sylus. Tall, cocky, and very lost, standing in the middle of the corridor looking as confused as a cat in a swimming pool.

He’d stopped you by physically planting one muscled arm across your path and declaring, with absolute seriousness, “I need help finding the toilet.”

A moment you would never forget, nor forgive.

You had rolled your eyes back then too—but still showed him the way, mostly because he had somehow clamped onto you like a gym-sculpted koala.

To this day, you had no idea why someone at age eighteen had the physique of a Marvel extra, but you had learned not to ask too many questions when it came to Sylus.

Especially when he was drunk and whispering compliments like you were the second coming of hydration.

Now, two years in, you and Sylus were pretty much inseparable.

Not exactly by your choice, of course. He had basically crammed himself into your life like a determined cat forcing its way into a box half its size—and then refused to leave.

Ever.

But you, being the kind-hearted, ever-patient soul that you were cough pushover cough, didn’t really complain. Much.

In his own chaotic way, Sylus had proven… useful.

He was your self-appointed human shield against overly confident frat boys who thought “You read? That’s hot” was a seductive line.

More than once, he’d slung an arm around you and declared, “She’s taken. By academia. Leave her alone.”

You, in turn, had helped him survive the academic hellscape that was calculus. Which mostly meant sitting beside him during study sessions and watching him squint at formulas like they were written in ancient Sumerian.

At one point he tried to bribe you with tacos to do his entire homework.

You took the tacos and still made him do it.

It was an odd, messy sort of friendship. One built on sarcastic banter, mutual blackmail, and late-night ramen runs.

And maybe—just maybe—a little too much unspoken something lingering in the quiet spaces in between.

Like right now, for example.

He blinked blearily at you from your sofa, shirt slightly rumpled, hair a tousled mess, water bottle still clutched like a lifeline.

“You know,” he mumbled, “you’d make a great wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Drink your water before I drown you in it.”

He grabs the bottle and downs it in one dramatic go, like he was auditioning for a Gatorade commercial.

Then he thrusts it back at you with all the triumph of someone who just solved world hunger.

“There. I finished it,” he announces, his arm swaying a little as he wobbles in place, clearly very proud of his accomplishment.

You roll your eyes but take the bottle anyway, muttering something under your breath about man-children and alcohol tolerance.

You place it on the table and then, with the kind of exasperated sigh that only comes from long-term best friend duty, plop yourself down next to him on the sofa.

He immediately slouches, his shoulder knocking lightly into yours, like his body had decided it belonged at a thirty-degree angle from yours. You don’t move.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s drunkenly ended up in your space.

Sylus had a talent for turning up half-conscious on your couch like some sort of overgrown housecat that went out, got into a fight, and came back demanding affection and snacks.

Still, as he leaned a bit closer, you caught the faintest scent of his cologne beneath the layers of beer and poor decisions.

That same one he always wore—the one you refused to admit you liked.

He gave a tired little groan and let his head loll toward you. “You’re warm,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Like… those fuzzy blankets. But with better insults.”

You blinked. “Thank you, I think?”

He gave a lazy grin, eyes barely open. “Anytime, wifey.”

You smacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.

“OW.”

You had to admit—though only internally, and only under very specific, delusional circumstances—you might have feelings for the guy.

Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. Absolutely not. You’d rather eat a raw onion whole.

Besides, you and Sylus were practically heaven and earth. He walked through campus like he owned the place, girls tripping over their own feet just to bat their lashes at him. Your dorm mate had been one of them, once.

Keyword, once.

That ended the moment she got bold and tried to drape herself all over him like a weighted blanket in heat.

Sylus, being the tactful gentleman he was, had responded by physically lifting her off and shoving her away with all the grace of a bouncer at closing time.

She hit the floor with a squeak and a very visible bruise forming on her hip.

You’d been mortified.

While Sylus looked mildly annoyed, you were busy apologizing profusely, scrambling to help her up while simultaneously smacking him on the arm.

“What is wrong with you?” you’d hissed.

“She was being gross,” he’d replied simply, like that was an acceptable answer. “And touching me.”

“She’s a human being, not a leech!”

“A touchy leech,” he muttered, unfazed.

That was the thing with Sylus.

He never asked to be popular. Girls just looked at him like he was the answer to all their bad decisions.

But you? You were the one dragging him by the ear out of messes he caused. The one making excuses.

The one covering for him when he showed up drunk or bailed on class or told a professor their quiz “was an act of violence.”

You were the constant.

And somehow, in a very twisted way, you were okay with that. Even if your feelings stayed buried beneath layers of sarcasm and very loud sighs.

Especially now, when he was leaning half-asleep on your shoulder, muttering something about you smelling like books and cinnamon and safety.

And damn it, you liked that too much.

Your expression softened despite yourself when you heard the soft, steady rhythm of Sylus snoring.

He had slumped a little more against your shoulder, completely out cold now, mouth slightly parted in the most annoyingly adorable way.

With a small sigh, you leaned forward, grabbing the throw blanket from the armrest and carefully draping it over both your laps. He didn’t stir.

Just exhaled, warm and slow against your collarbone.

You reached for your book again, flipping back to the page you had abandoned during The Great Drunken Entry of Sylus.

And then, as if summoned by the universe purely to torment you, your Spotify decided to betray you.

Under the Influence by Chris Brown began to play.

Your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

“Oh, no,” you whispered like you were in a horror movie and the killer had just creaked open the door.

Because you remembered the last time this song had come on while Sylus was drunk—less drunk than tonight, unfortunately.

That time, he had turned to you, eyes low and voice deep, and said with a completely straight face, “This song represents the things I want to do to you.”

You had choked on your drink. He had passed out shortly after.

You had spent three business days trying to pretend it never happened.

And yet, for some completely inexplicable reason, you never removed the song from your playlist.

Why?

That was a question for your therapist.

You shot a nervous glance at Sylus’s sleeping form. He twitched a little, mumbling something unintelligible.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered under your breath. “Don’t you dare wake up.”

He let out a soft sigh.

You stared at your phone, debating if skipping the song would be too loud and risk waking him.

You decided to risk it.

Your finger hovered—then paused.

Because deep down, despite your better judgment, part of you wanted to hear what he might say if he woke up again.

And that was the real betrayal.

You scrambled through your playlist like a woman on a mission, muttering curses at your past self while frantically searching for something—anything—less incriminating than Chris Brown.

Eventually, you landed on something soft and unassuming, a gentle acoustic ballad that sounded like it belonged in a rainy café montage.

Peace.

At last.

You settled back in, the weight of Sylus still warm beside you, blanket tucked around your legs, your book finally resting in your hands again.

You exhaled slowly.

And then, without warning, the air was violently knocked out of your lungs.

“Wha—!”

One second you were comfortably seated.

The next, Sylus had flipped you flat on your back, your book flying out of your hands with a soft thud.

A startled yelp escaped your throat, legs tangled in the blanket, brain scrambling to catch up to the fact that you had just been ambushed.

He hovered over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes half-lidded but open—definitely awake now. Great.

“Sylus!” you hissed, face heating. “What the hell?!”

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he hadn’t fully emerged from dreamland yet. “You moved.”

“I was reading.”

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering across your face with an intensity that made your breath catch.

Then he mumbled, almost like a confession, “Thought you left.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I—Sylus, I live here.” You tried to squirm, but he just shifted closer, lowering himself so his forehead bumped gently against yours.

“You smell like lavender,” he whispered.

You were going to die. Right here. Of cardiac arrest and secondhand embarrassment.

“And books,” he added softly, eyes fluttering shut again. “You smell like home.”

Your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or pull him closer.

You did neither.

Because the worst part?

You liked hearing that more than you should’ve.

“Why are you… so cute?” he slurs, eyes glassy and unfocused, his breath warm against your lips.

You barely had time to process the question—if it was a question—before he leaned in and slammed his lips against yours with all the grace and coordination of someone who definitely shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery.

Your brain short-circuited.

Yep. He’s super drunk tonight.

It wasn’t even a kiss, really.

More like a very committed face-plant. His lips mashed clumsily against yours, all instinct and zero finesse, like his drunk brain had gone, “Target acquired—initiate smooch protocol.”

You froze. Arms still mid-air. Eyes wide. Mind absolutely screaming.

It lasted all of two seconds before he let out a satisfied little hum and promptly collapsed against you like a human pancake, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if the kiss had been a casual prelude to nap time.

“…Seriously?” you croaked.

No response. Just light snoring and a very warm, very solid Sylus draped across your body.

You stared at the ceiling.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

You were definitely not blushing.

Not still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Not wondering why the hell your heart was racing like you’d just run a marathon.

Nope.

Totally. Fine.

—•

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the blinds, warm and accusing. You blinked groggily, only to realize that your limbs were pinned.

Sylus was still slumped against your body, face buried in your shoulder, arm thrown around your waist like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues.

He was out, dead to the world, breathing softly like last night hadn’t been a whole fever dream.

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then, very carefully—like you were defusing a bomb—you began to wiggle out from under him.

One leg. Then the other.

You held your breath as you slipped free, standing over him like some war-weary survivor of battle. He didn’t stir.

Honestly, you were impressed. You could have probably vacuumed the room and he’d still be there, drooling peacefully.

You didn’t have time to process it. Class was calling.

And you had never gotten ready so fast.

By the time you made it to your seat, slightly out of breath and still pulling your hoodie over your head, your mind was already spiraling.

The lecture blurred into a series of droning syllables you couldn’t quite absorb.

Because God, you hoped he didn’t remember.

If he did—if he looked at you with that signature smirk and said anything about last night—your soul might physically evacuate your body.

You kept your head down, notebook open but blank, your pen frozen mid-air.

And still, your thoughts wandered.

Back to the feel of his lips on yours—sloppy, warm, unexpected.

Back to the sound of his voice, low and slurred, calling you cute like it was a sin he couldn’t forgive.

Back to the way your heart had reacted like it was hearing something it had been waiting for.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and before you could stop yourself, you caught it gently between them. Just to see if you could remember.

And—damn it—you could.

Which was exactly the problem.

Class ended faster than you realized.

One moment you were lost in a daze of accidental kisses and existential dread, the next, students were filing out around you and your professor was reminding everyone about next week’s quiz that you absolutely did not hear.

You packed your stuff in record time and bolted, telling yourself you’d walk it off. Or compartmentalize. Or, ideally, both.

It was a crisp morning, birds chirping, sun shining, world spinning just fine without dragging your dignity behind it. You were just starting to calm down, your feet falling into a steady rhythm along the pavement, when—

An arm slung over your shoulder.

You stiffened like someone had just hit your internal panic button.

“Thanks for not waking me,” came a familiar, smug voice from your right, laced with far too much amusement for someone who had been drooling on your hoodie six hours ago.

You turned your head slowly—like in a horror film—and there he was.

Sylus.

Disheveled but well-rested. Hair tousled. Hoodie slightly crooked on his frame.

Looking every bit like someone who had zero regrets and somehow still got eight hours of sleep.

And worse?

He was smirking.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then you exhaled, long and slow, a rush of relief loosening your spine. “So… you don’t remember anything?” you asked as casually as you could.

His smirk deepened. “Nope.”

You nodded, clutching your bag a little tighter. “Good. Great. Fantastic.”

He glanced sideways at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You look tense,” he said, as if you weren’t actively reliving one of the most unhinged nights of your life.

You kept your face blank. “Do I?”

“Mm-hm.” He leaned in slightly. “We didn’t do anything weird, did we?”

Your soul briefly tried to exit your body.

You cleared your throat, gaze fixed straight ahead. “Define weird.”

Sylus chuckled, his grip around your shoulders tightening playfully. “Knew I could count on you to protect my innocence.”

You resisted the urge to shove him into a bush.

Because he didn’t remember.

And maybe that was for the best.

Right?

—•

Later that afternoon, Sylus had peeled himself away from your side with his usual casual flair, stretching like a cat and shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

“Got a date,” he’d called, walking backward with that insufferable grin. “Don’t miss me too much!”

You managed a forced smile, waving him off like it was no big deal.

But it was.

Because the moment he turned the corner, a sharp, unwelcome pang bloomed in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly.

Just… something heavy. Something tight.

Something you couldn’t name without digging into places you weren’t quite ready to go.

You sighed, long and low, and forced your feet toward your next class, pretending that maybe you’d feel better if you just kept moving.

Spoiler, you didn’t.

Classes passed in a blur, lectures droning like white noise in the background.

You tried to focus, really, but your mind kept drifting—back to last night, back to his weight against you, his breath on your neck, the taste of his lips.

Back to the way he didn’t remember.

And now here he was, out on a date, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d left you in.

You returned to your dorm that night with your brain fried and your heart somewhere under your shoe.

You flopped onto your bed face-first, ready to disappear into the mattress forever, when your phone buzzed.

Sy: getting drunk again tonight lol

You groaned, dragging your pillow over your head like it could block out both the light and your bad decisions. You tossed your phone aside with more force than necessary.

“He better not come here again tonight,” you muttered to yourself.

But even as you said it… a tiny, traitorous part of you kind of hoped he would.

And that was the worst part.

Of course he did.

Because why wouldn’t he?

You stared at the door for a solid five seconds after the knock. It was almost comedic at this point.

Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and Sylus was its favorite punchline.

You dragged yourself up, already exhausted before you even turned the knob.

And there he was.

Leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t been out on a date just hours ago, like he hadn’t already hijacked your emotional equilibrium last night.

The now-familiar scent hit you immediately—his signature cologne, warm and clean, now drowned under the unmistakable sting of alcohol.

Not subtle this time.

He smelled like he’d gone swimming in a cocktail shaker.

He grinned at you, lazy and lopsided. “Hey, wifey.”

You stared at him. Blinked once.

Then sighed. “I literally said, ‘He better not come here again tonight.’”

He tilted his head. “But I always come here.”

You resisted the urge to bang your head against the doorframe. “You have a room. A perfectly good room.”

“But yours has you in it,” he said, like it was the most logical argument in the world.

And just like that, your heart did the thing again—the flutter, the ache, the full-body sigh of someone dangerously close to caring too much.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him stumble in and flop onto the sofa with all the grace of a drunk swan.

He missed the armrest entirely and groaned into your throw pillow.

You closed the door.

“Don’t throw up on anything,” you warned.

“Never,” came his muffled reply. “I have standards.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you do.”

As you fetched the water bottle—again, you glanced over at him. Hair a mess, face flushed, shoes still on.

And yet, somehow, despite it all—despite the alcohol and the chaos and the absolutely maddening way he lived inside your head—he still looked like home.

And that was the problem.

You sighed—again—and knelt beside the sofa, already in caretaker mode. It was routine now. Predictable. You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with one hand and gently lifted it to his lips, not even bothering to ask this time.

But tonight was different.

Because he didn’t drink.

He didn’t even move.

He just stared at you.

Silent. Still.

Your brows furrowed as you held the bottle there, confused. “Sylus,” you said softly, nudging the rim against his bottom lip.

Still nothing.

You looked up, properly meeting his gaze—and froze.

He wasn’t out of it this time. His eyes, though glassy, were clear. Awake. Watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Your hand slowly lowered the bottle.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His head tilted slightly against the pillow, eyes never leaving yours. “You were biting your lip in class today.”

You blinked. “Wha—how do you even—?”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he murmured, almost like an apology.

Your heart dropped.

He remembered.

The kiss. The things he said. The way he collapsed on you like you were something he could fall into without consequence.

He remembered everything.

Your voice caught in your throat. You straightened up a little, putting distance between you. “You said you didn’t remember.”

He smiled faintly. “I lied.”

And just like that, the air shifted—heavy, warm, dangerous. The room felt smaller. Your heart louder.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t.

You just stared back, bottle still in your hand, feeling everything you’d tried to bury clawing its way to the surface.

He sat up with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair as if he could shake off the tension clinging to the air between you.

You watched him closely, bottle still in your hand, heartbeat pounding like a warning.

Then he looked at you—really looked at you—and said quietly, “I didn’t go on a date.”

Your brows lifted.

“I didn’t even drink tonight.”

That made you pause.

You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. And?

Your expression said it all. So?

He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced like he needed something to hold onto.

His frown deepened, not from annoyance but from something far more raw.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked, voice softer now—less teasing, more real.

You blinked.

No smirk. No sarcasm.

Just Sylus, stripped of his usual bravado, staring at you like he didn’t know what else to say—like the weight of what he felt had finally grown too heavy to carry without showing it.

And suddenly, everything felt louder.

The silence. The breath you didn’t take. The confession waiting just on the other side of his words.

Because maybe… you did get it.

You just weren’t sure you were ready to.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration like he couldn’t believe he was having to spell it out.

“Come here,” he muttered under his breath—low, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

But before you could even react, his hands were on either side of your face, warm and certain, pulling you toward him.

And then—he kissed you.

Not like last night.

Not messy or sudden or slurred with alcohol and adrenaline.

This kiss was different.

It was gentle. Intentional. His lips moved slowly against yours, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the courage to say out loud.

Like he wanted you to feel it—feel him.

There was no rush. No stumble. Just soft, quiet honesty.

Your hands, unsure at first, slowly rose to grip the front of his shirt. His thumb brushed along your cheek, steadying you, grounding you.

And for a moment, the noise in your head stopped.

No questions. No what-ifs. Just the feeling of him—real, solid, and heartbreakingly tender.

When he finally pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead rested lightly against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness between you.

“I remember everything,” he whispered.

“And I meant all of it.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

The words settled between you like something fragile and warm, and terrifyingly real.

You barely had time to absorb them before he sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated.

“For someone who’s considered a nerd,” he muttered, thumb brushing against your cheek again, “you’re so stupid.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a look—the one that always came right before he said something that would both annoy and fluster you to death.

“You seriously didn’t notice? Two years of me practically living in your room, fending off every guy who looked at you twice, ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on your shoulder, telling you a Chris Brown song described what I wanted to do to you—”

“I thought you were drunk!” you hissed, flushing.

“I was,” he admitted, smirking. “But that doesn’t mean I was lying.”

You stared at him, heart a riot in your chest.

He leaned in again, voice softer now.

“I liked you even before I knew what to call it. When you helped me find the toilet on the first day, and I thought, ‘Well. That’s it. Guess I’m not letting her go now.’”

You blinked, wide-eyed. “That was… the first day of college.”

“Exactly.” He grinned, nose brushing yours. “And you’re just now catching up?”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

He laughed under his breath, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “God, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

You were still staring at him, wide-eyed, frozen in the moment like your brain had blue-screened.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You had so many things to say, but your thoughts were tripping over each other in the hallway of your mind, arms full of emotional baggage.

He just chuckled.

Low. Warm. Smug.

That infuriating smirk curved at the corner of his lips again, the one that always spelled trouble and somehow still made your heart flutter.

“You really are slow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll just have to make it clearer.”

And before you could process that ominous statement—

He kissed you again.

But this time, it wasn’t sweet or tentative.

This kiss was deeper. Hotter.

Full of all the pent-up feelings he clearly hadn’t been hiding as well as you thought.

He pressed you back into the sofa, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other slid around your waist like he already knew he belonged there.

You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, body reacting faster than your brain could.

And he groaned—low in his throat, like just the sound of you was enough to unravel him.

He pulled back only a breath’s distance, lips barely brushing yours, voice rough. “Still think I’m joking?”

You couldn’t think at all.

And maybe, for once, that was okay.

You didn’t answer him.

You couldn’t.

Because the second your breath hitched, the second your lips parted like you might say something—he kissed you again.

And this time, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was consuming.

All heat and hunger and tension finally unraveling between two people who had been orbiting each other for far too long.

Sylus pressed you further into the cushions, his body aligned with yours like he belonged there. Like this had always been inevitable.

His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver, while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgency—soft and then firm, teasing then demanding.

Your hands were in his hair before you even realized, pulling him closer, needing more. He groaned into the kiss, low and strained, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with restraint. “Always walking around in those stupid sweaters, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.”

You whimpered as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that made your back arch slightly into him. His name slipped out of you before you could stop it—breathy, half-plea, half-warning.

He stilled for half a second, like he needed to hear it again.

“Sylus,” you whispered, and just like that, the last thread of control snapped.

His hands were under your sweater now, fingers splayed across your waist, not rushing—just feeling. Like he wanted to memorize you. Commit every inch of you to memory.

You gasped when his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper. As if he were trying to tell you something he didn’t quite know how to say.

And in between every kiss, every breath, every graze of skin, you heard it loud and clear.

I want you.

I’ve always wanted you.

Only you.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your hands were still fisted in his shirt, your bodies still pressed close, but you needed a second—needed to breathe. Because what the hell just happened?

“Holy shit,” you whispered, voice raw and dazed.

Sylus stilled, eyes searching yours, flushed and breathless. “Too much?”

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. “No. I just…”

Your brows furrowed, a stunned laugh escaping you.

“I’ve been walking around thinking you didn’t feel the same for two years?” you said, incredulous, voice cracking on the last word.

Sylus blinked, then tilted his head slightly, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“You hid it ridiculously well!”

“I practically moved into your dorm.”

“You ate my snacks and called me wifey. That’s not a confession, that’s just being annoying.”

He laughed, the sound husky and breathless. “I flirted with you constantly.”

“I thought that was just your default setting! You flirt with the barista.”

“I don’t press her against the sofa and kiss her like I’m about to lose my mind,” he muttered, his voice low, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Only you.”

Your heart clenched, hard.

The air between you shifted again, softer now—less fire, more gravity.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “You really didn’t know?”

“I didn’t want to know,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I thought… if I hoped too much, I’d ruin it.”

His fingers curled gently around the side of your neck, grounding you. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

You opened your eyes and found him looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

“I’ve been yours,” he said quietly, “since the first day you showed me where the toilet was.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh—and kissed him again.

This time, you didn’t stop.

You kissed him like you were catching up on everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment since that first awkward hallway encounter.

There were no more games. No more pretending. Just whispered names and stolen breath, soft laughs between kisses, and the feeling of finally, finally being seen.

By the time you fell asleep tangled in each other on the sofa—his hand on your waist, your head tucked under his chin—it was quiet.

Not the lonely kind.

The peaceful kind.

The kind that only comes when you’ve stopped running from something… and finally let yourself fall.

masterlist

2K notes · View notes

arminsumi · 8 months ago

Note

tattoartist!suguru losing nonchalance when reader flirts with him?

im down bad for him holy hell

Oh, he's falling to pieces, got it bad for the girl he just met 'n he's gonna make a drunk little bet — y'think he's crazy enough to get your name tattooed on him? Or crazy enough to ink his name into your skin?

ㅤ★ wc; ~3k

ㅤ★ note; continuation of tattoo artist Suguru Geto!

ㅤ★ an; aaa!! you got my brain whirring like a laptop... tysm and i hope this makes u blush and kick ur feet as much as i did while writing!! 🍰✨

ㅤ★ tagz; @ohimsummer 💗@fairiesthrum💗 @heartofjasmina 💗 @kwonan 💗 @ghost-buddies 💗 @madamecorbie 💗 @mima0127 💗 @moggleatlife 💗 @natasaa13 💗 @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell 💗 @wakashudou 💗 @khaothick 💗 @candy-s72 💗 @creamflix 💗 @starriesworlds

ㅤ★ warnings; sum alcohol/drunkenness

“So, was she joking, or am I your type?” Suguru asks, black eyes staring right into your soul.

“Mm, well…” you hum, giving his form a look-over – god, if only you could feel how hard his heart’s beating when you do this. “Maybe.” You reply teasingly.

“Aw, just ‘maybe’?” he groans, now leaning his hip against the edge of the display case that housed the studs and gauge earrings.

“Yeah, just ‘maybe’ – I’m teasing. No, she wasn’t joking; I’ve always had a thing for the black hair, black nails, bad boy look…”

“The ‘bad boy’ look…?” he questions, recalling what your friend had said earlier about bad boys being just your type.

“Yeah, the ‘bad boy’ look.” You giggle.

His heart beats even harder, muttering a naughty little “Well, lucky me.”

“Nah, not so fast – I’m a smart woman.” You warn.

“Oh, are you?” he clicks his tongue in defeat, “Damn, would you believe that my type is smart women? No, no I’m serious… I’ve got a thing for smart women.”

Your cheeks grow hot, the heat spreading to your ears.

“I can assure you that the ‘bad boy’ look is just an aesthetic; I’m really an artsy dork making a living off doodling on people’s bodies.” He shrugs.

“Hm… maybe, maybe not.”

You rub your lips together. He briefly licks his bottom lip. You look him up and down. He looks you up and down. Body language open and alive with attraction, the both of you stand in this air of electric tension that Shoko spies from the other end of the room.

She watches as the two of you giggle like little flirts, observing how totally absorbed the two of you are in each other’s company. When you catch her eye, Shoko gives you a wink and points at her wrist, mouthing “five more” – fair enough, the two of you have promised to get pizza.

Pizza first, boys later, right?

Five minutes more go by – adding to the total of four hours spent at the tattoo & piercing parlor. But despite her discomfort and need for a change of scenery, Shoko decides to linger around just a little longer so that the two of you can indulge in each other just a little more.

But now you're getting nervous – Suguru has you breathless, holding you in a battle of who can flirt harder? which you're starting to lose.

He's captivated by you. This 6’3, tattooed, goth-grunge, slightly dorky man chuckles and smiles like he hasn’t had this much fun talking flirting with someone in years.

It's going well, then your smile trips him up. I know, it’s always the smile, huh? If you see enough of it, you slip… and that’s exactly what's happened to Suguru. He quickly grows obsessed with the way your cheeks look when you smile – the image burns into his memory without him even realizing it in the moment.

No, in the moment he doesn't realize the magnitude of your effect on him. He's just thinking about himself, about you, about —

“I’ve gotta go,” you say goodbye finally, “I don’t want to keep my friend waiting. But you’ll probably see my face here again… she loves dragging me along for these kinds of things.”

He stutters, “Oh! Oh… yeah – yes. Of course. Looking forward to it… maybe next time, you’ll be the one getting ink in your skin.”

“Yeah right.” You smile.

It’s your French exit that makes his heart throb in need.

No, don’t leave yet… I like you – don’t you ever wonder how many acquaintances in your life have thought this when leaving your company? And you’ll never even know.

Oh, Suguru was thinking so hard about asking you to exchange numbers or to meet up for coffee, but he didn’t want to come off as too forward – no, no… he had to maintain his mysteriousness. Or at least, he had to cling to whatever was left of it after revealing his inner dorkiness to you.

*****

After you leave, he wanders in and out of his studio, has small interactions with his co-workers, and doodles ideas for tattoos down.

Throughout all of these things, your face is at the forefront of his mind. Your voice echoes in his head as he recalls every detail of the conversation you two shared. Then he starts smiling softly as he applauds himself for being so gutsily flirty with you… a stranger, just someone, who he probably won’t see again…

A girl with no name.

God, why was he so slow? He didn’t even ask for your name. Suguru groans.

Yes, he probably won’t see you again… not unless your friend brings you along for her next visit. How long does he have to wait? Weeks? Months? That’s insane.

Suguru stops doodling, stares at the scrap of paper, and then looks up at the wall displaying his works. He rubs his fingers back and forth across his mouth.

I gotta.

He looks over to his phone. He reaches for it, takes it into his veiny hand, unlocks it, and scrolls through his list of contacts.

And then he dials his client’s number. Shoko Ieri.

*****

Now, it’s been just under an hour since you and Shoko left the tattoo parlour. She’s complained three times about the pain because exactly three times she has leaned back on the seat – squishing the fresh ink wound against her chair. You just cruelly laugh at how her eyes twitch in pain and each time.

The two of you sit eating pizza.

“He liked you. Why don’t we go back and you ask him for his number?” she teases.

“No way… he’ll think I’m too forward.” You shake your head.

Then three minutes later, Shoko's phone goes off. She reaches into her backpack. She looks at the caller ID, then at you, then at the caller ID, then –

“… is that him?”

“It’s him.”

“What’s he calling for! Me?”

“Absolutely he’s calling for you – I can bet gold on that.”

It stops ringing. She tells you she’ll text him back but guess what? She doesn’t even need to, because he calls again.

“Relentless.” She giggles. “I’m answering.”

“Pretend I’m not here!”

She winks at you and answers, “Hey, Suguru, what’s up?”

The two of you lean in until your foreheads press together – it’s still hard to make out every word.

“Yo.” You hear his smooth voice coming from the other side, “Sorry to bother you… (muffled)… your friend (muffled)… so embarrassed, so don’t tell her that I’m calling… (muffled)… what was her name?”

You clap your hand over your mouth when you hear those snippets.

She gives you a devious look before saying, “Oh! Well, she’s right here with me, actually, so you can ask her yourself.”

Mouth full of pizza, you freak out and X your arms to signal a fat NO WAY SHOKO! and fall to pieces all with the taste of pepperoni on your tongue.

But she just hands the phone over to you anyways, then proceeds to silently laugh as you spit out your pizza before talking.

“Hehlooo?”

“H-hey.”

You get right to the point. “My name’s Yn…”

“Oh… I like that… I’m Suguru.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Suguru. Suguru Geto.” He raises his voice.

Cheek hot against the screen of his phone, Suguru is silently freaking out at the tense silence. He can feel his stomach starting to flip. His mind blanks.

“Anyways! Um, that’s all.”

No. That’s not all. He has a novel’s length worth of things to talk about with you.

At this point, Shoko rolls her eyes at the two of you being so awkward on the phone and decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands.

So she snatches the phone from you.

“ – Suguru? Say, you wouldn’t be free on Saturday, would ya? Yeah, I’m going on a date with this guy… and I’d love to make it a double date with you and Yn if you’d like to –”

You hear him stutter out a yes, absolutely before Shoko can even finish her sentence. She grins.

Suguru can sense that the two of you are smiling and giggling. He can predict that the two of you are probably going to gossip about him being the 'dork from the tattoo parlor that called not once, but twice for the name of a girl he just met' – but he doesn’t care. He’s been presented an opportunity and taken it.

To hell with seeming too eager.

When the call ends, Suguru blows out a breath through his lips. Then he promptly texts his best friend. Dark strands of hair slip out of his sloppy bun as he puts his face over the screen, thumbs swift and eager.

Toru 🤞😜 lol bravo... but i thought u said she was out of ur league??

Sugu i mean... yes. she's way too pretty and smart for me. but i'm not gonna pass up this opportunity

Toru 🤞😜 still can't believe u called ur client just to get her friend’s name... lol

Sugu you would understand if you met her ok

Toru 🤞😜 damn she must be something else

Yes, yes you are something else — Suguru can’t even begin to describe why. Translating his thoughts into words isn’t his thing; he translates them into art.

****

It's later in the day. You're lazing around Shoko's apartment.

She confirms the time and place of the double date, and cackles on her couch while kicking her feet, teasing you for being so crazy about a guy you just met – her tattoo artist.

You just couldn’t stop talking about Geto Suguru.

“Shiiit, should I even let you and a bad boy like him be alone in a room together?”

“I can control myself.” you assure her.

She slowly shakes her head at you.

“Yeah right… but can he? I don't trust neither of you... miss crazy and mister crazy... you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

You giggle to yourself, biting your thumb. “Maybe…”

“Oh girl…” she groans, causing you to giggle into yourself, “You’re gonna be licking the tail of his dragon tattoo by the end of the date tomorrow.”

“H-h-he has a what? And where?” you stuttered, lashes quivering.

She shakes her head at you. “God, you’re screwed…”

*****

It's Saturday night. The bar's more alive than ever.

You've learned that Geto Suguru does, in fact, have a dragon tattoo inked up his toned arm – and a tight-fitting black tank top that shows it off along with his martial artist’s physique, too.

He’s got a glint of the devil in his black eyes. Softly-delivered dirty jokes ready to roll off his pierced tongue. A habit of tilting his head and looking hungrily at your lips and neck.

“Martial arts, huh?” you ask with stars in your eyes.

“Mhm, I could teach you a few things.” He purrs in reply.

Your stomach starts squeezing and flipping – that’s got to be the flirtiest 'mhm' that you’ve ever heard in your whole life.

“You think so?” you purr back.

Now it’s his turn to feel that squeezy, flippy feeling in his stomach.

Fuckfuckfuck is all he could think when he looks into your eyes.

I’m gonna fall to pieces. You’re gonna be the death of me.

“Uh… do you two need some privacy?” Shoko teases.

Oh. It’s a double date. How could you forget? Shoko is literally sitting beside you at the bar with her date. But for a second there, it really felt like it was just you 'n this deliciously tattooed bad boy.

“Maybe.” Suguru chuckles coyly.

“There’s a hotel just next door…”

“Shoko!” you scold, playfully shoving her arm.

She giggles into herself, sipping down her cocktail innocently as if she didn’t just electrify the air between you and Suguru. His throat’s tensing, foot’s tapping up and down on the bar stool – boy’s got long spider-legs, huh?

Now after that, Suguru grins wider – showing off his pretty canines – his posture assuming something self-soothing; he holds his elbows, arms squished against his ribcage, which just makes his biceps more pronounced. Oh why, why did he have to wear a tank top like that? Surely he’s aware of the effect it has on girls. Or maybe he’s oblivious…

Nah. He's not.

*****

“Did it hurt?” you ask, trying to blink out the tipsiness from your love-drunk eyes but you’ve got three cosmopolitans surging through your veins.

“Not really… I’ve got great pain tolerance.” Suguru replies.

“Oh really?” you blink up at him again and his mind goes blank.

“Look at that...” He murmurs softly, not breaking eye contact with you. Where’s your friend and her date? Who knows. It’s just you and him now – and that’s all he wanted.

“Hm?”

“Not every day I see eyes like that…”

You widen your lips into a smile, “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Am I? Sorry – see, this is what happens after you feed Suguru too much rum. I just can’t keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible… need someone to shut ya up?” you flirt.

He tilts his head at you, loose strands of hair shifting across his cheek. His left brow quirks up – he’s so taken aback by your forwardness but he falls right into it.

You just giggle flirtatiously after making that comment and pull the straw of your drink between your lips, sucking the remnants of a cosmopolitan into your mouth as sensually as you dare to in front of a bad boy who’s got bedroom eyes on you.

“I think I could do with some shutting up…” he admits.

“Mm,” you hum, “y’think by our third date you’re gonna snap and kiss me hard like we’re in a movie?”

Suguru smiles bashfully and looks down into his drink, swirling the melting ice cubes with a straw – slowly, round and round, they clink. Then he draws his gaze back to you, catching you with a sultry side-eye, and now it’s not just the ice cubes that are melting.

“Nah-uh…”

“Nah-uh?” you question.

“… I think it’s you who’s gonna snap first.” He says.

“Wanna bet?” you tease.

“Sure. What’ll be at stake?” he asks.

He keeps his sultry gaze on you as you look off to the side in thought for a moment. Your friend’s joke echoes in your mind.

“… you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

Then you look back to him – his heart throbs but he’s trying to keep it together here, pulling his straw to his lips to get a sip of whatever rum still exists in his glass.

“Loser gets a regrettable tattoo?” you suggest.

He looks at you with a little bit of disbelief at your boldness.

“How regrettable?” he questions, one eye squinting shut in suspicion. He's wondering just how wild you actually are.

“Like my name on you? Or vice versa.”

He covers his mouth and lets out a chuckle hearing this. “You want me to tattoo my name on ya skin?” he teases. “Sure, I’ll bet on that.”

You can’t believe that he’s matching your crazy.

You stutter, replying only after a lingering moment of hot eye contact, “… there’s no way I’m gonna snap first…” you say boldly, proceeding to pop the cherry of your drink into your mouth and eating it right in front of the poor boy’s eyes. “ ‘m gonna have you walkin’ around with my name on you.”

Eyes glued on your lips, his breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah?”

Ooh, there it was. That feeling. That body singing electric songs feeling… that tummy-tightening, blood-rushing, skin-flushing feeling – it hit him all at once. He knows that if he were standing, his knees would have buckled now for sure, or at least he would have felt the tremor of your words under his feet.

He’s unsteady – smiling uncontrollably, looking dishevelled and softly drunk. Those rouge lips are begging to be kissed.

The bar grows quieter and quieter.

You’re hardly able to call each other anything more than strangers, and yet you’re leaning into him, closing the distance.

The tips of your noses are just inches apart now. You’re in each other’s air. He eyes out your lips, feels your hot, liquor-scented breath tickle his face.

But when you try and close the distance, he raises his hand and presses his thumb against your soft lips, stopping you.

“What happened to that bold statement, huh? Keep it together, baby; the bet’s on.” He feathers against your face.

*****

Tumbling into Shoko’s apartment after a night out drinking, you smile and giggle into the pillows of her bed.

She’s letting her hair down and swapping out her tight dress for jammies when she looks at you in your gleeful state.

“Someone’s in love.” She teases, coming over to tickle you.

“I’m not in love!”

“Oh, quit the act; I saw how the two of you said goodbye – you could barely hold yourself together. Drunk or not, I ain’t seen two adults giggling like that before.”

“Sh!” you swat her, “Not! In! Love!”

She takes a look into your eyes and observes your smile, then shakes her head. You're drowsy, so you make a dive into her bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

Shoko pulls a blanket over you, affectionately ruffling your hair.

“Madly in love, at the very least.”

#suguru #suguru geto #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you #suguru x you

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p1astr81 · 3 months ago

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friend is just a word

In which: you’re drunk off your ass and accidentally mistake formula one driver for a friend.

Pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

warnings: excessive alcohol consumption, not proofread😵‍💫

an: TYSM FOR 600 FOLLOWERS🥳🥳🥳

The music was blasting, light flares obstructing your vision while you tried to stumble back to your friends on weakening legs. The drink in your hand kissed the rim off the glass every now and then, but you hadn’t spilt any of it.

Your shoulder bumped into another, and you went to apologize, but your thoughts were thrown off by his familiar face.

If his face was familiar, he had to be a friend. Right?

A hand of yours gripped onto his shoulder for stability. He eyed the hand with a raised brow, but neglected to verbally question it.

It felt like your brain was trying to communicate with you, but it couldn’t penetrate the fog caused by the alcohol. “I didn’t know you were here!” His brown hair flopped when he flinched away from you, your voice far too loud for his ears to bare. “How have you been?! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Uh, good. I guess?” You didn’t catch his nervous glances.

“That’s amazing! You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I got that call back about the job with sky sports.”

He raised his brows in interest. “Oh really? What for?” His head cocked to the side.

“A second interview! I didn’t even know they did second interviews. I thought it was just one and done!” You laughed, an irregular high-pitched sound.

By now, Oscar was quite sure you weren’t aware of who he really was. Just that you thought you knew him. “Probably so they know you won’t bother the drivers.”

You feigned offense. “What! I would never do such a thing!”

Ironic, Oscar thought, you’re kind of doing it right now. But he didn’t really care. He actually found it kind of amusing.

He chuckled. “No, I’m sure you’d never bother them.”

You folded over in laughter. He didn’t even know he said anything funny. “Oh, you are too funny, Oscar!” You pretended to wipe a tear.

Strangely, that action might’ve brought you to your senses.

“Piastri.” Was the only word you spoke. It sat on the fringes of inaudible.

The panic that washed over your features was too humorous. He couldn’t not grin.

And then you went white. “I’m so sorry. I thought- oh, god.” You hid your face behind your hand. “I did not mean to bother you. I thought you were one of my friends.”

Oscar only chuckled. “I figured. No worries. It was pretty funny to watch.”

Maybe, just maybe, a part of him was glad it was him and not some other random guy in the bar.

“I’m gonna- yeah I’m gonna go back to my actually friends now.” You rambled. “Sorry!” A squeak.

The conversation didn’t end when you left, because then he had to return to his own party. Lando made fun of him for it.

“Awe! Osco finally found a girlfriend!” He teased, earning a head shake from Oscar.

“She was just drunk.” He waved off.

But lando wouldn’t let up. The whole night, he made off handed comments. He pointed her out anytime he saw her. And at one point,

“I’m gonna go talk to her. Be a wingman.” He flashed Oscar a toothy, mischievous grin and winked at him. Before Oscar could object, he was off.

You were laughing your ass off at something one of your friends said when a slightly slurred, British voice interjected. “Hey girls!” He greeted the group, a bright smile, before turning his gaze to you. “Hi.” He repeated, trying not to laugh at your overly shocked expression. “You see that guy in the blue shirt? Yeah, he wants your number but is too much of a pussy to ask for it himself, so here I am.” He explained with copious amounts of amusement.

Your brain took a minute to catch up with him. “Uh, uhm- yeah. Sure. I guess. Uh.” You scrambled to find something to write on and write with. “I have no paper.”

“Right.” Lando handed you his phone, open to the notes app. He couldn’t stop grinning as your fingers fumbled to type in your number, and when he said his goodbyes, and when he returned to Oscar.

“Got it. You can thank me by making me your best man.” He shrugged, too cocky for how easy the situation was.

“Yeah, whatever.” Oscar dismissed, but he took the number and saved it in his phone anyway.

He made a mental note to call you tomorrow, after your inevitable hangovers faded away.

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri blurb

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mysticlael · 5 months ago

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Bat inco quotes

Roy, in Jason’s bed: Morning… how’d ya sleep last night? Jason, knocking Roy off: WHAT THE HELL?! Roy: Ow— Jason: What were you doing in my bed? You were supposed to sleep on the air mattress on the floor! Roy: I had a nightmare. Jason: You had a nightmare? What are you, five years old? Roy: Listen, I needed to feel comfortable and I was getting this perverse power dynamic vibe from me sleeping on the floor and you sleeping up there- Jason, in a royal accent: Why yes, how high and mighty I am up on my twin XL! Roy: That is not what I meant— Jason: Silence in the presence of your king, who sleeps a lofty twelve and a half inches above the ground! Roy: Listen, I’m not ashamed. I slept comfortably when I got up on your bed and I’m sure you did too. Jason: Yeah, okay- Roy: You know what? I wanna know. How’d you sleep last night? Jason: …That was the best I’ve slept in a while. Roy, gasping: The king slept comfortably with a peasant in his bed! Jason: I did not consent to this- Roy, dramatically: But my liege, our love is forbidden! Jason, on the phone: Hi, is this the front desk? Yeah, there’s a bed bug in my room and he’s five-foot-eleven, he’s got red hair- Roy: Ask them if they have one of those “Do Not Disturb” signs. I’ll put it on the door next time we… do it. Jason: Okay, I'ma go shower and wash all of the you off of me. Roy: Oh, maybe together we could— Jason: NO. Roy: Just to save water— Jason: No! You don’t even pay for the water! Roy: …Good point.

Steph: *Texts a selfie to the group chat* Hey besties!! Jason: *Texts a selfie clearly parodying Steph's* hey besties !!1! Steph: I literally hate you so much.

Dick, holding a box of Lunchables: Ah, I loved these when I was your age… fine dining. Damian: Fix yourself.

Tim: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Steph: 'Prettiest Smile' Dick: 'Nicest Personality' Jason: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Cass: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Steph: Today at 7 am, Tim poured a Monster energy drink in their coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing. Dick: I watched Tim brew their coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think they ascended into the astral realm. Damian: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.

Damian, carrying a box: What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with 7 kittens one day? Bruce: … Bruce: What’s in the box? Damian: What woul- Bruce: Damian, what’s in the box? Damian: I think you know.

Bruce: Did you buy eggs like I asked? Damian: Even better! Bruce: What the fuck did you- Damian: *holding up a chicken* Her name is Fluffy.

Tim: What are we gonna do?! Jason: Blame you?

*Dick comes home absolutely drunk, undresses, and stands in Barbara’s bedroom.* Barbara: Dick, are you.. coming to bed? Dick: No thank you, I’m sure you’re lovely but I have a girlfriend. Dick: *Lies on the ground and falls asleep* Barbara: ...

Roy: sapnu puaS. Kori: What?? Jason: What language is that? Roy: Turn your phone 180 degrees. *Roy was removed from the groupchat*

Kon, admiring a sleeping Tim: You’re so cute. Tim, sleepily: I could beat your ass. Kon, lovingly: I know.

Duke: How do those little boys on XBOX parties always know what slur to call you? Tim: They're empaths.

Steph: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Dick: No, that's not how you make cookies. Duke: FLOOR IT!! Jason: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Damian: YOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Steph: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Tim: DO IT! Bruce: NO-

Tim, at Kon: Would you like to stay for dinner? Bernard, from the kitchen: Would you like to stay forever!?!

Damian: What the fuck is with english teachers and being like; "write a story about a deep and personal memory that impacted your life". Ma'am, if I do that you're going to send me to the counselor's office.

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ddejavvu · 8 months ago

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can you write something about how the gang handles a really emotional Curtis sister... Like she literally doesn't even know why shes crying most of the time she just is. She is literally me

send me requests for the outsiders!

At Dallas's groan, "Ah, here come the fuckin' waterworks again," all eyes are on you. You'd been hoping to fly under the radar, but now that seven pairs of eyes are staring at you, your tears escape hot and free down your cheeks.

"It's- I'm fine!" You insist, voice thick and choppy as you rush for the bathroom. You don't shut the door, because even if you did you know someone would have barged in. It's predictably Darry and Soda, but Two-Bit lingers in the hallway, peering in worriedly.

"You're okay, kid." Darry encourages you, a strong hand on your shoulder to help you get yourself under control, "Somethin' the matter?"

"What's with the tears, Baby Curtis?" Two asks, "Movie gettin' to 'ya?"

It's a horror movie- it's safe to say you're not sniffling over blood and guts.

"No, it's-" You sniffle, letting Sodapop tug you into his side where he's now perched on the lid of the toilet. He slings an arm around your waist and you lean gratefully into his side, thankful for the pressure of a body against yours.

"It's nothing. I don't know." You shrug helplessly, and Two smiles- kindly, not teasingly.

"You've got a condition or somethin'." He decides, traipsing back into the living room, "We oughta turn you in to a doctor, have them diagnose you with some crazy new brain condition. Maybe they could name it after you, kid."

"Yeah, Crybaby Curtis syndrome," Steve snickers, and Soda shouts a halfhearted, 'Be nice!' to his friend despite not being able to see him.

"Lay off, Steve," Johnny groans, and you hear Ponyboy chime in with a fervent, 'Yeah!' that he would have kept to himself had Johnny not led the charge. Despite having the upper hand, Ponyboy still struggles to pick fights with Steve. Usually it's a losing battle.

"Come on, kiddo." Darry urges, and Soda sticks close to your side as you shuffle back into the living room. Dallas doesn't move aside to give you your old seat back where he's stretched out over half of it, but he also doesn't protest when you throw your leg over his own to fit on the cushion.

"You've gotta man up, kid." Dally decides, snatching his cigarette out of his mouth and blowing the smoke into your face, "Can't be burstin' into tears all the time. People are gonna think you're weak."

"I am weak," You concede feebly, wiping at one last tear that streaks down your cheeks, "I don't know why it happens most'uh the time. Just does."

"Some people are just like that." Johnny smiles kindly at you, and you appreciate his sweetness, "We ain't gonna judge you."

"It'll be great for gettin' out of trouble," Sodapop grins mischieviously at you, "Just think, when you're a wild child in high school, and you're comin' home drunk at 2AM, Darry's gonna yell at you. Just flash him those teary eyes of yours and he'll get all soft for 'ya, he'll let you off real easy."

"Hey- Don't you go givin' her any ideas." Darry points a warning finger at Soda, and Ponyboy scoffs, surely jealous at the prospect of your secret weapon.

You share a secret smile with Soda, though, one that's hidden from both of your brothers. Two-Bit catches it and snorts, "Damn, Darry. I'm not itchin' to be you in a few years."

"Well then you'd better start hangin' out at your own house every once in a while," Darry glares at him, "You spend so much time here I'm gonna give you a chore on the chore chart."

"I don't even do chores at my own place," Two-Bit snickers, like the suggestion is the funniest one he's ever heard. He stretches his arm out behind your head, resting it on your far shoulder, "Just call me whenever you're goin' to those parties, Y/N, and I'll get drunker'n you, make you look like a saint in comparison."

"Dally's a saint in comparison to you, Two-Bit," Ponyboy gripes, "Just don't climb through my window expecting me to help you sneak past Darry."

"Now I mean it, boys," Darry snaps, "Don't go givin' her ideas! Conversation over."

Dallas waits all of three seconds before leaning down, tucking his face beside your ear so that he can drawl, "I'll teach you how to sneak past him if you can go without cryin' for a day."

"Deal." You hold out a pinky for him to link with his own, and if anyone else in Tulsa had offered it, they'd have gotten slugged. Instead, Dallas's finger curls around yours, and he shoots you a shit-eating grin, eyes glimmering dangerously, "24 hours, crybaby. Don't let me down."

#curtis!reader #darry curtis x reader #darry curtis x sister!reader #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x sister!reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis x sister!reader #the outsiders x reader #two-bit mathews x reader #two-bit mathews x curtis!reader #curtis sister!reader #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston x curtis!reader #steve randle x reader #steve randle x curtis!reader #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade x curtis!reader

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whateverloomis · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can i ask for a billy loomis x reader where she gets a tattoo of his name either in the side of her breast or in her hip and she shows him and they fuck (if you decide to put the tattoo in her ass he would def drill into reader doggystyle 💀)

This was incredibly fun to write. Thanks for your request anon 💋

🔞 Warnings: AFAB reader (she/her,) cheating, shower sex, fingering, roughness, reader has pre-determined interests, reader has tattoos, implied size difference, unedited

Word count: 2.6k

"That's ridiculous Stu!" - "A dare is a dare Tatum, she has to do it!" Stu countered while laughing. The couple, Randy and you decided it was a great idea to play truth or dare while drunk. Sidney and Billy had to leave early and the four of you got bored. Stu was obviously the one who suggested the game.

"I mean, he does have a point." Randy said and Tatum gasped in disbelief; "Wh- Are you seriously siding with Stu on this?! YN! Are you even okay with this?" Tatum asked and you sighed, closing your eyes in defeat. "Look, I appreciate your concern Tate, but I mean... I already have tattoos, another small one isn't going to hur-" - "This is Billy's name we're talking about here, YN. What if Sidney sees it? Or even worse, what if Billy sees it? These two idiots aren't going to keep their mouths shut." The girl has a point, but you honestly didn't care. It could easily get covered up with something else in the future.

"You're right on that one." You said and glared at Randy and Stu before continuing; "But I can get it covered up once it heals, plus it's going to be hidden-" - "What about when we go to the lake next weekend, hm? It wont be hidden there, your hip is going to be exposed." Tatum interrupted.

You didn't know why she was so concerned. Maybe it was because of the whole "tattoos are permanent" or "don't get anyone's name tattooed" mentality.

You smiled at Tatum softly and placed your hand on hers reassuringly; "I'll be fine, okay? We're all friends and it's not going to be an issue. It'll just be for some laughs and then I'll get it covered up, okay?"

Tatum sighed, visibly calming down and glaring at Stu and Randy; "You guys are paying for the cover up too." - "What?! That's not part of the dare!" Randy complained and Tatum rolled her eyes; "It is now, dumb ass." - "That's enough guuyyss, who's up next?!" Stu finished the argument.

•

As promised, you went to the local tattoo shop and got "Billy Loomis" tattooed on your right hip.

"Hooh, that looks hot not gonna lie." Stu said while sticking his tongue out. Tatum rolled her eyes playfully and blew a bubble with her chewing gum; "I gotta say, it is a hot placement."

You smirked at your friends and stood up straight so the tattoo artist could put protective film over the ink.

"If Sidney wasn't with Billy he'd 100% be into this." Randy said and you gasped, smirking at him; "Randy shut up! Oh my God..." - 'Who said he wouldn't like it now?" Stu said and smirked at you. You bit your lip in response and rolled you eyes playfully. You knew they were just teasing and joking around, but having your crush's name tattooed on you was a total turn on, and you felt like a little slut with your dirty little secret.

•

When you arrived at your house that night, you couldn't stop staring at his name engraved with ink on your skin.

You modeled in front of the mirror with the bikini you were planning to wear next weekend and imagined how Billy would react to you looking as hot as you did with his name on you. You wondered if he'd actually like it, like Randy and Stu said. If he'd get turned on by it. Hell, if he'd fuck you because of it. Your imagination ran wild with all the possibilities.

Billy had always been low-key flirty with you, and you had to admit that it confused you considering that he has a girlfriend, but you figured that he's comfortable being around you and maybe follows your lead just for fun. I mean, friends casually flirt sometimes jokingly so you guessed it was normal between you guys.

•

It was finally the end of the week and you were leaving to the cabin that Stu's parents own. There's apparently a huge lake that's perfect for the hot summer sun.

Your bag was made and you were once again admiring Billy's name on your skin. The tattoo was small enough to peel and heal just enough to get in the water during the week.

You were putting sun block on your skin and the tattoo looked vivid with the moisture of the cream. You couldn't wait for Billy to see it.

Stu pulled up to your driveway and honked the horn of his parents van. You jumped in excitement and ran down the stairs, bag in hand. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, you opened the door and walked towards the car.

Everyone was already seated and there was a space reserved for you at the very back with Randy.

"You ready to show Billy your new tatt- Ow!" you hit Randy on his bicep and Billy looked back from his seat. "Show me what?" He asked, confusion written all over his face.

Stu let out a breathy laugh and Tatum thumped him. Billy looked at the couple suspiciously and bit his inner cheek in annoyance. Luckily he didn't question you again, but he definitely knew something was going on with how obvious everyone was being.

•

After a three hour drive, you guys finally arrived at Stu's cabin and settled in before heading outside and picking a spot to set up a picnic in front of the lake.

The sun was shining bright and the water looked a nice teal color. It was still and quiet.

You could hear the birds and the wind swishing the trees. You helped Tatum and Sidney set up everything before sitting down on the blanket to bathe under the sun.

Taking your short flowy black sun dress off, you revealed your indigo blue bikini. It hugged your body perfectly and exposed just the right amount of skin and curves.

You sat down on the picnic blanket next to the girls and made eye contact with Billy who was taking his shirt off next to you. He raked his eyes up and down your body before giving you a subtle smirk. You bit your lip and looked away only to find Stu giving you a knowing look followed by a breathy laugh. You flipped him off and he shrugged, laughing before running into the water with Randy like a maniac.

Tatum gave you a knowing look as well and you nodded at her before looking at Sidney. "Hey uh, Sid..." You started; "I have something to show you, but I'm giving you context first because it's a little weird."

Sidney looked at you, a subtle smile on her face mixed with confusion; "Yes?" - "Last week when you and Billy left Stu's house early, the rest of us playd truth or dare an-" - "Oh my God, did you kiss Randy?" She asked jokingly and you placed your hand over your mouth to suppress a loud laugh; "What?! No! No... Ugh okay, I got dared by Stu to get Billy's name tattooed on my hip and I did it." You finished quickly and showed the girl your new ink.

Sidney gasped and laughed at the sight. "Oh my Gosh, you're crazy!" - "You see Tatum?! I told you she wouldn't get mad." You said, rolling your eyes at the blonde and she gasped; "Hey! I'm just trynna look out for my girlies, God."

All three of you laughed and looked ahead at the lake. "I wonder what Billy will say." Sidney wondered and you looked at her; "Do you think he'll get mad or something?" - "Nah, I don't think so. Well, maybe at Stu for being an ass and making you do it." Sid replied and you nodded in response, sudden nervousness taking over.

•

After a while, you and the girls decided to get in the water and enjoy the cool temperature after sun bathing.

You approached the shore and Stu swam towards you like a shark waiting to attack.

Before you could dip your whole body in, Stu gasped dramatically. "Oh myyy, YN? Is that a new tattoo?"

You looked at him in disbelief and thumped him; "Shut up, Stu" - "Damn would you look at that! It is a new tattoo" Randy said and looked at Billy. Subtlety wasn't part of both your friends at that moment.

Billy glared at both of them and then stared at you and the girls.

"What the hell is going on with you guys? You've been acting weird since we picked up YN." - "Ugh, Stu dared me to get your name tattooed on my hip and I did, okay?" You answered quickly, annoyance written on your face.

Billy raised an eyebrow and smirked, followed by a laugh. "You actually did it?" He asked while walking towards you.

Stu was trying to hold his laughter in but could barely do it. Tatum smacked his bicep and glared at him. "Don't be an ass." She whispered, the situation clearly being awkward for you.

Billy crouched down in front of you and you showed him the ink, trying to maintain distance, but he was making it impossible.

Billy ran his thumb over the tattoo and let out a breathy laugh. "You're insane." he said and looked up at you. He was amused and his touch made goosbumps arise on your body. It didn't go unnoticed by him and he smirked.

The boy stood up and towered over you, looking straight into your eyes. You blushed at his close proximity. "I like it, it looks hot on you," he said, loud enough for only you to hear before swimming away.

The rest of the group joined him and started playing with water guns and other toys, however you stood in the same spot a few seconds longer, but Randy snapped you out of your daze.

"You coming?" He asked, and you swam towards him. "Didn't know you have a little crush on Billy boy." he said, and you looked at him, faking confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about." - "Oh c'mon, you were tense as a rock." - "Shut up Randy. Even if I did, he's dating Sidney so I'd have to get over it." You countered and he lifted his hands in defeat. "Chill, I'm just messing with you." He laughed softly before swimming along with you.

•

After being in the lake nearly all day you decided to take a shower before joining the group. Little did you know, Billy was also in the cabin waiting to get you alone.

Walking into the bathroom, as you were closing the door something stopped it from moving. You opened it to check what was blocking it and saw it was Billy.

You gasped in surprise and looked up at him. "You can use it first, I can wait a few more minutes to shower." You said and Billy walked a bit closer to you. "Mm no, you go ahead. I don't mind waiting here." He said and stepped in with you, locking the door behind him.

"What um... Are you doi-" - Before you could finish your sentence, Billy pushed you against the wall and kissed you. You yelped against his lips but returned the kiss without thinking about it a few seconds later.

Billy pulled back and looked away, biting his lower lip. "Fuck... Sorry, I've been wanting to do that all day... For so long, at this point." He whispered.

You were at a loss of words and in disbelief. He actually wanted to kiss you? Wanted to feel your soft lips against his?

"Billy I... Why? You're with Sidn-" - "Fuck Sidney... God, that tattoo... My name on your skin? I wanted to fuck you right then and there when you showed me." He admitted, running his hand over your hip.

You couldn't believe what was happening. Billy Loomis wants you just as much as you want him. All this time you could've had him.

The feeling of want consumed your body. You didn't care about Sidney. Selfishness took over you and God did the thrill feel good.

You didn't waste anymore time and kissed him again, quickly reaching for his hair and pulling at the strands.

He moaned as quietly as he could and pulled you against him by your hips.

Billy squeezed the flesh and moved his hands up your back, untying your bikini straps followed by the ones over your neck.

The piece of fabric fell on the floor and he grabbed your tits in his large hands, squeezing them softly while pinching and playing with your nipples. The little moans you released made his cock twitch, it begging to be set free.

"Fuck... You're so hot." Billy whispered while snaking one hand down your body and untying your bikini bottoms.

He ran two fingers between your folds and felt the wetness coat them. He brought his hand up to his mouth and tasted you, moaning as a response.

"You taste so fucking good." He said and you whined at the sight. Billy gestured to the shower with his head and looked into your eyes; "Let's get in there."

You widened your eyes in surprise and bit your bottom lip; "Are you crazy?" - "Maybe, I mean... You wanted to take a shower, right?" He replied, smirking.

•

In the shower, the water ran hot over you. Billy had you against one of the cold walls, your tits pressing against his chest while he finger fucked you and rubbed your clit with his thumb.

"Fuck... Fuck, Billy please." You begged him to move his hand faster, but he was torturing you with his slow movements.

You squeezed his fingers with your cunt and it only made his cock harder against you.

"You feel so good around my fingers baby." He whispered in your ear and your breathing picked up. You were trying to be quiet but fuck he was making you feel so good that you wanted to scream.

You grabbed his cock and started to stroke it just as slow as he was fucking you with his fingers. He cursed under his breath and kissed you impossibly slow. You guys were driving each other crazy, and Billy didn't want to wait any longer to fuck that sweet cunt of yours.

Pulling his fingers out of you, the emptiness made you moan quietly against his shoulder.

Billy moved you towards the see through panel of the shower and pressed you facing forward. Your tits were squished against the glass and you could see the reflection in the mirror above the sink. You looked impossibly hot, and when you felt Billy lift one of your legs to the side, slipping inside your sopping cunt? It was over.

You let out a moan that was too loud for your liking and Billy covered your mouth with one of his hands while the other held your hip to keep you pressed against the glass.

He snapped his hips against your ass and filled you up deliciously with his cock.

You craned your head to the side and grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling his head towards you and kissing him.

You breathed heavily into each other's mouths as Billy pounded into you.

Thanks to him working you up with his fingers you were incredibly sensitive, so when he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit in circles it was over for you.

You moaned against his palm and came around his cock, squirting in the process. Billy looked down between your bodies and the sight of his cock pumping inside of you while you squeezed your walls around him was enough for him to reach his own high.

Billy pulled out and jerked himself, cumming over your ass.

The water slowly washed everything off your body and you turned around to face him.

"This will be our little secret, hm?" Billy whispered and you bit your lower lip, nodding in response before initiating another make out session.

#billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostfacesmut #billy loomis x you #scream (1996)#stu macher smut #stu macher x billy loomis #stu matcher x reader

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xoxolaw · 14 days ago

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hi! I’d love it if you could write something about seongje x reader based on that one tweet that was like my girl can wear whatever she wants because I can break your jaw…maybe somebody saying something rude to the reader about her outfit or the opposite getting a little too flirty for seongje’s liking…curious to see what you could come up with

+ 𝗜 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗕𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗞 𝗔 𝗝𝗔𝗪

in which he makes sure that his girl is comfortable enough to wear anything she wants.

+ 𝗚𝗘𝗨𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗝𝗘 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

The apartment smelled like cologne, heat, and flat iron spray.

She was on her third outfit and her last nerve.

“Okay,” she mumbled to herself in the mirror, smoothing the hem of the skirt that barely brushed mid-thigh, “this one. Maybe.”

The black fabric clung to her hips, snug enough to notice. Paired with a cropped satin top and her hair still damp at the ends, she looked… good. Too good, maybe.

She tugged the skirt down a little.

“Too much?”

From the living room, Seong-je glanced up from the couch — sprawled out in a hoodie and jeans, one leg over the other, phone in hand but clearly not reading whatever was on the screen.

He blinked once when he saw her.

Then again. Slower.

“You’re wearing that?” he said, voice unreadable.

Her stomach dropped a little. “I was thinking, but—okay, I knew it was too much. I’ll change, I just thought I’d—”

“Did I say I didn’t like it?” he cut in.

She paused.

He got up, moved toward her slowly, the heavy steps of someone who wasn’t in a rush but still meant business. His eyes trailed over her legs, the curve of her waist, the soft skin just above the waistband of her skirt.

He stopped inches in front of her, gaze still low.

“Twirl.”

“What—”

“I said twirl.”

She raised an eyebrow but spun half-heartedly on her heel.

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. You’re wearing that.”

Her laugh cracked out. “Seong-je—”

“No, really.” He hooked a finger into her waistband, tugging her closer until her hips bumped his. “If anyone says anything tonight—about your legs, or your ass, or your outfit—”

He leaned in, voice low and lazy like a threat wrapped in velvet.

“I’ll handle it.”

She looked up at him, lips parted.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious about you.”

His hand slid from her waist to her jaw, tilting her face up gently.

“You wear what makes you feel hot,” he said. “Because you are. And if anyone forgets how to speak with respect…”

His eyes darkened. His thumb brushed her lower lip.

“I know how to break a jaw.”

✮⋆˙

The party was already packed by the time they arrived.

A rented flat just off campus—second-floor unit, high ceilings, too many people crammed into every room, music vibrating through the floor. Someone had brought LED lights and too many bottles, and the smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume clung to everything.

She tightened her grip on Seong-je’s hand as they stepped inside.

She wasn’t exactly shy. But walking into a room like this—with that outfit, with all those eyes—it made her skin crawl a little.

“Hey!” someone waved from the kitchen. “Drinks in here!”

She moved forward but froze when she realized Seong-je hadn’t followed.

He was still in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room with clinical precision—his jaw tense, shoulders squared.

“Seong-je?”

He blinked once and looked at her. “Yeah, go ahead.”

She leaned closer. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” he said, tone softening as he tucked a hand into her back. “Just watching.”

She smiled. “You always do.”

✮⋆˙

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the couch, half-drunk on soda and stolen glances, when it happened.

A group of guys near the stereo had been whispering for a while—too obvious, too loud, the kind of confidence that only came in packs.

She caught a few words:

“Skirt…”

“…just asking for it…”

“…who brings their girl dressed like that to a party like this?”

And then:

“I’d lose it if she bent over in that, bro—”

That was the last sentence Seong-je heard before he stood up.

“Stay here,” he told her.

His tone didn’t change.

His steps weren’t fast.

But the feeling of him crossing the room made three people go silent before he even opened his mouth.

He didn’t raise his voice.

Just looked the guy dead in the eyes and said, “What did you just say about her?”

Silence.

Then stammering.

“Man, it was a joke—”

“She’s not a joke.”

Seong-je tilted his head. “She walked in looking better than anyone here, and the only thing that came out of your mouth was that?”

The guy glanced nervously at his friends, but no one stepped in.

“You wanna stare?” Seong-je went on, voice calm, lethal. “Fine. Stare. But you open your mouth again, I’ll make sure you have to sip your drinks through a tube for the next two months.”

The guy paled.

Seong-je didn’t blink.

“You get one warning,” he added. “This was it.”

And then he turned around, calm as ever, and walked back.

She was still on the couch, eyes wide, drink untouched.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She blinked. “You didn’t hit him.”

He leaned down, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

“I wanted to,” he said. “But you look too good tonight.”

His lips touched her temple.

“Didn’t wanna get blood on you.”

✮⋆˙

They left early.

By the time they got back home, the music from the party still rang in her ears, but the tension had long since melted into something warmer.

She dropped her heels by the door, toes flexing against the cool floor.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, voice trailing.

He turned from the kitchen counter, where he was pouring them both some water. “For what?”

“For always making me feel safe.”

He came closer, handing her the glass, and when she took it, he pulled her into his chest instead. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and he pressed a kiss into her hair.

“You don’t need me to feel safe,” he said softly. “You could kill a man with that heel if you wanted.”

She snorted into his hoodie.

“But,” he added, voice quieter now, “you never have to deal with any of that alone.”

Her hands tightened in the fabric.

He held her like that for a long time. No rush. No expectations. Just warmth and his heartbeat steady under her ear.

“I hate that they looked at you like that,” he said eventually.

“I don’t care anymore,” she whispered. “Because you looked at me like I was the only one in the room.”

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Hope you enjoyed it <3

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@sunnyophelia @atztrsr @snoopsyka @cayrelyra @symphonies-of-poenies @ghost-reine @ginaaaa29 @gacktsa @inom17 @coffee-ii @dna-black-and-blue @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @kyungjunnies @changbinkisser @mishh2728 @0waves2earth @ashayein @janjoonty @ineed-myspace @loveg4lore @itzcandy

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #wolf keum

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riotgurlll · 4 days ago

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Chance (From Date Everything) Headcannons... NSFW

Okay so I'm obsessed with DE as well as Chance, And i've seen SO little material for this cutie so I'm taking it into my own hands.

TW: NSFW content, aka explicit material, spelling and grammar errors probably, plz be warned and lmk if I missed anything.

Contents/Mentions: Dom/Sub dynamic, Roleplay, depictions of male genitalia, mentions non-monogamy, gender neutral/afab or amab inclusive

---

-Chance is a nerd. A dork, if you will. Did you see how excited he was when you indulged in his interest in GnG? The way his pretty brown eyes lit up when you expressed that you'd be interested in joining a session of his? He's such a sweetheart.. The more you visited him, the more he felt himself growing fonder and fonder of you. The way you went along with his stories, listened to him ramble on about the subject in it's entirety- gods, everything about you was just so perfect...

-He'd be a liar if he said you didn't turn him on.

-Chance may be a dork, but that doesn't stop him from teasing you- in his own cute and cheesy way, sometimes. Take things from the character sheets, to the other sheets? Say less! If chance is sure that you're interested in him, he's not afraid of making some flirty remarks.. clearly.

-He's a switch, 100%. Sometimes, when you two are playing a game and you're heavily debating you options, or he's watching you as you write about or draw your character, he can't help but admire your features. His mind drifts to... other things, as well. He just can't help it! You're so... alluring. The way your clothes fit your body- whether they're tight or baggy, doesn't go un-noticed by him. It's not uncommon for him to compliment you openly, simply- because deep down? He knows you love it when he does.

He can't help but imagine taking control over you- to show you how grateful he is that you spend so much time with him.. He'd quietly tell you sweet nothings, praising you for your kindness and creativity. He'll stroke your hair gently, holding it back for you to it doesn't fall in front of your face while bends you over and fucks you on your desk. You can't help but feel flustered... Poor Dasha! Mac too... But let's be honest, Mac has seen all the fanfiction you've read on your nerdy crushes, so they aren't surprised. And Dasha? Honestly probably rooting for Chance in her head. She's... so proud...! (sniffle)

But alas, there really is no true privacy in the house, and honestly, we all know not a single object in that damn house objects to seeing you that way. (haha. get it. objects. ha..)

But what if you were to get on top of him? Even if things started out with him having more control, he'd fall apart. Can you blame him? Seeing you bouncing on him like that is literally one of the hottest things you could do, like... ever. He'd be letting out all sorts of noises- whimpers, moans. I just KNOW he would get all whiny when he gets close, for sure. Feeling you clench around him drives him insane... Don't even get him started on the view.

-Speaking of, I think he's vocal ALL the way. Moans, Whimpers, whines, it doesn't matter. Personally, he hates the whole idea that men should be quiet during intimacy- why would he hide his pleasure from you? He wants you to know. He wants you to know how your beautiful self makes him feel. He'll talk you through it too, his voice getting all soft and low while he fucks himself into you. Chefs kiss, fr. Expect to here "yeah?" from this man. Especially if you're into it, cuz he knows full well what that'll do to you. He'll have the audacity to ask you if you feel good while you're cock drunk.. like mf? Obviously????

-Definitely into praise, both giving and receiving. He'll tell you how good you feel, how pretty/handsome you are.. He'll go on and on about how you're perfect for him, about how he fits inside you just right. He'll tell you that all he want's is to make you feel good, just like how you make him feel.

And if you praise him? That's a quick way to get him into a submissive space reeeeaaaal quick. Something about hearing you compliment him, tell him he's doing so good? He'll fold immediately. Tell him he's pretty- he'll whimper with no hesitation as he rests his head against whatever part of your body is closest to him. Your stomach, crook of your neck- forehead, he's down bad. BAD bad.

-Biceps. this doesn't have to be NSFW, but if you're like me, it is. iykyk.

-^^^ Okayyy, I'll expand upon this... I think he's both buff and chubby at the same time- I mean, look at him. He probably works out just so he can look like an OC of his or something, but who gives a fuck. He's strong, and soft. I just know this man gives the best hugs, don't even fucking play w me rn. Imagine him hugging you close while he fucks himself up into you? Yeah. Yeah. I don't need to say anything else about this.

-He's a solid 4.5 when he's soft- and now I know some of ya'll think that's tiny but it really isn't. Regardless, he's a grower anyways. When he gets hard, he's around 6 inches. I don't think he's circumsized though in all honesty. I just know this mans tip is sensitive. Chance is also thick, like serious girth here. You know those mini sized soda cans? That's probably the closest thing I can compare it to. I'm thinking his base is #f5ae8a- (Yeah. we're getting specific). His tip is probably around a #fb9888 color.

His cock is def curved too- upwards, to the left. It's so heavy that it has to lean one way anyways.

-OKAY. Imma state the obvious here. CLEARLY this man is into roleplaying in the sheets. It's cannon bruh. Now, this can be a spectrum- And if roleplay in bed isn't your thing, he won't force it on you whatsoever. It's not something he requires sexually.

However, if you are into it, he's happy. It doesn't even have to be some elaborate scenario. Cosplay as one of your GnG characters? He's sat. Or just cosplay in general- Put on a Tifa Lockhart (FROM THE LATER GAMES.) fit if you're fem leaning, he's acting like a damn dog. It doesn't have to be a fantasy outfit, it could be any reasonable character, he doesn't give a PISS. Going to a Renaissance festival with friends? Better see him while you're in that outfit cuz he's gonna be all over you. He's a nerd, he can't help it.

-Two man w Parker?- OOP??? Who said that... guys.... oh my gosh...

-When it comes to oral, of COURSE he loves giving. He would eyp or syd for hours if u could take it, that's just the truth- but he does have a guilty pleasure for receiving. Watching you go down on him is literally a dream come true. He'll be grabbing your hair, fucking up into your mouth, all while sounding like a damn porno above you.

"Just like that.." "Please, don't stop.." "y'feel so good...-"

-He'd call you nicknames for sure. Beautiful, Handsome, Honey, Love, Sweetheart- anything,really. And he'd love to hear you call him those things too. Could definitely get behind sir and ma'am in a roleplay scenario.

-Honestly a thigh/ass guy. Phatty or nah, he doesn't give a fffFFFFUCK. Wrap those damn legs around him- crush his head, do whatever. And you best believe he looooves hitting it from the back. He'll grab onto your hips like he needs it to live.

-He doesn't care what you look like, but I feel like he would have a sweet spot for chubby people. Def the type of guy to say there's "more to love". He loves a tummy.

-Sit on that mans face. He loves that shit SOOO much. And no, don't hover either, he'll grab you and make you sit if he has to- he's not playing.

-He'd also love to see you lingerie. Put on something dark red and lacey, he'll be on his knees unwrapping you like a present in seconds. He'll press kisses all over you, down your stomach, your thighs, chest, neck- he can't get enough of you.

-Chance would love it if you grinded on his thigh while he was doing something- maybe updating a character sheet, taking notes for a storyline while also having a hand on your hip/ass as he helped you rut your hips against his strong leg. Occasionally, he'll press kisses to your lips and jaw before getting back to work.

-He loves his hands. He loves running them all over your body in places you like and allow him to. He loves being about to grope at your body, being able to hold you, move you at his will. He's got big hands too, no doubt. Big, strong hands with thick fingers that feel amazing inside of you, or wrapped around you.

-Would mumble "Holy crit" During it. Don't lie to urself, he would. That man will be giving you the most dubious back shots in centuries and you'll hear him whisper it under his breath.

-If you were to tease him, he'd definitely get all blushy. he's so cute!!! He'd get all stuttery, probably avoid eye contact. Just because he's more confident than he may seem doesn't mean you can't make him flustered, and TRUST me, it's easy to make him flustered- if it's coming from you, of course.

-Not smutty or nsfw but I headcannon him to have HELLA tattoos up and down both his arms. I know he already has one on the underside of his forearm, but I'm talking SLEEVES.

-Check ups every now and then. You guys have a safe word too- which just so happens to be Gargoyle.

-Aftercare is sooo important to him. He'll be sure to clean you up gently, get you some water, a snack if you need it. He'll cuddle with you, run his hands through your hair- whatever you need, you have it. And it's the other way around, if you're domming him, make sure you take care of this man. It makes him feel so loved and cared for- if you brush him off, then he just feels tossed around and used.

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milla-frenchy · 3 months ago

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You oughta know

4k2 | Clint Flood x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: after your ex breaks your heart yet again, you ask your dad’s best friend for a favour

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Age gap (reader is 20, Clint is in his late 40s, early 50s), virginity loss, dbf!Clint, Clint is a little sleazy but soft, pet names (Clint calls reader kid, honey, baby), pussy pronouns, praise kink, oral (f/m), unprotected piv, creampie

a/n: writing really helps to process things. So this one is dedicated to one of my shitty ex bf (no dbf in my own story, tho). To my 16 yo self: you did great, girl 🫂😘

The fic is titled after “You oughta know” by Alanis Morissette, this absolutely perfect and full of rage banger. Shameless use of some lyrics at the end of the fic

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for being you, and for beta-ing me💕🫶 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

You and Mike have never been a thing for a long time, or a thing at all. When he offered you a drink one night, you didn't tell him to fuck off, even though he had already broke your heart twice. Seemed that you were a kind of girl who thought she could fix the fucked up ones.

The way it ended the third time was the worst.

"Still a virgin? Yeah, that's not gonna work. I want someone who knows how to suck a cock, you know? Or to ride me. Not someone who knows nothing."

You ran into him again a few days later, his arm wrapped around some girl’s waist. She was prettier than you, more confident. And probably more experienced. They laughed when they saw you.

Fucking assholes.

You dragged your broken heart around for a while, until you saw Clint one night at the bar, shamelessly making out with a woman, his hand cupping her breast over her top. He was sitting on a barstool, she was standing between his thighs, and the way he was kissing and touching her made you stop dead in your tracks. It was hot, and for a moment you imagined yourself in her place and your pussy clenched. You were more turned on by that sight of him than by any other guys who had kissed you before. Including Mike.

Clint was your father's best friend, he often came to the trailer where your dad and you lived, and they would drink beers and watch a game. Unlike his friend, your father was not really reliable, too often drunk, and a real jerk. Telling you off a thousand times for your mother leaving him. Forgetting that she had left you too, when she’d run away from him.

Clint was cool even though it pissed you off when he called you “kid”. He didn’t give a shit, and seemed to enjoy it, looking straight into your eyes with a smile on his lips.

When your dad ended up drunk on the couch, Clint would often smoke a cigarette with you, then give you a few more before driving off in his Chevrolet. He wasn't much of a talker, but at least he wasn't a jerk. And he was hot.

So when you saw him at the bar that night, you thought about your shitty ex and got angry. He wanted you to be experienced? You were going to fix it with someone who would surely know how to handle it.

A few days later, Clint mentioned to your father about going to the movies the next night, and you knew he always liked to go alone.

Now Clint had a date with you, he just didn't know it yet. And you had to figure out how to convince him.

The movie was at 6 pm, and you finished work at 4. That gave you time to shower before going to the cinema.

Your father was home when you got there, and you wondered if he'd already been fired from his new job. As usual, he made a comment about your skirt being too short when you left. You didn't reply, got in your car and put on some music, trying to control your anxiety.

Clint’s car was already parked on the street when you arrived, and once you entered the movie theater you spotted him immediately at the back row. You went to sit next to him, and he saw you as you were walking along the seats, his usual reserved expression set on his face.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

You were so anxious that you didn't even roll your eyes at the usual nickname.

“Watching a movie. What are you doing here?” you retorted, trying not to show how nervous you were. He shrugged, and you sat down next to him, your short skirt reaching mid-thigh. His gaze slid over your legs for a second before returning to the screen, and the movie started.

He glanced at your thighs once or twice during the movie, and it gave you the courage to brush his arm and an elbow a few times with your own. He never pulled away until he finally turned to you and whispered, “you wanna explain what you're doin’?”

“Come with me,” you said as you stood up- not sure if he was going to follow you, but you could feel the heat of his gaze on your ass. You waited by the bathroom and he joined you a few seconds later.

“You're making me miss the movie,” he grumbled.

“It’s a shitty one anyway,” you replied as you pushed the door to the men's bathroom and entered before checking that no one was there.

"I need your help," you said and quickly explained what you needed from him, not overthinking it for once.

A man opened the door and entered before Clint had time to react to your words. Your father’s friend turned to him, and growled, "it’s busy."

The man’s eyes lingered on you, so Clint took a step closer to him and asked, “the fuck you're looking at?” The guy didn't argue and left. You heard him open the women's restrooms and rolled your eyes.

Clint turned to you, a questioning look on his face. “You want me to fuck you? For your first time?”

“Yeah.”

“To piss off that jerk and get him back?”

“Yeah...”

He scoffed. “This is the dumbest shit ever.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment. You thought that after today when he‘d come to the trailer it would be awkward, that you were very naive to tell him about everything, carried away by your anger. That you should have overthought it.

“You shouldn't go back to him after that.”

His implied sentence made you raise your head and you looked at him hopefully.

“I'm not one of those men who whine some shit like “oh no, no… you're my friend's daughter, I won't fuck you.” Fuck it. You wanna fuck? I'll fuck you, no problem.”

Your smile went wide. “Great. In here?” you asked, pointing at one of the stalls, and he sneered at your words.

“Damn, you're not a subtle kind, kid. No, not here, ‘course not. You can't take this cock like that. Well, you could, but I'm not sure you'd like it. Need some time to get you ready.”

“Ok, when then?” You felt the heat rise in your cheeks at your completely uncontrolled impatience.

“Jeez, he really pissed you,” he smirked. “You're on the pill or something?”

“No, I’m not... Didn’t really need to.”

“Well, honey. I won't pull out, and I won't fuck you with a condom. I'll fuck you raw."

"I'll get the pill, then," you replied. He nodded, then told you to come to his place on Friday night.

"Ok. But Clint?… you're clean, right?”

“ ‘course I'm clean, honey.”

“I thought you'd chicken out,” he smirked when he opened the door for you on Friday. “But you didn't,” he added, taking you in from head to toe.

You rolled your eyes and said “and you? you didn’t chicken out?”

He chuckled. “Told you, you wanna get fucked, I'm all in. I won't say ‘no’ to a tight, virgin cunt, kid. Just don't tell your father, obviously. Don't need that shit in my life. And you aren’t spending the night here. I don’t wanna be rude, ok? But sometimes we can feel… things, after the first time. It can't happen, it would be too damn complicated. Ok? It’s just sex.”

You nodded, a little shy to be in front of him, now that you fully realized what was going to happen soon.

“Okay. So, what have you already done, sexually?”

“I.. ehm… watch porn.”

He raised his eyebrows then said “porn ain't real life, honey. What else?”

“I jerked off a guy once.”

“You made him come?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” he nodded, as if to encourage you. “Ok, what else?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing? Nobody ever went down on you?”

“No.”

“Guys are so stupid, nowadays, damn…” he said, shaking his head. “Okay, undress and lie down on the bed.”

You hesitated and looked around, silently asking for his help.

“I'm not really the romantic type, you know?”

“Come on, Clint. Help me a little, ok?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, and something flashed through his eyes. As if he somehow realized that you needed some softness.

He nodded and moved closer to you, pulling your top off. You looked at him shyly as his gaze lowered to your breasts before he cupped them with his large, warm hands. You shivered at the touch of his skin. He bent down, took your nipple in his mouth and sucked on it slowly, making it twirl under his tongue.

Then he took you in his arms. You weren’t expecting it but it was comforting. He was so big that it felt like being enveloped in a protective cocoon of warmth and your body relaxed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close. He breathed in your scent, nuzzling the spot just below your ear, then said “lie down” in a low voice.

Once on the bed he knelt between your legs and grabbed the hem of your pants, pulled them down, then your panties followed.

“Gonna stretch you, ok? Besides, I like eating pussies. Feeling them getting all soaked for me.”

“Oh mmm…” you said, clearing your throat. “Ok.”

“You're gonna enjoy this, don't worry,” he said with a smirk.

He took off his plaid shirt and a gray t-shirt. He was so damn massive, broad. And hot. And you.. you weren't sure what to do with your arms, hesitant to cover your breasts, even though it was probably a little odd.

“No need to be shy in front of me. It's all natural.”

He got up and took off his pants and socks, keeping his boxers on. Your curiosity led you to look at his crotch. He was massive there, too.

“You, uh… ever done this before? Before me?”

“Being someone’s first? Oh, yeah,” he replied, climbing back onto the bed. “You girls like to let a real man take care of it. Someone who knows what he’s doing, right? Makes you feel safe.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I feel safe.”

“Good. Now, do you know what happens when a virgin’s being eaten for the first time?”

You shook your head. You obviously had no idea what would happen.

“She comes really quickly.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again, and you gasped when he spread your thighs with his large hands. You couldn’t believe he was going to go down on you right there, that he wanted to eat you out, to fuck you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hand, when he licked a long stripe from your folds to your clit.

“I fucking love being the first, you know that? Your ex’s a fool.”

He circled your pussy with his lips and started licking, with the flat of his tongue.

“Oh god,” you whined, squeezing your breasts with your hands.

“Hands on my head, kid. Hold on to it.”

You'd always been annoyed by that nickname, but the fact that he was using it, right now, was the hottest thing ever. He spread your folds with his thumbs and pressed his broad shoulders against your thighs, pushing on them, while still lapping at your cunt. It was sloppy, messy, grunts falling from his mouth, as your hands were holding onto his head tightly. It was so different from touching yourself. The sensations coursing through your body were unfamiliar but so overwhelming, and you felt your limbs tremble and your hair stand up when his nose brushed at your clit.

“Clint, I… fuck?!”

The heat in your lower abdomen was burning you up alive, increasing with every lick of his tongue. He was taking his time and stopped just before you came. You were about to whine, when you saw him staring at your cunt.

“Look at that. She's so messy for me,” he said, eyes fixed on your pussy. “She likes it and wonders why she never got eaten before, right? Well, because this one,” he said, raising his eyes to you, “only dated dumbasses.”

He pushed in a finger, slowly, making you whimper. His digit was thick, much bigger than yours. He pumped it in and out a little, slowly, and smiled as he felt your pussy clench.

“You're gonna choke my cock so hard, baby,” he chuckled, then wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. Your fists clenched his curls hard, making him growl, but he didn't ask you to stop or to release your grip.

“Mmm,” he hummed, still sucking on your bud. “These fucking kids don't know what's good anymore. They just want to get their dick sucked, and thrust in a cunt 3 or 4 times before shooting their load. Jeez.”

He played with the tip of his tongue, teasing your most sensitive spot. You felt your pussy drip along his skin and down your crack.

When you already thought you were close to seeing stars, he pressed a second finger against your pussy, without pushing it inside. Just flattening it against your skin, below the entrance, then his tongue swirled around your clit.

“Oh fuck… oh fuck!!”

“Let it go. Come for me, give it to me,” he breathed between two licks.

“I don't know how, I… the feeling is so… so strong…”

“Just let it go, kid,” he said, sucking again, and you did, coming hard on his mouth, seeing stars for real, your hands clinging to his head.

His tongue rested on your clit until your shaking stopped completely, your legs and stomach relaxed. Only then he withdrew his fingers and licked your folds clean off your wetness. Your head was tilted to the side, resting on the pillow, your breathing slowly going down. You were unable to open your eyes, fully savoring that new sensation of post climax.

You felt the mattress rise and opened your eyes. He was standing beside the bed, pulling his boxers down. His cock sprang free, hard, heavy, its red tip oozing.

“I wanna suck you off,” you said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Can I? I wanna learn this too.”

“I won't stop you. Go ahead,” he said, letting his arms rest at his sides.

“Tell me what to do,” you told him, eyes locked with his.

“Run your hand between your legs, get them wet. And jerk me off. Gently.” He watched you slowly running your fingers between your folds, lightly brushing your sensitive clit and you could swear his cock got even bigger when you looked back at it.

You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and he placed his hand on yours, setting the rhythm.

“Don't squeeze too hard, yeah, just like that. Keep going, wrist loose. Yeah, you're doing good.”

Your gaze was fixed on his cock, your mind on his breathing. You wanted to do it well, wanted him to praise you, to hear him breathe heavily. You dragged your fist up and down his length, slowly, and he growled.

“Now, spread the precum with your thumb, on the tip. Shit, yeah, just like that.”

His fingers still circled yours, but the pace was yours now. He placed his thumb on his slit before bringing it to your lips.

“Taste it,” he said. You looked up at him, circled his thumb with your lips and swirled your tongue around it, slowly.

“Good?” he asked.

You nodded and sucked until his thumb no longer tasted like him, then you moved his hand away, gently, darting your tongue to lick his crying tip.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you rounded your lips and took him in your mouth. You didn’t really know how to do it, but you were eager for his cock and needed to feel him more. Fully.

He placed his hand on your head, then said “that’s ok, keep it… keep it between your lips. Focus on the tip for now, suck on it. Yeah, that’s good, kid. Shit....”

You kept going and felt your pussy drooling again. You slid your fingers between your folds and stroked your clit, without thinking, without really realizing what was happening, just answering your physical needs.

“Yeah, rub it for me, baby. Get her ready for me.”

His hand was still on your head, but he wasn't forcing you. "Stay on the tip. You'll have plenty of time to learn more."

Your brain couldn't process his words and their implication, drunk from the taste of him running down your throat, from his praise, from your fingers sliding against your soaked folds.

“You're so fuckin’ pretty like this, sucking on my cock.”

You couldn't resist the temptation of taking him in a little more. He felt heavy on your tongue. His hips jerked and precum flooded your throat.

“Ok, that’s it, that’s it,” he said, cupping your cheek with his hand. “You ready?” he asked, his thumb brushing your skin. You looked up at him, and wondered if your eyes were as wild as his. If you looked a bit of a wreck, too. Probably.

“Mmm? You ready?” he repeated.

You snapped out of your thoughts and nodded.

“Ok, lie down.” His voice was low, calm.

You did as he said and he took place between your thighs, supporting his weight on one elbow.

“You still wanna do this?”

You nodded and he replied “okay,” grabbed his shaft and rubbed it against your wet folds before nestling it at your entrance.

“Look at you, so damn gorgeous, all ready to take my cock,” he added, and he pushed in, slowly, just a few inches. The feeling was already enough to make him lean his head back as he felt how tight you were, his strained neck just within reach of your mouth. You pressed a kiss there, right on his throbbing veins. Maybe to think about something else, to forget how stretched your folds were around his tip. When he pushed a little deeper you whined, sensing your body resisting him.

“Fuck, Clint… it’s…”

“I know. But you can do it,” he panted. “Just… just a little more.” He pushed in and didn’t stop this time, despite your body trying to keep him away. He bottomed out and grunted “fuck” and “shit” a few times, but you barely heard him, digging your nails into his strong biceps, until your discomfort passed.

His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched hard, with him trying to not shoot his load already.

“Fuck, that’s it, shit… you feel so good, goddamn…”

He pulled back and pushed in again, slowly. “You ok?” he asked, his face lowered to yours. You nodded, your fingers gripping his skin a little less tightly.

“That jerk doesn’t know what he’s missed,” he murmured, pushing in and out slowly, his eyes closed again.

“I’m glad you did it,” you whispered, and he looked at you. “I'm glad I did it with you.”

“Mmm… let’s try to make you come on my cock, ok?”

“Yeah,” you murmured.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re gonna give me one more, baby? Gonna clench on it?”

“I don't know… I don't know if I can.”

“You can. Just don’t overthink it, ok? Lick it for me,” he said, bringing his finger to your lips. Then he slid his hand between your two bodies, down to your clit. Rolling it gently, face lowered towards you.

“You're doing great, kid. You're perfect.”

You nodded. You felt good now, the pain already forgotten, and you were finally able to look at him, to really look at him, while he was thrusting into you. Looking at his hair, the drops of sweat that beaded on his forehead, his obsidian eyes. Your fingers ran up his arms up to his shoulders, his muscles rolling under your skin. You felt his cock twitch inside you at your touch, and he bit his lip.

“You like it?” you murmured.

He swallowed and said “yeah… yeah, I like it, honey. You feel so good around me.”

You closed your eyes for a few moments, his digit stroking you perfectly, then said “kiss me.”

“It's not a good idea,” he objected.

“You dick's inside me... Come on.” You didn't wait for him to respond and cupped his cheeks with your hands, pulling him closer until your noses and mouths brushed. You felt his breath against your lips and pressed them to his, whispering, "kiss me." He pulled back slightly, staring into your eyes, then wet his lips with his tongue before finally giving in, his hips rolling toward yours, his finger still stroking your clit. His lips carried the taste of you, and you wondered if he could taste his own on your tongue.

You loved the feeling of him inside you, his lips on yours, his tongue against yours. Your pussy clenched around him, and he whimpered. “You're so close. You feel it?”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he slid his free hand down to your breast, along your torso, then grabbed your hip. Rolling inside you, deliciously, perfectly.

“I… yeah, I feel it, Clint. It’s growing,” you said, your forehead against his.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”

You whined and let it happen, didn’t fight it like a few minutes earlier. You let your body shudder, your back arching, as his hand slipped into the crook behind it to hold you against him while he kept thrusting in.

“Shit, yeah… fuck!” he growled, and froze inside you before pushing in again, a little faster. “Shit, I’m… I’m gonna come, kid. Gonna fill you up.”

He grabbed your hips with his two hands, and barely slowed down as he came, long ropes of cum hitting the back of your cunt, grunts and moans escaping from the depths of his chest pressed against yours.

He pumped you full of his cum, and you felt every jolt of his cock inside you. The emotions you felt were so strong you could have cried, and you hugged him tight. He brushed your cheek and you kissed his neck one last time, then he lay on his side. You stayed on your back for a few moments, catching your breath.

“So what’s the deal with that guy?” Clint asked. “How did he get so into your head that you wanted to do it because of what he told you?”

You turned to him, and tried to explain your thought process. “He already broke my heart twice before that. That’s probably why I was so into him… stupid red flags attraction.”

It made Clint laugh and you did too, then kept talking. “But when he told me he didn’t want to be with me because I was a virgin, it pissed me off. I guess I wanted to get him back.”

“He’s a jerk. Don’t let him poison your thoughts like that.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know.”

“Now… Why me?”

“Well, you’re hot. Yes, you are!” you insisted, seeing his disbelief. “And… I saw you with that woman the other night, at the bar. It was hot, the way you were touching her. I wanted you to touch me like this.”

“Mmm, ok. So… Was this what you were hoping for?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Choose the perfect guy.”

You got up and got dressed, remembering what he told you when you arrived.

“D’ya need a ride?”

“No, it's fine. I got my car.”

“Don't fall in love with me, kid.” he told you when you opened the door. “It’s just sex. Let’s not complicate things, ok?”

“Don't you fall in love with me, old man,” you said, letting him see your wide smile before you closed the door behind you.

You kept seeing each other, despite his words. It definitely wasn’t just sex. You didn't really talk about it, it just happened like that. You would mostly meet at his apartment, since your dad had been fired from his job and was often at the trailer.

One evening, you two went to a bar. One where you were sure you wouldn't run into your father.

"Oh, shit," you said, recognizing a familiar figure in the crowd.

“What?”

“It’s him, over there. My ex.”

“That guy?” he asked, pointing at him. “Let’s piss him off, kid.”

“Hi,” Mike said when he saw you, a slightly uneasy smile on his lips. “It's been a while since I saw you.” He looked at Clint and frowned, then said “you huh… wanna hang out sometime?”

Clint put his arm around your shoulder, letting you know he was here for you, glare fixed on your ex. You squeezed Clint's hand in yours, then said “no… I prefer experienced men, you know?” You hesitated, then added, “and every time I scratch my nails down his back, I hope you feel it.” The way his jaw dropped was worth all the tears you'd cried for him.

You looked up at Clint and smiled at him, then said, "let’s go."

other virginity loss fics:

After (qz!Joel) A summer with the Millers (dbf!Tommy x reader x Joel)

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