#i hope that was at least semi informative!

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Blue bag,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

It’s the insulin this time. You grab the unopened syringe, rip it out from its packet, insert it to the vial of insulin—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he administers the insulin through your shoulder, a huge and long exhale escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in injecting yourself with insulin, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you’re his. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

thank you for reading! as i live for positive reinforcement, feedback is always appreciated ♡

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 | eddie munson x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | based on a request from the lovely @ultraintrovertedgryffindor ; getting stuck in an elevator with his best friend (and secret crush) was absolutely not on eddie's morning agenda, but it leads to one of his most wild fantasies coming to life.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 3.8k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | SMUT (18+ only!! semi-public sex, oral m receiving, kinda pervy eddie but also slightly pervy reader with a balls fixation gee I wonder where that idea came from), best friends to lovers (but very very limited plot haha), pretty much exactly what it says on the tin y'all not sure what to say

Eddie laughed as he pressed his hands to the elevator doors, but it wasn't a laugh of amusement— it was exasperation, frustration, an is this really happening? laugh.

"Soonest we can get a crew out there is uhh... noon?" the voice on the emergency phone informed you.

"Noon?!" you yelped. "It's not even half past eight!"

"What did I tell ya?" Eddie recalled, hanging his head in defeat for a second. "Nothing good happens before ten."

"Just try to stay calm and we'll be there when we can," the operator suggested, like it was so simple.

You didn't even reply to that, just scoffed and hung up.

It wasn't like he'd been looking forward to his GED exam, in fact he'd almost been hoping for a way to put it off or get out of it... but this was definitely not what he was imagining. Of all the elevators to get stuck in, this generic government building where he was supposed to have his big test proctored was probably the most boring option.

He glanced over at you, and stopped himself from making a dirty joke: you heard that Aerosmith single, right? Love In An Elevator?

That probably wouldn't have gone over well. He used to say stuff like that when you were both a little younger, but he'd since given up hope of it ever actually... inspiring anything.  You two were probably better off as friends anyways; or, that’s what he told himself to make it sting a little less.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck in here for a while…” he mumbled instead.  “Did they say what the issue is?”

“Some kind of power failure?” you recalled with a shrug.  “It’s gonna take a while to fix, that’s the important thing.  Do you think they’ll call the fire department?”

“Who knows,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the wall as you sank onto the floor and dropped your head back against the wall.  “I guess we should just try to get comfortable.”

Which was easier said than done, but at least he was stuck here with you— you were generally pretty fun to talk to.  Of course, you weren’t exactly in your best mood due to the circumstances…

At 8:32, Eddie checked his watch.  “I’m officially late for my exam,” he noticed.

At 9, you checked your own; “And I’m officially late for work.  We'll see if I even still have a job when we get out of here," you groaned. "I was on pretty thin ice already."

By 9:14, the stuffiness of the elevator was becoming harder to ignore.  Eddie slipped off his jacket and vest in response to the heat, but resisted the urge to take off his Ozzy shirt. You'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but he figured out would be weirder without the right context.

"Fuck, it's hot in here," you whined quietly.

"I guess the power issue affects the A/C, huh," Eddie noticed.

"You think?" you scoffed, reaching up to unbutton the top of your shirt.

For some reason, he kinda liked when you were condescending like that; of course he loved it when you were sweet like usual, but when you got frustrated and sarcastic and looked at him like he was crazy... for whatever reason, it worked for him. And it was definitely working like never before when combined with your hasty efforts to open your shirt.

He expected you to stop after a couple buttons, but you just kept going, exposing more and more of your chest glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to it, until you got low enough for him to see a glimpse of your bra, and he coughed as he turned his head quickly.

"Woah, hey, uh--" he stammered out awkwardly.

"Oh whatever, you've seen me in a bikini, it's the same thing," you rolled your eyes.

But it's not the same thing, because you were stripping, untucking the button-up from your tight skirt, fanning your flushed skin...

And he was tugging the crotch of his jeans down a bit when you weren't looking, trying to keep his oncoming boner from being too obvious. 

Leaving your shirt open, you sighed and sat down on the floor, splaying your legs out on the ground.  He could see how uncomfortable you were, and it made him press his lips together while he sighed through his nose.  Though he was a little afraid you weren’t in the mood for any friendly behavior as your frustration and stir-craziness increased, he walked across the elevator and sat down next to you.  “I was probably gonna flunk the test,” he decided.

“What?  No you weren’t,” you scoffed.  “You studied so hard!  I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Just ‘cause we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean you should get all sappy with me—” he started.

“No— ‘cause we’re stuck in here I’m not gonna put up with you trying to be down on yourself,” you decided sternly with a little glare at him.  “You were gonna fucking ace it, I know you were.  You worked your ass off.  I know you wanted to act like you didn’t care, but you actually got your shit together and did it.”

“You… you helped me a lot,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“Please, I hardly did anything— mostly just kept you from getting too distracted,” you denied, blissfully unaware that he actually found you more distracting sometimes, but never minded it.  “Can you stop being a pussy and just admit you’re actually smart, and dedicated, and more than capable of nailing this?”

He blinked quickly and looked down into his lap, feeling his face warm up— not just from the heat.  How could you be so mean and nice at the same time?  

“And now it’s gonna go to waste, ‘cause of this godforsaken elevator,” you sighed, dropping your head back; a pessimistic end to a pep talk, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Think of it this way: it couldn't get any worse!" Eddie offered with a faux-upbeat tone.

Right then, the lights in the elevator flickered and turned off, plunging you both into darkness. "I fucking hate you," you announced after a short silence.

He heard a whirring sound from somewhere else in the shaft, and a dimmer orange lighting came on inside the elevator; some kind of emergency back-up generator thing, probably. It was enough to see decently well, especially as his eyes started to adjust, but still made it feel like you were both in an even more perilous situation.

“I didn’t sleep enough last night,” you admitted, “I might try to catch up on that.  Maybe if I can sleep this will go by faster…”

“I like that plan,” he decided, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do the same.  Eddie had a hard time keeping still and quiet, but he managed to do it so you could get your rest.

He suspected you had fallen asleep when your breathing seemed to slow down a bit— but he knew you had when you limply slumped to the side, your head gently landing on his shoulder.  This happened every once in a while, a sign of how comfortable you were with him. He supposed he should be thankful for it, but sometimes it just made him furious. Because what cruel punishment was this, to have you lay on him like this when he can't put his arm around you and kiss your head and tell you how perfect you are?

The half-boner he’d wound up with earlier when you unbuttoned your shirt had never really gone away, and it noticed your proximity with renewed interest.  Maybe it was just because he was so bored with literally nothing to do but think about you, but his mind kept coming up with all these fucked up ideas based on the eyeful he’d gotten.  

What if you’d taken off your bra as well and let him see the tits he’d been fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit?  What if this had happened in winter instead and the elevator was brutally cold and you two had to hold your naked bodies together for warmth?  What if that guy on the phone said this thing was airtight and two only had an hour to live and you decided you wanted to go out with a bang, literally?  

He wondered if he’d be brave enough to tell you how he felt about you, if either or both of you only had an hour left.  For better or for worse, this elevator shaft had airflow, so you were more likely to die of boredom than anything.

He shifted slightly, stuck in a somewhat awkward position, but it didn't help much— though thankfully it didn't wake you up, either.  He just wished he could get some relief, somehow.

Obviously, he knew it was a bad idea. But the thing about his dick is it usually talked him into some pretty bad ideas…

He tested the waters with a whisper of your name, but you just kept breathing slowly— you were out cold. Maybe you were even more nervous for him than you'd let on, if you were that underslept.

Reaching up with his free hand, all he had to do was grip himself through his jeans to get some relief; he sighed through his nose, shutting his eyes.

His cock flexed impatiently as he unzipped the jeans as slowly as possible to avoid making too much sound. But god was it worth the wait— as soon as he slipped his hand into his boxers he had to bite his lip, it was so good just to get some attention for his poor, lonely dick.

This was far from the first time Eddie had jerked off to the thought of you. But he was sure he'd never done it while you were this close.

He did it once or twice in your bathroom while you were on the other side of the wall, that was probably the closest he'd come to this before. And that was chump change compared to this-- this was so risky it made his heart race and his hands shake with adrenaline, but it only made him more desperate for whatever reason.

He wouldn't have swiped his thumb through the precum at his slit if he had known how good it would feel— or maybe if he'd known how good it would feel, he would've been able to prepare himself for it. But the anxiety of getting caught had made him even more sensitive, so he hadn't really seen it coming, and when he did it he let out a little moan through his teeth that he couldn't stop.

You stirred again and he froze; when you lifted your head off of his shoulder, he hastily shoved himself back into his jeans, trying to cover up the open fly with the bottom of his shirt.

“Were you… jerking off?” you realized, and he felt sick with fear as his heart raced like never before.

“W-what?” he scoffed incredulously.  “I— are you crazy?”

“Ed,” you warned firmly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I— sorry—”

“Are you that bored?” you mocked with a snort, and he felt even more flushed; it made his cock flex under the mediocre covering of his shirt when you degraded him like that.

“N-no— well, yeah, I just— you put your head on me and I—”

“It was because of me?” you realized, and his mouth fell open.  He hadn’t realized that you hadn’t actually put that together yet; of course he’d ended up just digging himself deeper.

“W-well, uh— I mean, no, no I— well.  Kind of?”

“Kind of, as in…”

“Completely,” he blurted out.

You were quiet for a long time, and he couldn’t see your face well enough to even try to guess what you were thinking.  Although you probably could’ve given him a thousand guesses and he never would’ve guessed what you ended up saying: “You want some help with that?” you offered.

But before he could even answer— not that he really could, he was too busy having a short circuit in his brain— you were reaching for his lap.  And even if his mind was blown, his body knew to just lift his hands up and out of the way and let you do whatever you wanted to him.

You pulled up the bottom of his shirt and sighed a little when you saw his cock, still hard and leaking and curled up against his stomach.  You carefully wrapped your hand around it, and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he was dreaming or something— you were so… soft.

“Like this?” you asked gently, making his hips twitch up into your hand for a second.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, eyes glued to the way your hand looked wrapped around him.  If only the lights weren’t out, he wanted to see it even better.

He looked at your face, moving your hair a little to make sure he could see you, but from what he could tell your eyes were trained on his lap.

“Fuuuck,” he whispered when you stroked him a bit more confidently.  He wanted to shut his eyes from how good it felt, but he didn’t want to look away from a moment of this in case you, you know, came to your senses and stopped.

“S’really thick,” you said, under your breath, a little bit shyly.  He groaned and ran his hand over your back, trying not to do too much in case it startled you but also totally helpless to how badly he needed you.  “I wonder if I can…”

You trailed off, and before he could decide if he should ask what you were going to say, you 

As soon as you leaned down and put your mouth around him, his back arched and his legs kicked a bit.  “Fuck, baby,” he choked out, melting into the warm feeling of your lips, your tongue— god, he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him.  He actually had to fight the urge to tell you so, to admit how much he’d imagined this; he settled for whining out your name and running a hand over your hair encouragingly.  “S’fucking warm, oh my god—”

You hummed around him, sucking a bit harder, swirling your tongue around the tip; who the fuck taught you that?  It made his chest burn with some targetless jealousy even while it made his cock flex proudly. 

Your hand still gripping the base, you took him a little bit deeper, moaning a little bit once again while you did it.  No way you actually enjoyed this, right?

You pulled your head up a bit— he took his hand away quickly, not trying to hold you down or anything— and just when he wondered if you might stop, you dropped down lower so you could run your tongue up from the very bottom all the way to his leaking slit—

“Jesus,” he laughed thinly, “what are you doing to me, baby?”

“Whatever I wanna do,” you replied— if he was a little braver, he would’ve asked what made you want this, how long you wanted this— but he was more than content to let you do whatever you wanted, so far you had some pretty fucking good ideas.

Your head sank even a little bit lower, and he pushed his jeans down just a bit in case they were getting in your way.  Boy, was he glad he did.  “Fuck,” he gasped, watching in shock as you looked up at him while your tongue ran over his balls.  “Sorry, they’re, uh, kinda sweaty…”

“Even better,” you purred; what the fuck were you doing acting so dirty like that?

“Baby,” he laughed thinly, “is this some kind of claustrophobia-induced psychosis or something?  Who are you and what have you done with my prude best friend?”

“Prude?  That’s unfair,” you laughed.  “Just ‘cause I don’t advertise every dirty thought that goes through my mind doesn’t mean I’m not as much of a freak as you…”

“Freak is an understatement,” he sighed, struggling to keep his voice even when he was literally watching you lick all over his balls like this.  “You’re a proper fucking slut.”

You hummed proudly, eyes getting a little heavier— when you looked up at him like that, he was totally helpless.  “It’s slutty to wanna taste your best friend’s balls?”

“F-fuck, of course it is,” he whined, cock flexing in your hand again when you licked a stripe up between then.

“Well then yeah, guess I’m a slut,” you agreed. 

“G-god, I— I’m gonna—” he tried to warn you, but it happened so fast— it happened the second you started to gently suck on his balls, in fact.  What was he supposed to do when you did that?!  How could he not shoot cum all over his now-definitely-ruined shirt?

“Oh shit,” you giggled— his cock was still flexing and you were already mocking him.

“What— what the fuck,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “made you wanna do that?”

But you were already straddling his lap, pulling up your skirt to your waist.

“F-fuck, baby, I— are you seriously—?”

He cut himself off and whimpered when he got a good look at your panties, the cute lacy kind— and pretty fucking soaked already.

“I-I don’t have a condom,” he warned you, cursing himself inside for finally throwing out the one in his wallet thinking he would never end up needing it.

“Don’t care,” you sighed, pulling your panties aside and guiding his tip right up to your entrance.

“Fuck, that’s—”

He was gonna say it was insanely hot, but you hardly noticed; you were already sliding down onto him, taking him in one motion right to the base.

“Oh fuck!” he nearly shouted, gripping hard onto your thighs.  “F-fuck, you’re so tight, fuck…”

You started moving right away, grinding on top of him for a second before lifting your hips and bouncing up and down.  “Fuck,” you sighed, “so deep…”

Was it wrong that he loved the way you were basically just using him?  You hadn’t even let him finish his sentence, you didn’t ask if he could handle it right after coming— you just started riding him, and far be it from him to complain about that.

“Take this off,” he pleaded, tugging at your unbuttoned shirt and trying to push it off your shoulders.

You helped him get it off, and before you’d even tossed it off to the side he was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.  The gods of bra clasps smiled down upon him that day, because he was sure he’d never gotten one open so quickly, and if there was any time he really needed it, it was now.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he got a good look at them— not good enough in this dim orange lighting, but it would do— and instantly got a hold of your chest.  You didn’t seem to mind the clammy hands, considering the way you whimpered a little and clenched inside around him.  “God, baby, your tits…”

As much as he’d been waiting ages for a chance to see you naked, he couldn’t deny you looked way too good with the skirt, stockings, and heels still on.  He could already tell this was going to give him a complex.

He ran a hand up your leg as you moved just to feel the silky nylon; god, he hoped you didn’t get fired for the unexplained extreme lateness, if not just for your sake then so that you would keep dressing like this every day.  “So pretty,” he sighed, wondering if you could see in the dark how totally in awe he was of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, in that way he’d always imagined you would in a time like this.  Your head fell back and he couldn’t help but reach up and grab your neck— not applying much pressure, just holding you there, just admiring how goddamn perfect his hand looked wrapped around you.  

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Eddie sighed, “fuck, look at you go.”

You smiled a little, he could see it even with your head tilted back like that, and it was just amazing seeing you so… free?  So relaxed and totally shameless, giving in to your pleasure.  But it wasn’t enough: he wanted to see you lose all your composure, he wanted to hear you scream his name, he wanted to make you shake and cry and beg— that was why he grabbed a tight hold of your hips and pulled you down onto him, bucking his hips up to meet you halfway.  It forced his cock even deeper and you yelped a little.

“Not too big for you, is it?” he taunted.

“No, fuck, s’perfect,” you moaned, your voice deep and rough and so fucking beautiful like this.  “Fuckin’ perfect, Ed, o-oh god—”

“Keep saying my name,” he ordered.

“Eddie,” you said, again, but this time all needy and cute; it just made him fuck you harder, biting down on his lip to muffle some of his own noises— he just wanted to hear you.  He pulled you down and hugged you close, keeping you still so he could fuck up into you exactly how he wanted; you moaned right by his ear, fuck it was too precious.  

“I’m already close again,” he admitted with a thin laugh.  “Fuck, look what you do to me.”

You whined louder, clenching on his cock— he seriously did not know how much more of this he could take.

“Wanted you so bad,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself, “wanted this for so long.  Wanted to fuck you— I wanna make you come, fuck, please, please come.”

He felt you nod against his shoulder as you gasped, and he shut his eyes tight, just focusing on his movements and trying his best not to speed up too much just to chase his own high.  He needed you to come more than he needed his own pleasure, even if everything in his body was screaming for a chance to come inside you. “So close,” you panted, “fuck, Eddie, don’t stop— please don’t stop— yes!”

The lights turning back on suddenly startled you both, making him freeze and look around (and squint a little from the brightness), but that was nothing compared to the shock of the doors opening.  Behind them was mostly just concrete, the space between floors, but up top was about two feet of the eighth level, where a crew of firefighters could be seen peering in.

“Are they alright?” someone from the building asked as Eddie scrambled to grab his jacket from the corner and cover you up with it.

“Yeah, looks like they’re doing just fine,” one of the men announced as they broke out in surprised laughter.

[iclarye]

Good Looking

pairing: opla!sanji x reader

summary: your plan was quick and simple. you would go to the kitchen, make some tea to ease your headache, and then return to your comfy bed. you weren't expecting to come across your crew's blonde cook barechested cutting carrots.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ content, smut, swearing, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, semi public sex, PIV

authors note: english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. read this fanfic on ao3: good looking. enjoy!

You are used to this. The utterly exhausted sensation after several hand-to-hand combats, so when the headache started when you finally lay down in bed, you just decided to ignore it; the sleep would catch up before it got.

Until the needed sleep never got you. So, after an hour or two of rubbing your temples and staring at the ceiling while feeling envy-induced annoyance for Nami’s peaceful breathing, you pushed yourself to stand up.

Even if the cool night air almost makes you wish you hadn't left your warm bed, you needed that green tea to stop the pounding headache in the back of your head. The kitchen lights shining through the window went undetected as your mind was busy figuring out how you could prepare the drink quickly so that the pain could cease as soon as possible.

“Oh, it’s you, darling. Is everything alright?” As you walked into the door and recognized Sanji's words, you snapped out of your thoughts and began to look over your surroundings. He was not wearing any type of shirt while he sliced carrots from behind the counter.

Barechested. Topless. Half naked.

“Y-yes, I mean, no. Just a headache.” You gaze the blonde in the eyes as you stumble through your sentences, you are merely vaguely aware that your face is beginning to turn red. “I just want that green tea; I know it's somewhere around here. I saw Nami storing it in the cabinets earlier.”

You felt foolish. You became used to seeing shirtless men given that you lived in the middle of the ocean and therefore often came across Luffy, Usopp, and even Zoro barechested. They would often walk around the deck that way on hot days. Sanji, however, always showed up in a suit or, at the very least, had a formal shirt rolled up to his elbows. Even so, there was no chance of seeing him dressed otherwise since he went to sleep after you and woke up before everyone.

“I can do it for you; it’s my job after all, taking care of my sweet girl.” He placed the knife down, threw the chopped carrots in a nearby pot, and proceeded to go through the cupboards. “Love, do you remember where she stored it? There are plenty of cabinets in this place.”

"What are you doing here?" You instantly regret your tone as you noted Sanji just froze in his search.

“I mean, sorry, the kitchen is your place, I know. I just never saw you here this hour, and me and Luffy go here to do midnight snacks sometimes”

“I could not sleep”

“Me too” Once again, an irrational remark. He was informed that you were having trouble falling asleep; that's why you were there. “Why the carrots?”

“The attack that happened today. I had hoped for more food, but I believe you are aware of how fucked our situation is.” He continued looking for the tea while chuckling flatly. “We don't know when we will receive more supplies; we right now have barely anything stocked. Even the carrot peels have been put to use in an effort to reduce waste, you know.”

You weren't sure how to respond. It was clear that everyone's mood was negatively affected by today's incident. The worry of what would happen in the next few days or weeks was filling your head since Usopp managed to escape the ship. His back was to you, so you were unable to see his facial expressions, but you couldn't help but notice his muscles.

You felt a little guilty since you couldn't take your focus away from it, despite him having just voiced some serious concern. Has he lately started working out, or has he always had muscles like that?

“Are you and Luffy close then?”

The sudden break in silence confused you as he turned toward you with the pot of tea in his hands and a pleased smile.

“I suppose so. After all, he was the one who invited me to join the crew, right?” You smirked at the thought. It wasn't much time—perhaps a few months—and you were losing track of time at sea. “I fearlessly agreed to become a pirate, although I had never spent more than two weeks on a boat.”

“I remember that. You were so naive”

Of course he remembers. When you joined the crew, it was very easy to have a conversation with Sanji; he was constantly complimenting you or flirting in a straightforward manner. You never took him seriously, hearing about the blonde's techniques from Nami from the first day, but it was often hard not to chuckle or blush when he was so…

“Not anymore.”

He grinned at you before returning his attention to the tea. It was impossible to look away from his bare chest. You were unable to rest your mind from imagining how his skin would feel on your hand now that he was in your line of sight. You are already aware that he's a good-looking man, but now seeing more of his body did things to you.

“All right, madam. Here is your tea.” He circles the counters until he's right next to you. Really close. His eyes twinkle with recklessness, and you know he caught you staring at his figure.

You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, grab the mug in your hands, and sip while gazing at his face. He still has that typical smirk, and when you finally finish drinking your tea, he glances at your lips before returning to your eyes. Everything becomes fuzzy and hot then.

He's very close. His hand has been lying on the counter, his chest is nearly brushing your own, and you can't help but notice his modest, almost transparent blonde hair in there. Perhaps it's a sign for you to walk away, that this is going in a dangerous direction, but you can't.

“What dear? See something you lik-”

You interrupt him with a kiss; it's all very messy and quick, and he is unable to have time to handle everything. You come to an abrupt halt and stare at him with wide eyes, realizing what you have done.

“Sanji, fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant t-”

He didn't let you finish the apologies. His hand pulls your head back, bringing your lips together. The kiss looks right now. It begins carefully, with both sides cautious, but it quickly gets heated as he doesn't hesitate to push his tongue into your mouth.

You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, and his eyes are hungry. He didn't think twice before pressing his open mouth and tongue on your neck. A moan escapes from your lips.

His left hand shifts down to grab your hip, and you catch your breath. Your hands graze his nipples as you reach for his pecs, and he hisses at the fresh sensation in your throat.

“Gods Y/N, you’re going to kill me this way”

You chuckled, and he kissed you again, although this time you took charge, moving one of your hands to his blonde hair before tilting his head to grant you more access. You stop the action just to take a moment to recover and gaze into his dilated pupils. He looks so attractive like that that you can’t help but want to go down on him.

”Sanji,” You whisper breathlessly, enjoying the sensation of his name in your mouth, “let me taste you.”

He groans in response, which you take as encouragement as you lean down and proceed. You lick and kiss the trail that leads to his crotch, and he hisses softly, his abdomen tense beneath your hands and mouth. As you get down on your knees and look at his pants, you can see his erection, which seems big and marked.

You don't hesitate to pull down the waistband of his pants and boxers together, exposing his hard, leaking cock to your eyes. It's big. It's more than you expected. There's a buildup of cum at the head, and you reach forward and wrap your lips around it, licking gently just to tease.

You look up as you swirl your tongue over the tip and dip your tongue into the slit to see him biting his lower lips, his head thrown back. You wanted to see his face while sucking him. So you take him out of your mouth and cautiously wrap a hand around him, teasing him a little with your hand. Your movements are agonizingly slow as you lightly suck and lick the sensitive head until finally he looks down.

“Oh, darling, you’re so pretty like that.” Sanji whined above you, and then your mouth opened around the head of his cock, and he slid it into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck. So… so perfect.”

You can clearly see the blonde struggling to keep his composure, like how his knuckles are white while gripping the counter behind him. You relax your throat, take a long breath through your nose, and exhale slowly before swallowing him whole while gripping his inner thighs.

His penis is large, so the initial sensation isn't the most pleasant, but as he lets out a loud groan, you forget about everything. Something about hearing Sanji whine in the kitchen while you gagged on his cock made the aching between your legs unbearable.

"Oh yeah, Y/N. You are so good to me. Your mouth feels so good in me.”

You moaned softly at his words of praise, making vibrations around his penis, causing another moan from him. His left hand reached from the counter to your hair, and you didn't reject the help while bobbing your head up and down.

“My love, you are so perfec-“

A few tears occasionally escaped as you sucked him and he fucked your throat, sometimes only taking him out to run your tongue along his length. You started to see signs that he was close to cum. One of your hands left the thighs to rub his balls.

 “I… I'm going to cum, Y/N, dear... I" He gives you a chance to pull away from him, but you choose to continue and accept it all. You remove the entire length of his throat and leave just the head in your mouth.

He comes soon after, with a muffled groan, while you attempt to swallow as much as you can before it gets difficult, followed by a satisfied moan coming from you.

You felt his hand leave your hair, and for two or three minutes, you just remained there. He has his head back and is trying to catch his breath while you are on your knees, glancing at his chest and the beads of sweat gathering on his neck. It’s a perfect vision, honestly. You ponder whether he would notice if you began to masturbate right then.

“Come on, madam, let me help you up.” Sanji extends his hand to support you in getting up, and once you are upright, he grabs hold of your waist to keep you close to him.

He kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth. It's slow, and you realize he's still trying to emerge from his afterglow. When he breaks the kiss, that smile returns to his face, and you peck him once more just to get rid of it.

Sanji deepened the kiss again. And fuck, what else could you do but reply in the same aggressive way?

You're hoisted up by the hands on your hips and thrown onto the counter. The blonde is now between your legs, breaking the kiss, only to go straight to that specific spot on your neck that you're almost certain will leave a mark in the morning.

“Oh- Sanji,” You try to speak breathlessly as he licks your collarbone and his fingers brush the hem of your t-shirt, “You don’t h-have to do that.”

It wasn't that you didn't want Sanji. Since you entered that kitchen and spotted him without a shirt, you wanted this. Yet, you took the decision to give him an opportunity to back out, be thankful for the blowjob, and never bring up the matter again. Him taking you would be very personal.

“Please, my love,” You can hear the yearning in his voice as he whispers in your ear. “I just want to make you feel good too.”

You nod, and he attacks your mouth once again while his hands pull the hem of your t-shirt, exposing your chest, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at being so bare to him.

He doesn't think twice about placing his mouth on your breasts as he rolls the hard bud between his teeth and tongue and gives the other one a gentle stroke with his other hand. He bites your nipple as your head is flung back, and all you can do is pray that no one hears your loud scream.

He takes his mouth from your breasts and begins a trail down your stomach, and you can't stop whining due to the lack of warm sensation from his tongue in your niples, but you quickly figure out where he's headed as he lowers himself between your thighs.

He doesn't ask for permission as he aggressively rips off your shorts and, along with them, your underwear, revealing your pussy to him. He pulled your hips closer and dragged a finger down your folds, then placed it inside his mouth.

"Oh, you're so soaking wet, just for me, hm?" You are so stunned by the sight that you hardly pay attention to what the blonde is saying. “You taste so good, my darling.”

You stand on your elbows and glance at the man who is standing in between your legs. You can't help but gasp at the taunting as he starts giving you small small bites and kisses along your inner thighs. But you want him now.

“Oh Sanji, stop teasing for fuc-“

He didn't wait for you to finish the curse word before burying his face, pushing his tongue against your wet pussy, and licking a long, temptingly slow strip through your folds until he reached your sensitive bud.

In an attempt to create more friction, you thrust your hips into his mouth, and your left hand immediately settled on his blonde hair. Sanji found the ideal pattern to swirl his tongue over your clitoral region, leaving you panting for air.

He pushed two fingers deep within you, and you felt your walls clenching around them, sucking him in. His pace was fast, and he was still paying careful attention to your clit, leaving you close to the edge. You were a mess, and it wouldn't take long for you to cum. Yet you still needed him; you wanted more.

You sucked in a sharp breath and tried to block out the inappropriate sounds echoing through the kitchen.

“Sanji, p-please more”

"Use your words, my angel." You could see the glistening fluids from your pussy plastered on his chin when he pushed his head off of your thighs. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, oh g-gods. I need you inside me." At your words, he groaned and took both of his fingers out to direct his cock at your entrance.

It wasn't difficult for him to enter since you were so soaked. At the feeling of it, you both simultaneously moaned. You felt completely filled; he just stood there for a while, waiting for you to get used to the size, until you signaled for him to start moving. It began off slow, but soon he started out moving his hips at a faster pace to satisfy both of you.

"You're perfect,” he moaned in two thrusts, and you had to put your hand over your mouth. “Look at you, taking my cock so well, oh darling.”

The hands on your hips let go and grabbed you under your right thigh, opening your legs and hitting you more deeply and faster. You thought you were seeing stars when he hit an exact spot inside your pussy that made you shout.

“Cum for me, my love. I know you want”

It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit you after that, your eyes rolled back and you let out a whine sound as you felt your walls squeeze his dick. He moaned along with you at the feeling and a few more thrusts and he came inside you.

Sanji's head fell directly to your shoulder, and you instinctively placed your palm in his blond locks. While the fluid was slowly dripping out of you, he continued to remain deep inside and breathe loudly.

He raised his head only to smile recklessly while glancing into your mouth. “So, do you still have a headache?”

Your hand reached out to push him, but you were helpless to suppress the giggles that came. He drew away from inside you but was still between your knees as he chuckled proudly.

“Do you think anyone heard?”

“I'm not sure, maybe when you let out that screa-" You slapped him on the shoulder to cut him off while embarrassed because of the probability. “Ok, ok my darling, next time we’ll find a more private place.”

“Next time, huh?

Sanji stood still with an anxious smile on his face; it was almost hilarious how someone so confident in themselves would respond in that manner. You wrapped his neck with both of your arms and gave him a quick kiss to reassure him that everything was fine.

"You should come to the kitchen more often, preferably alone.”

"And you should go shirtless more often too.”

"Only for you, my love.”

You gave him another kiss before leaving the counter, getting ready to go, and returning to the bedroom. Even though the night seemed to be becoming lighter, you were aware that there were still a few hours until sunrise. It was evident that there would be plenty of issues to address when you awoke, but for the time being, you were content, even though you were a little exhausted from the activities. As sleep came, all you could think of was Sanji and his smile.

© iclarye, 2023

[andypantsx3]

𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑣

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike.All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother,steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, knotting, 18+; mdni! 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 7.6k | chapter 4 of 4

Then

“Shouto duty,” was the first thing Touya grumbled as he emerged from his house.

A little shadow with red and white hair peered out from behind him, big eyes staring up at you. Shouto was dressed in a periwinkle t-shirt and khaki shorts in the late spring heat, and he was nearly vibrating with excitement. You reached out reflexively to pat that fluff of hair, and Shouto seemed to lean into your touch like a cat, probably starved of affection from his fussy older brother.

“My lucky day,” you said, grinning at the way it made Touya roll his eyes.

Shouto nearly launched himself off the steps, looking quietly thrilled to be tagging along. He shoved himself in between you and Touya as you walked, as if unable to bear Touya’s proximity to you, making Touya bark out an annoyed, “Oi, watch it.”

Shouto ignored him, turning to you. “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

You looked down at him curiously. “What?”

“I lost a tooth,” he said, staring up at you seriously. You laughed, knowing most kids would have smiled to show off their tooth gap, but Shouto had always been a little bit more withdrawn, though he was fairly open around you.

“When?” you asked, ignoring Touya’s scoff. “Did the tooth fairy come?”

Shouto nodded. “Last night. I am adding the money to my inheritance for you.”

That made you laugh again, and you bumped his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Shouto. I think you should buy yourself something with it though. Especially in this weather—it’s good popsicle weather.”

Shouto looked like he was seriously considering this. “Do you like popsicles?”

You nodded. “Definitely.”

He seemed to pocket that information, and you hid a fond smile. That kid was too sweet for his own good, when it came to you. You wondered when his little case of older-brother’s-friend worship would end. You hoped not for another few years, at least.

“Fucking finally,” Touya said when he caught sight of Rumi and Keigo at the end of his neighborhood, his booted steps growing faster, as if eager to get away from the two of you.

You didn’t mind—Shouto was easy company.

“Oi!” Keigo called out to you, waving a skinny arm. You accompanied Shouto over, watching with a little bit of self-satisfaction when Shouto ducked a hair ruffle from Rumi, the look on his face almost reminiscent of Touya.

You were still his favorite, it seemed.

The usual round of arguments commenced about what to play now that all of you were united, Touya snottily vetoing everyone’s suggestions—except, notably, Keigo’s. Eventually you settled on hide and seek, something Shouto could participate in too, since it didn’t involve convoluted rules, and established a set distance you could go.

Finally Shouto was dubbed the first seeker, and the rest of you took off into the surrounding neighborhood.

You immediately beelined for the sprawling oak at the edge of the neighborhood, its thick, leafy branches the perfect place to conceal yourself. Touya, Keigo, and Rumi had long caught on to the fact that you were almost always to be found up a tree, but Shouto hadn’t played this game with you before.

Thirty seconds and one bark-scraped palm later had you settled in your hiding place, just as you caught Shouto’s shout from afar, “Ready or not, here I come!”

You quieted your breath, listening for the sound of his approach. This late in spring, the cicadas were already roaring. The leaves rustled around you in the breeze and you could hear some other band of kids shrieking and laughing, far in the distance.

It was nearing ten minutes on by the time you heard the thump of Shouto’s sneakers approaching, and you could just make out that distinct mop of bright hair through the branches. He poked around behind bushes, peering at eye level, but didn’t seem to think to look up for you. You watched him hunt through the surrounding area, then dash off when you heard a distinctly Keigo squawk not too far away.

You were nearly asleep on your tree branch when you heard his return, and you sat up quietly to watch him again. You were impressed that he seemed to know you were somewhere nearby.

As you watched him rifle around, you wondered if you should drop a hint, just because he’d been so sweet to you earlier. He’d been so adorable insisting he’d save you his tooth money.

You deliberately rustled a branch, leaning on it so it made a loud creak.

Immediately, Shouto’s head snapped up. Two mismatched eyes narrowed in on you, and his face seemed to brighten when he saw you. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

“Caught you,” he called up to you.

You stuck a leg down tauntingly. “Not yet.”

Something passed over Shouto’s face, and his gaze seemed to sharpen. “I have, too.” You could almost hear a foot stamp in his voice.

You grinned. “Not until I get down.”

A determined look settled across Shouto’s features, and he prowled over to the tree. You watched him jump for a lower branch, catching it securely before hefting himself up. His arms were skinny, but his movements were sure, intent. In no time at all you were helping lever him onto your own branch, pulling him up alongside you.

“I caught you,” Shouto repeated, settling a proprietary hand on your arm. His hand was warm, and his fingers caught your wrist tightly.

You smiled. “I let you catch me by making all that noise, you mean.”

A tiny frown pulled at Shouto’s mouth. “I knew you were around here,” he said, something almost like a pout in his voice.

You laughed. “I did notice you came back. Those are some good tracking skills—although don’t forget to look up. I’m usually always up a tree, when it comes to hide and seek, and Touya and the others I think have caught on too. They’re probably up their own trees somewhere.”

“I do not care about finding them,” Shouto said. His straightforward tone startled a laugh out of you.

You settled back against the branch, Shouto still gripping your arm firmly. “Should we let them wait, then?” you asked, grinning. “I bet Rumi will come out on her own pretty soon, she’s so impatient.”

Shouto nodded. “I will stay here with you.”

The sincerity of the statement warmed you, the way Shouto’s serious little proclamations always did. He was too sweet for this earth. “Then shall we discuss which popsicle you’re going to get later? I have some recommendations.”

Shouto nodded seriously, and you launched into your nonsense, pleased. The leaves rustled around you, the breeze cool and pleasant against your skin. It felt like time stretched out around you, thick like taffy, slow and lazy and easy in the late spring breeze.

You thought absently that wished you could have a million more moments, Shouto the easiest company beside you, just like this.

Now

The morning of the run dawned warm and dry, sunny with a light breeze.

It was perfect hiking weather, and that was the only thing that kept you in good spirits. You tried not to think about Shouto—about how he was going after someone today, how you’d possibly seen him for the last time before he did. He’d said he’d find your tree, but there was really no guarantee his omega was going to run in the same direction as you.

You ate breakfast on the couch with your mother, listening to her excitedly chatter about your prospects today. You hammed it up a little bit, pretending you had any interest in being chased by an alpha, so that you could milk it later and avoid promises to commit to next year’s run. You hoped it would be enough of a deterrent for her—every year you grew older without a mate, she seemed more desperate to find you one.

You repacked your bags, readying yourself to board your train back to the city tomorrow, feeling mournful. Then you spent the rest of the morning finishing up the small things your mother had let go while you were gone, YouTubing your way through a door knob repair, and some weather stripping replacements. You lifted her air-conditioning into the window, swearing and sweating the whole time and wishing you had even a fraction of Shouto’s easy alpha strength.

After everything was finished, you packed up for the run, placing all your snacks and the sandwich Shouto had helped assemble into a small backpack, stuffing in a water and a book after. Then you scrounged around in your clean laundry for some hiking clothes, settling on leggings and a tee-shirt, no reason to try to impress anyone.

It was late morning by the time you ducked out of your house and started the trek to the preserve on the edge of town. Throngs of people were already gathered when you got there, alphas and omegas alike crowding the entrance. An overwhelming mixture of scents washed over you, the sweetness and florals of the omegas, the tang and spice of the alphas, even the small muted underwash of a few betas.

The overstimulation was nostalgic, and brought to mind your first few runs—the anticipatory hope you felt, the determination not to get caught for some one-time mating with an alpha who wouldn’t prove to be your life mate. It had been years, and you knew the outcome already this time, but some small thrill of anticipation thrummed in your veins regardless.

You kept to the edge of the crowd, sprawling out on the grass until the organizers called for the omegas and running betas to come forward to their starting mark. The alphas and remaining betas would be called to the mark a half hour later, to follow their intended targets into the preserve.

Then the whistle was being blown, and the crowd of omegas around you surged into the forest.

The first hundred meters of the preserve were a tangle of wild trees and overgrowth—omegas typically stayed on the trails until the forest opened up, several paths intersecting and leading away into hills and towards a pond, with the last one stretching towards the coast. This was your usual route and you followed it until the trees thinned out, then stepped off the path to tromp through the woods in the direction of the coastline.

You kept a brisk pace, wanting to get as far in as you could before the alphas were let in. Eventually the spruces and firs gave way to mostly coastal scrub pines amid tall grass, and you could smell the ocean through the trees, hear the crash of the waves against the rocky outcroppings.

You stepped out of the woods along a small coastal path that stretched for miles, and followed it a few minutes more until it flattened out. There was a small meadow laid into the coastline, spanning several square meters of pale seagrass and flowering bushes, shaded by an enormous willow tree—your target.

The meadow had a beautiful view of the shining blue waves through the barren scrub trees, but more importantly it was out of the way, little known to people who did not frequent the coastline trails. The willow was the perfect cover, its trailing fingers and dense greenery more than enough to hide one disinterested beta.

You ducked through the leaves, latching onto one of the lower branches and heaving yourself up. It had been years since you’d climbed anything—the city not exactly chalk-full of great climbing trees—but you were pleased to find it just as satisfying. You scrambled up into the canopy, testing your weight against your designated branch, finding it still held you easily.

Perfect.

You immediately rewarded yourself with a granola bar, settling onto your branch and chewing contentedly, pleased with the temperature. The sun was hot, but in the shade of the leaves and the salty breeze drifting in off the sea, it was perfectly comfortable.

You’d just gotten out your book to read, flipping to the spot you’d last left off at, when the chirp of nearby birds stopped. The meadow seemed to grow quiet around you.

You sat up, alert, at the soft tread of a bootfall close by. Your breath froze in your lungs. An omega, looking for a place to hide? Or some alpha?

Except then a long-fingered hand parted the hanging tendrils of the willow, and a familiar head of scarlet and white hair was ducking inside the canopy.

Embarrassingly, your heart swelled. Shouto had made time to stop in before finding his omega.

“Shouto!” you shouted down, pleased.

Shouto’s face tipped up to you, a tiny smile on his mouth. He looked especially good today, you thought, a navy tee shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, baring the flesh of his biceps, a flush on his cheeks from the warm spring sun. He looked a little taken apart, windswept like he’d run here, and you furiously stamped down on the flash of heat in your tummy.

Nope. No.

“Y/N,” Shouto intoned quietly, his eyes glittering up at you. “Caught you.”

You were momentarily taken aback by the sound of something unfamiliar in his tone, some strange intensity in his voice and expression. It sounded almost like it meant something to find you here, something more than a momentary pitstop on his way to his omega—but of course that was ridiculous.

You waved down at him, smiling and sticking a leg down tauntingly like when you were kids. “Not yet.”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed, a flash of something predatory tinging his handsome features.

In the blink of an eye, he crossed to the tree, dense muscle coiling and pulling beneath his tee shirt as he pulled himself up. This time he needed none of your help, moving with a panther-like grace. He pulled himself onto the branch immediately below yours, close enough that it put him at eye level with the bottom of your chin.

Then he reached out and snared your ankle in one large, warm hand, a smug sort of glint in his eye. The follow up caught you went unspoken.

Another laugh bubbled up out of you. “Alright alright, this time you got me,” you agreed, flexing your ankle in his hold.

Shouto’s mouth turned up, clearly pleased, but he did not let go. A thumb stroked softly along the hollow beneath your ankle bone. A surprised shiver caught you, sliding up your spine.

“You, um, got here so quick,” you said, trying to think past the sudden fuzz of static in your brain. You hoped your voice sounded impressed and not embarrassingly breathy. “Did you at least note which way your life mate went?”

Shouto’s head tilted, his bangs falling into his eyes as his thumb petted across your skin again. “I did.”

You nodded approvingly, tensing against another shudder. “Did they come out this way? You’re probably the first alpha to make it out here but you won’t want to waste too much time.”

Shouto’s mouth twitched, those heterochromatic eyes trailing down your face. “No time spent with you is a waste.”

That made your face warm. You tried to prod him with your foot, but Shouto’s grip was firm. “You’re going to want to save the charm for your life mate, mister.”

“I am,” he said simply, tone sincere.

You felt your brow furrow—now what was that supposed to mean?—when suddenly Shouto leaned forward, abandoning his grip on your ankle. His hands found the branch at either side of your hip, trapping you inside his reach. You stared down at him, stunned with his sudden proximity.

You felt suddenly a little caged in, your breath pulling up short. What was he—?

“Will you come down to me?” Shouto asked, eyes intent on yours.

The ask felt significant, though you had no idea how. And he was so close, so focused on you.

But you had no clue exactly what he would need you to come down for. Maybe he wanted to split lunch or something? You had your sandwich in your bag, and it would be easier on the ground, you supposed.

Although Shouto probably shouldn’t go running around on too full a stomach, especially if he—with his omega, after—if they…

You found you couldn’t think it, your mind shying away like you’d prodded a nerve.

Really, Shouto should be going soon, before any ranging alphas made it this far out and sniped his life mate before he got to them.

With that thought, however, some selfish thing recoiled inside of you. You desperately craved just a few more minutes with him—this achingly familiar boy, this mind-numbingly beautiful man—before he wasn’t really yours to think of anymore. These were the last few moments you’d get to spend with him before everything changed. It took less than a second to make up your mind.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll come down.”

You shifted, gathering your backpack and maneuvering off your branch carefully. Shouto gave you just enough space to get down, a hand finding your waist as you steadied yourself. He shadowed you down, close at your back to make sure you didn’t slip.

He was acting the consummate gentleman—but there was a strange tension about him, something about the way he moved and the intensity with which he was trailing you. There was something expectant about it, something almost impatient.

Maybe he needed you to hurry up so he could get going. That was probably it.

You turned to your backpack as soon as he guided you safely to the ground. You’d barely gotten it unzipped, however, when Shouto suddenly crowded into your space, startling you.

You stumbled a reflexive step back, breath whooshing out of you when your back connected with the trunk of the willow. Shouto followed, still watching you with that unnerving intensity.

His fingers dipped under your chin, softly turning your face up to his. His gaze was serious—more solemn than you had ever seen him. You went still in his grasp, heartbeat rabbiting in your chest.

What was with him today?

“Shouto,” you said slowly. “Are you… alright?”

Shouto leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. His slow exhale ghosted over your mouth, thumb stroking across your jaw. It sent a swarm of shudders down your spine, and you suddenly weren’t breathing at all.

“I have dreamed of this moment a thousand times,” Shouto said, his tone reverent. It was almost a whisper.

His tone implied there was something incredibly significant about this moment, but you could not for the life of you think of what. Especially not with his face so close, clouding up your thoughts.

You felt your brow furrow against his, and you opened your mouth to ask him what on earth he could be talking about.

Except before you could, Shouto’s hands took either side of your face. And then he bent his head—and pressed his mouth to yours.

All higher thought immediately evacuated your brain, leaving only a sudden zing of panic and the horrible, wonderful excitement of Shouto’s mouth on yours, of Shouto’s strong body so close to yours. Rough bark scraped against your back as Shouto’s front slotted warm and firm against your chest, and the feeling of all that strength pressed so tightly to you made you dizzy.

“Sho–-? Whuh—?” you said, slightly muffled into his mouth.

But Shouto only took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, soft and wet and so unbelievably hot your brain short circuited. Every single nerve ending in your body lit up as you realized Todoroki Shouto had his tongue in your mouth, and that he was kissing you so thoroughly and meticulously it felt as though this was the last kiss he’d ever be allowed. You heard yourself let out a gasp that turned into an embarrassing moan as he pressed harder against you, pinning you between himself and the tree.

Your mind felt like it was melting, Shouto’s mouth doing terrible things to your thoughts’ coherence. Your hands went to his shoulders, and you found yourself opening up to him, every inch of your skin hot. Every flick of his tongue, every brush of his lips felt better than you could have ever imagined, and you were helpless to do anything but let him have you.

Your thoughts were a puddle when Shouto finally let your mouth free. All you could do was stare up at him, shocked.

“Y/N,” Shouto said, his eyes searching your face. “You came down for me.”

His handsome face wore an expression you hadn’t ever seen before as he regarded you, something almost—possessive? His hands had slid to your waist, his touch hot through the material of your shirt.

Your brain swam. Words, what were words? “I—? Uh, yes—?”

Shouto seemed to understand you weren’t getting his point. “‘If I’m not an alpha, and I have to hide somewhere, I’m going to find the best tree in the preserve and go up it and not come down until I find my life mate,’” he said.

It sounded like a quote, and it took you an embarrassingly long moment to realize it was something you had said, years and years and years ago, when you were both kids.

Was he saying—? But that was absurd. No, there was no way. You hadn’t—he wasn’t—

“But you’re Shouto,” you groped around your thoughts for logic and reasoning. “You’re Shouto.”

Shouto watched you patiently, a white eyebrow raising slightly.

“You can’t mean—?” you sputtered. “No. You’re Touya’s baby brother. I’m too old for you. The first time I held you, you were a baby.”

Shouto pressed impossibly closer to you, a long-fingered hand winding its way into yours. “I am not a child, Y/N. And you are not that much older than I.”

You struggled to think through the feeling of his body pressed to yours. You knew it. You knew he wasn’t a child. But all the same, you’d spent long enough telling yourself he’d been meant for someone else. Long enough convinced that you were too old for him.

Long enough that you were absolutely certain this had to be a mistake.

“You’re off limits,” you told him, trying to press him back. Shouto did not budge, however, as solid as stone under your hand.

“You are my life mate,” he said. He raised your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles. An electric jolt went through you at the feeling of that mouth on you again, firm and warm. “I have known my whole life. I am off limits to all but you.”

A storm of emotion churned in your gut, everything from guilt to disbelief to pleasure to relief. To hear it said so plainly, after all this time—you are my life mate—by a man who was already so beloved to you. By a boy you’d loved as a friend, a man who you wanted to love as more.

But you couldn’t—he had to deserve better.

“I won’t take advantage of you,” you insisted.

A small smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth. “I am not a child. And I am an alpha besides. Your alpha.”

You fought down a furious flush.

“But Shouto there’s so many things–!” you insisted. Beyond being older than him, beyond being a staple in his life since he was young. You were quickly realizing so many of the promises he’d made when he was younger, he actually meant.

“Your inheritance—I never meant to accept that from you for real. And your family, they would not like that I—”

The rest of your words were muffled in Shouto’s mouth, as he bent his head and kissed you again. A flick of his tongue turned even that into a muffled squeak instead. Why was he so good at this?

“Much of my family understands what it means to pursue something singularly,” Shouto said against your lips. “What it means to give everything you have in service of pursuit.”

Your stomach flipped. The Todoroki single-mindedness that you had been convinced had skipped right over Shouto. Suddenly years of solemn watchfulness over you, years of following you like a shadow, years of sharing all his toys and his thoughts and promising to take care of you—it all made a terrible, perfect sort of sense.

Single-mindedness. But not as destruction, as Enji’s and Touya’s had been. As devotion—as thoughtfulness, something so uniquely Shouto you wanted to cry.

God how had you missed this?

You rallied yourself for one last defense.

“Shouto. At the very least you need to consider if you’re making a mistake. Alpha-beta couplings are nontraditional—maybe your senses are off here. Maybe because I’m a beta and I was around when your brain was still forming and you liked me then it feels like there’s something but—”

Shouto’s grip on you flexed, and suddenly his determined expression flickered, a crease forming between those perfect brows.

“Do you see me as a child still?” he asked.

You shook your head. Not since you’d seen him prowl across the Todoroki kitchen, miles of sleek muscle flexing, that perfect campfire scent fogging your brain, tall and gorgeous and unmistakably alpha. And especially not since you’d come to understand the expanse of his life—the home he’d made, the job he had, the goals he’d taken.

“Then do you… not want me?” he asked.

Your heart immediately sank, aching with the soft flicker of hurt that crept across his features.

Your hands had shot out to hold his face before you knew what you were doing.

“Shouto, of course I want you,” you found yourself saying. “Who wouldn’t want you? You are perfect. You are so kind and have always been so good. You are sweet and funny and so beautiful it hurts to look at. Of course I want you. But I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Then say yes,” Shouto insisted.

God you wanted to. You wanted to. You had been so jealous this whole week, you realized, of whoever his life mate was going to be.

The realization crashed into you like a wave, knocking you off balance. You wanted all of Shouto’s time, all of his attention, wanted to curl up in his apartment on that plush couch with him and all but bodily fuse to him, never to come apart again. You wanted to spend a million afternoons cooking in that kitchen, running lunches to him at the firehouse, kissing him, laughing with him, indulging in him—in how kind and sweet and good he’d always been.

Your face must have said it all, because Shouto was crowding back into you.

“I am going to be so good to you, Y/N,” he promised, his mouth drawing closer.

You shivered. Some part of you still felt like you needed to resist him, needed to make him see. But the other part of you, the largest part, wanted to melt in his embrace. Wanted to let him kiss you and kiss him back, wanted to thread your fingers in that fluff of hair and sink into the relief of his companionship.

Shouto hammered the final nail into your coffin with the unerring precision of a boy who’d known you for twenty years.

“Trust me to take good care of you,” he said, his voice dipping to a low whisper.

And that was it—the refrain from all those years ago, before you’d ever understood what he was promising you. Even if you were uncertain about everything else, you would always be certain about Shouto’s care. Shouto’s inherent goodness.

Surrendering, you let yourself fall.

“I do,” you told him. “I trust you. I—always will.”

Then you closed your eyes and let him kiss you.

You could feel Shouto’s soft smile against your mouth, feel a renewed intensity in the way he poured himself into you with his next kiss. You almost sagged against him in sheer relief—the relief of knowing, against all odds, that your life mate had found you even across the years that had threatened to separate you.

Shouto kissed you with a startling vigor, leaving you breathless against the willow when he moved down to your neck, pulling your tee shirt wide to suck several very insistent markings into the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into the rough bark as he mapped his way lower, and lower, only startling when he dropped to his knees before you, pressing his face into the crease of your hip.

Your heart shot into your mouth, a shock of heat licking up your spine. “Shouto!” you stammered.

Shouto only uttered your name into the fabric of your leggings, the material thin enough that you could feel the heat of his exhalation on your skin. One of his hands came up to take your calf, the other creeping up into the band of your leggings, carefully pulling it down.

You watched him as he did, stomach fluttering.

He gently helped you step out of your leggings and panties, leaving you bare and vulnerable to him. You would have been more embarrassed if it wasn’t for the way his eyelashes fluttered appreciatively, and the immediate way he ducked his head to press his mouth right to your core.

You muffled a moan into your palm, thunking your head against the tree trunk.

You could feel Shouto’s slow smile as he hefted your thigh over his shoulder, hands grasping your waist. “Mine,” you heard him utter, soft and low, before licking right over you, possessive and deliberate. It made every inch of your skin flush hot, every nerve ending come to life under his mouth.

You could still hardly believe what was happening, even as you muffled more sounds into your palm as Shouto worked you, with the attentive diligence he’d always done everything when it came to you. You could feel those mismatched eyes on you, cataloging your every reaction to what he did.

He learned all too quickly exactly what you liked, and you were a writhing mess within minutes. Shouto pinned you to the tree with an iron arm across your stomach as you arched and screamed, not letting up until you’d come against his mouth, chanting his name like an oath.

He looked very pleased with himself when you were done, his hair ruffled from your hand, face flushed.

He looked too good to be real.

“I want—Shouto, please—” you said, nearly incoherent but apparently utterly shameless now that he’d had you.

Shouto got to his feet to kiss you again and you flushed when you could taste yourself on his mouth. “Come home with me,” he murmured, tone low.

“You don’t want—?” you said.

Shouto shook his head. “Not here. I’ve imagined this a thousand times, how I wanted it to happen. I’ve thought about what you deserve. I’ve thought about how I will not want to separate, after, not even to take you back home. Come home with me first.”

Fire spread across your cheeks at the idea of Shouto imagining it with you, over and over again. The way he said home, like it was both of yours.

“Okay. Okay yes,” you said, breathless.

Shouto helped you back into your leggings and gathered up your abandoned pack, which you’d apparently dropped and forgotten entirely the moment he’d kissed you. He held your hand in his the whole way back through the woods, occasionally cocking his head or scenting the air, and then taking a long detour around some place, like he didn’t want to share your presence with whoever else was in the woods.

The walk was long, but so easy in Shouto’s company, even with this new dimension of your relationship settling itself between you two. It was frighteningly easy, in fact, after everything.

You talked about everything and nothing, reliving the entire week together, Shouto sharing that he’d hoped you’d see him as a man, had taken the time right up until the run to try to be sure. Ears flaming, you’d shared that you’d been gone for him the moment you’d seen him in the doorway of the kitchen. Shouto’s smug look immediately mopped up any of the reflexive embarrassment you felt sharing that.

By the time you made it to Shouto’s you’d also managed to shoot a text off to your mother, and an emergency extension of your time off to your workplace.

Shouto was on you as soon as the door shut behind you, catching your noise of surprise in his mouth.

Your arms came around him, and he walked you back to his couch, following you down onto it and laying himself out over you. The weight of him made you shiver again, the heaviness of all that muscle anchoring you down.

Shouto kissed you absolutely boneless into the cushions of his couch, hands wandering everywhere, skimming under your shirt, calluses catching on the fabric of your leggings. Everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, your nerves singing with pleasure. Shouto seemed to be trying to take his time with you, but you could sense something underneath that, his usual layers of patience eroded.

Feeling brave, you let your hands wander to the buttons of his pants, working them open. Shouto’s breath left him in a hiss as you wrapped your hand around him, feeling him hard and hot and velvet smooth in your palm.

“Ah… fffuck, love,” he muttered into your neck. He chased it with the soft scrape of his teeth, groaning when it made your grip tighten on him reflexively.

His hips flexed, sliding him through your fingers, flush and full. Butterflies fluttered to life in your stomach, and a hot streak of arousal licked up your spine. Your own hips shifted, lifting up into him, and you realized with a sudden desperation that you wanted him inside you, didn’t want to wait another second.

“Shouto please, please, please,” you found yourself babbling, stroking firmly down the shaft of him.

Shouto’s eyes were dark when they found yours again. “Anything, I would give you anything,” he said, his voice tight.

“I want you inside of me, please,” you said, your face burning with the admission.

The sheer elation flashing across his handsome face quelled any more embarrassment. In what felt like barely a breath, Shouto had you bare to him once more, flinging your leggings and shirt somewhere towards his kitchen. He covered you again, fitting himself between your thighs with another appreciative groan before pressing in.

You were so wild with want that he slid home easily, despite his impressive size. His skin burned hot against yours, and he felt so perfectly right over you, inside of you, that you had to fight down something like a sob.

Shouto looked equally as overwhelmed, staring at your face rapturously. “I have loved you my whole life,” he said, his tone wondering. “You are finally mine.”

Your entire body went hot with his declaration. You had not realized until today that you loved him too. But now that you did, it felt like everything made sense, that all was finally right.

You managed to gasp out as much between Shouto’s thrusts, as his hips bucked into yours, slowly at first, and then faster, more sure. He kissed you everywhere—your face, your neck, your shoulders, layering in soft bites like he could not help himself.

“Say it,” he groaned, mouthing at the underside of your jaw. “Please say it.”

“I love you,” you said. A yelp escaped you when Shouto suddenly seized you around the waist, rolling you on top of him and holding you to him as he levered the two of you upright. The position in his lap only made him sink deeper inside of you, and you hissed with the feeling, your fingernails digging into his back.

“Ah, fuck—Shouto!” you cried.

Shouto’s hands on your waist guided you with an easy strength—your head spun with the reminder of his power, the reminder that you had an alpha—your alpha—inside of you.

“Going to take good care of you,” he panted into your hair, pausing to kiss the shell of your ear even as the snap of his hips undid you. “Going to take such good care of you.”

Your fingers flexed on him, and you could feel your toes curl. You did not know what to do with all of the emotion welling up inside you, the well of your pleasure almost overflowing. He ground up into you, making your eyes nearly roll back in your head, and you fought down a scream when the pad of his thumb pressed to your clit, heightening every sensation.

“Oh Shouto, please—” was all you could manage.

Shouto looked enraptured, drinking in every change in your expression. As you squirmed and writhed under his touch, you felt him start to swell inside of you.

Both apprehension and arousal swirled inside of you, a beta’s body a little less adapted to knotting than an omega’s. But the firm circle Shouto’s thumb was drawing on your clit, and the low murmur of his voice in your ear, began to drown out any other thought.

“I have you, love,” Shouto said. His mouth dragged across your throat, leaving a sucking bruise along the column. Your nails scrabbled at his back as he swelled even further inside of you, starting to catch on your walls and make it harder to press back down on him.

“I have you,” Shouto said again, his voice rough with pleasure. The reassurance that he did, and the knowledge that he was barely managing his own pleasure struck you like a bolt of lightning. Something inside you unraveled and came loose, and you muffled a cry into Shouto’s broad shoulder as your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave.

A low swear escaped Shouto, and his knot swelled even further. His hands suddenly seized tight on either side of your waist, holding you down on him as he thrust up into you. You felt a sort of pressure you’d never anticipated, so overwhelming it was nearly painful—but then Shouto’s knot slid into you.

Shouto groaned into your neck, biting down hard. You writhed over him, your pleasure wringing you out until finally you slumped against him, shivering. Shouto eased back, propping himself up on the arm of the couch, you stuck to his chest like a sweat-slicked barnacle.

“That was—so much more intense than I ever imagined,” you said, when you’d recovered your faculty for human language.

You could feel the curve of Shouto’s smile against your neck. “For I, as well,” he said. “Though I had imagined it a great many times—we still have many other fantasies I intend to live out.”

You were embarrassed to feel yourself tighten around him. Shouto hissed, leaning back to pin you with a look—then looked more smug than you’d ever seen him.

“Like that, do you, love?” he asked.

The pet name made your ears heat, and you couldn’t help but pinch him. “You used to be so sweet, when did you get this fresh?” you demanded.

“Fresh is the least of what I intend to get with you,” Shouto informed you seriously. “I take my duties as a child bride very seriously.”

Your jaw dropped open, and you pressed back from him, gasping when it shifted him inside you. “You—! You heard—?”

Shouto’s smile was far too handsome and self-satisfied to be allowed. “That is when I knew I stood a chance.”

Your face burned. You couldn’t believe him. “You’re a menace.”

Shouto leaned into a press a kiss over where he’d sunk his teeth into you, butterfly-light. The touch of his mouth was warm and his campfire scent washed over you, fuzzing your thoughts. His mouth moved up to catch yours, and you let him kiss you until you realized you’d started to squirm in his lap again.

Several minutes later he had you coming on his knot again, locked against him and muffling the sounds of your pleasure into his neck.

He looked, if possible, even more satisfied, and you lifted a hand to thread through the strands of his hair, silky and damp.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you said, several orgasms having made you loose-tongued. You rubbed a strand of his hair between the pads of your fingers.

Shouto turned his head to drop a kiss to the base of your palm. “We have time enough to make you believe it, love.”

Another butterfly took wing in your stomach at the pet name. You wondered if you’d ever get used to hearing him say it.

“I’ll have to figure out my work—I don’t know if they’d let me work remotely all the way from here?” you said, thoughts suddenly shifting. You sort of doubted your company would make the exception for you, and a pang shot through your heart at the idea that you might have to leave Shouto to work in the city on weekdays. At least until you found another job, which might take months to arrange.

You did not want to be separated from him, now that you’d let yourself have him.

A hand caught your chin, thumb smoothing along your jaw. “I do not think you will have enough time,” Shouto said, a slim brow raising slightly. “What with the bookstore opening.”

You stared at him, wondering if you’d just had some sort of auditory hallucination.

“The—what?” you asked.

“The bookstore opening,” Shouto said. His mouth made the shape of the words exactly, and so it could not be that you’d hallucinated. But—

“What bookstore?” you asked.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a deliberately flat line like he was trying not to smile.

“Yours. Downstairs,” he clarified—which did not clarify at all.

Your mouth dropped open against his fingers, your eyebrows shooting for the moon. “My—? Downstairs—?”

Your mind scanned back over the events of the last twenty-four hours, the first time you’d caught sight of the shop downstairs again as you’d followed Shouto home. The way it seemed so well-maintained, the windows glinting crystal-clear in the soft evening light. Your eyes reflexively dipped to the blonde wood of Shouto’s floor, the very same that had been installed across the floor of the shop, and an understanding suddenly dawned on you.

“I remember everything you have ever told me,” Shouto had said when you mentioned you’d been in love with the shop downstairs.

“No way,” was what left your mouth as you glanced back up at Shouto, disbelief rising.

Shouto was watching you carefully, his handsome face serious. “Your name is on the deed.”

A wellspring of emotion rose up inside you like a geyser, and you slammed yourself back into Shouto, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “Shouto—I. You didn’t need to—there’s no way I can accept—this is incredible, you’re incredible—but I’d be taking advantage—I can’t—”

A warm, long-fingered hand slid up your spine to rest on the back of your head, holding you against him. “I have always been yours,” Shouto murmured. “Everything I have has always been yours. If it is too much now, we can wait. But I, and everything I have, will always be yours.”

You blinked, embarrassed to realize you’d started dripping tears into Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto didn’t say anything, fingers petting through your hair as you tried to fight the emotion down.

“I promised to take good care of you, and I intend to,” he said. Pressed against him, you could feel the way the words rumbled in his chest.

You closed your eyes and shoved your face in his neck, letting him hold you to him. Everything about today felt too good to be true, but you knew with absolute certainty that Shouto had always been too good to be true, himself. And yet you’d told him you trusted it, when he said he’d take care of you.

And you did—you realized you would always trust it, trust the beautiful boy you’d known all your life.

“I’ll need to pay you back on your investment,” you said some minutes later, when you finally found your voice again. You leaned back to look Shouto in the face, trying not to be embarrassed about the drying tear tracks.

“There is no need,” he said, eyes finding yours.

You realized you were still in his lap, though his knot had softened, and you thought you might be able to separate now.

But now you had other plans—and an investment you wanted to enthusiastically return.

“I insist,” you said, leaning forward to mouth at Shouto’s neck.

You caught the flash of his eyes widening, and his head fell back as a sharp breath left him. “I—see,” he said, his voice growing rough as you sucked a careful mark into the skin of his shoulder.

You smiled against his skin. “You will,” you promised, feeling bolder than ever. It felt like you were daring to believe it, that you’d found your life mate, that you really got to have him, that he’d loved you as long as he’d lived.

You wanted to return all those years of love, now that you loved him too.

“I’m going to take good care of you too,” you informed Shouto, hips already flexing over his.

You felt him start to grow hard inside of you again, and he turned his head to catch your mouth. You could feel his smile against your lips.

“I trust it,” he said, his voice dropping low.

You smiled too, grinning against your lifemate’s mouth, intent on proving yourself worthy of that trust.

Though perhaps that could wait until you’d delivered some of the many fantasies it sounded like he’d stored up. There was no reason to rush.

You had the rest of your life together, after all.

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Loyalty is Hot - Adam (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Request: "I was hoping for a fic where Reader is Adam's third wife and they meet Lucifer (maybe in a meeting?) and he states how he could take Reader from Adam as well. Adam is kind of internally panicking as Lucifer states what it took to take his other two wives until Reader gets all fed up and rudely puts him in his place. Causing Adam to get all hot and bothered for his wifey and their loyalty?"

Contents/Possible Warnings: P in V sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, semi-public sex (they fuck in a meeting room), Adam being himself, creampie, slight angst, SMUT, MDNI

You hated meetings, or waking up for them more specifically. It seemed that every time your husband dragged you to one it was at the earliest time possible, a time you'd much rather be spending in bed with him, enjoying the time of day where Heaven was at its most peaceful. It was also the time of day when Adam, sleepy and in a loving mood, was least annoying (which pained you a bit to admit, especially considering how much you loved him.)

"Hey! Wake the fuck up, babe! Don't fall asleep on me, not here." Adam nearly shouted, gently poking at you before you fell asleep on his shoulder in the meeting room. You opened your eyes with a sigh, keeping your head rested against your husband.

"Who are we even meeting with? More importantly, why haven't they shown up yet? It's been at least an hour," You questioned, a rising annoyance in your voice. Adam had sprung this meeting on you at the literal last minute, saying something along the lines of 'I need to show off my hot-as-fuck wife,' before practically dragging you out of bed; no more information given. Being the good wife you were, you accompanied him, albeit with some complaining. The last thing you were expecting, however, was for the meeting to be in Hell.

"We're meeting with Lucifer," He explained, the wide grin on his face shown on his mask. "I can't wait to see that fucker's face when he sees how sexy you are and realizes that you're all mine." One of his hands moved down to place itself on your thigh as he leaned in, smirking. "Who knows, maybe I'll even bend you over and fuck you right here on this table while he—"

You glared at him, smacking his hand away with a hiss of his name. He drew it back, letting out an amused laugh. "We are here on business," You reprimanded, an upset frown on your face. "Could you at least save the horny talk for after the meeting? Y'know when we're not in Hell?" Despite your reaction, you had to admit that the idea your husband had conjured up was kinda hot when you thought about it more in depth.

Fuck, you could see it now, feel it even. Back pressed against the table while your husband loomed over you, beautiful golden eyes staring into yours as you spread your legs for him. His thick cock sinking into you slowly, only for him to start with a quick, animalistic pace–just the way you liked it. Fuck, and the way his hands would reach out, grabbing at whatever he could; your ass, tits, thighs, anything that was soft and grabbable.

You hadn't realized the blush that had spread across your face until you saw your husband's smug grin. "Awww, did that turn you on, baby?" He cooed, almost mockingly. "Remember what you said, 'Save it for after the meeting.' Can't jump on me just quite yet." He leaned back in his chair, the grin on his face only growing as you shot him a harsh glare. As much of a lover of sex as he was, Adam loved teasing you even more.

You opened your mouth to argue back at him, slightly embarrassed by his use of your own words against you, but you were cut off by the sound of the door opening and closing. You turned your head, spotting the King of Hell himself. He looked just the way Adam had always described: pale white skin, rosy red cheeks, golden hair, noseless, and short. So short.

You stood from your seat as Lucifer approached the table, the sound of his boots against the tile of the floor filling the otherwise large, quiet room. You smiled, holding out a hand to shake, your typical behavior for business matters, regardless of who it was. "Hello, Your Majesty," You greeted politely, earning an eye roll from your husband next to you.

Lucifer returned your smile with one of his own, taking your hand and shaking it. "Who might this beautiful angel be, Adam?" He questioned, pressing a light kiss to your hand before letting it go and sitting down. Adam smirked as you sat back in your seat next to him, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you in close; not letting his annoyance at Lucifer's small display of affection be visible on his face.

"This is (Y/N), my wife. She's gorgeous, isn't she? A real hottie. Did I mention she's my wife?" He introduced, taking pride in having you by his side. Lucifer glanced at you, looking unamused by Adam's obvious boast before smiling at you. "Well, I certainly hope she's happy with you. Y'know, considering your history with your other wives." He antagonized, covering it up with a polite tone.

Adam's smile faltered. A sensitive topic had been brought up, one that challenged your husband's confidence. You looked between the two, taking note of how they glared at each other with mutual hatred. Lucifer turned his attention fully onto you, leaning in slightly. "Tell me, dear. Does he even satisfy you? Are you happy with him?" You opened your mouth slightly in shock, taken back by the sudden, blunt questioning.

"Fuck you! Of course she's happy with me!" Adam growled. "She's not like those last two bitches who'd settle for you of all people, you short fuck." Despite his assertion, you could hear the doubt in his voice, like he was trying to convince himself of it, too. Lucifer grinned, sharp teeth on full display, not affected whatsoever by your husband's burst of anger.

"It's not my fault that your wives like me better, Adam," Lucifer replied snidely. "All it took for Lilith was a man who did more than the bare minimum, and as for Eve, all it took was giving her a choice of who she wanted to be with for once, and that someone certainly wasn't you."

Lucifer then motioned to you. "I wonder what it'll take for me to win your third wife over, probably not much, to no fault of her own. You're probably leaving her just as unhappy as you did the last two, Adam." You watched as Adam tensed up at Lucifer's words, any confidence now gone as he struggled to keep up his self-absorbed facade.

"T-Thats not true," He stuttered, one of the few times you had ever seen him do so in all of the years you had known him. The drop in Adam's demeanor was the final straw, and you calmly got up from your seat. Both men's eyes followed you, watching your movements closely. Even with the mask on his face, you could see the fear in your husband's eyes as he watched you approach Lucifer.

"Honey? Baby?" Adam called out to you, watch as your face morphed into one of pure anger; a sight that even scared the King of Hell himself. They both knew that you were far from happy, and that was never a good thing.

"First of all, Lucifer," You hissed, saying his name with pure malice. "I am not Lilith, nor am I Eve. I may have been created with the same purpose in mind, but let it be known that we are far from similar." You slowly got closer to him, almost like a predator stalking its prey in the most terrifying way possible. "Second of all, yes I am happy. Clearly happier with Adam than Lilith was with you, considering how she up and left you and went only God knows where. I also don't see Eve around."

Lucifer's smile fell for the first time that day, and with it, his pride. Adam watched in astonishment as you continued to put Lucifer in his place. "Finally, I need you to understand that you're far from being my type. You're a coward who barely governs his people, yet so proudly calls himself the boss. Then you waltzed in here acting like you knew me better than I know myself, even when we had just met. I love Adam with every fiber of my being, even if he's the most obnoxious jackass I've ever met."

You got even closer, causing Lucifer to lean back in an attempt to escape you. "Oh, and for the record—" You leaned into his ear. "Adam fucks me better than I'm sure you've ever fucked anyone else in your pathetic life. So, yes, he does satisfy me." You whispered. You pulled back suddenly, a smile on your face. "Is that understood?"

Lucifer gulped, nodding in reply. "Lovely." You grinned, moving back to Adam. "Now, I'm afraid we're out of time. We'll have to reschedule this meeting for another day, preferably with someone else. Maybe you can send someone in your stead? Someone who's more politically involved in your Kingdom's workings, perhaps."

Lucifer let out an awkward laugh, standing up before making his way to the door, mumbling something about how we would send his daughter instead next time, before leaving. You stood triumphant, hands on your hips as you watched his departure.

"I—" Adam began, almost at a loss for words. "Are you aware how fucking hot that was!? Holy shit—" He pulled you down into his lap, pulling his mask off before crashing his lips against yours, kissing you eagerly. He pulled you down by the hips, grinding you against him, causing you to feel his growing hard-on through the fabric of his robes. "Fuck–Please, I know you said we have to wait, but please please please let me fuck you right here. Need you now."

You grinded down, a moan escaping both of you. "Why don't you do what you said you'd do earlier, hmm? Fuck me right here on this table, Adam." He bent you over the table, and you let him pull your skirt up just enough for him to be able to then tug your underwear off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room.

"Impatient today, aren't you, hon?" You teased playfully, looking back to find him not even bothering to take off his robes, choosing to pull them up instead. He chuckled, placing his hands on your hips as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Seeing you put annoying little fucks like Lucifer in their place does things to me, baby." He purred, thrusting in.

You let out a gasp at the feeling, his thick cock stretching you out perfectly. His pace was quick from the start, hips snapping against yours as the sound of it all filled the room. "I bet Lucifer couldn't fuck you like this now, could he? No, you need a real man to show you who you belong to." Adam groaned, kissing and nipping at your neck.

"H-He could never," You stuttered, struggling to speak as your mind went foggy from pleasure. "I need—Oh, fuck!" You let out a cry as his fingers found your clit, rubbing at it. "That's a good girl, let all those pretty little noises out." He praised, the sound of your moans more beautiful than any Heavenly choir to him.

"You're so much better than those other whores," He moaned, pounding into you, eyes screwed shut in pure ecstasy. "My perfect fucking wife, the love of my life—Shit—" He let out a growl as you clenched down on him. He let out a sweet laugh, hands moving up to grab at your tits while he fucked into you. "Oh? The praise turns you on, huh? You should be honored to receive it from me."

A mix of your moans and his spread throughout the room as you both drew closer to your climaxes, your shared noises growing louder and louder by the second. "Fuck," He cursed, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he rutted into you. "Gonna cum, 'm gonna fill you up. Maybe I'll even put a baby in you just to show Lucifer how in love with me you are."

"Do it—" You begged, legs quivering as he angled his cock in just the right way for the tip to graze your sweet spot. "Cum inside me Adam, let them know that I'm yours. All yours—A-Adam!" Your orgasm hit you with sudden force, the feeling coursing through you.

"Yesyesyes! Feels so fucking good cumming around me—" The sensation of your pussy contracting around him during your orgasm pushed him over the edge, and he came, shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside of you.

You rested your face against the table, no longer able to hold yourself up by your arms after the energy your climax had used up. Your orgasm subsided, but your body still shook, lightly trembling from the enjoyable onslaught it had just endured. You took deep breaths as Adam pulled out of you, feeling his cum leaking out of your well-fucked cunt.

He pressed soft kisses to your neck, holding you as you both basked in your post-orgasmic bliss together. "I love you," He mumbled against your neck, smiling. "You seriously have no idea how grateful I am for you to be my wife. You're absolute perfection, sweetheart." He pulled himself off of you, sitting back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You think some sinner scum is gonna have to clean our mess up? That shit would be hilarious."

You sighed, shooting him a harsh look that he only laughed at. "Adam," You warned. "Have some respect, would you?" He laughed again, pulling you down into his lap, grinning. "Respect? Baby, we just screwed in a fancy meeting room. We are past the point of failing to show respect."

He leaned in closer to you, mischief in his golden eyes. "Now, why don't we go for a round two?"

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[aristotels]

ive started a shitstorm here and im still getting ppl in my inbox and notes absolutely missing the entire point of WHY knowing basic geography is important.

people calling me out for european imperialism are proving it by not even understanding the differences between western and eastern europe and the economic differences and exploitation or understanding what the fuck imperialism itself is and what constitutes it. yall keep arguing with a person from balkans about eurocentrism and this is why you should know where balkans are. i dont care about you knowing that zagreb is the croatian capital, its rly not important, the purpose of this entire discussion is understanding economic contexts of different countries

the actual purpose of this converstation is learning what imperial core is and how usamericans not trying to learn abt the countries theyre exploiting is harmful.

blue countries constitute the imperial core and hold monopoly over market, trade, education, military powers, etc. if you live in them you have some responsibilities. you affect the periphery and semi-periphery countries. your votes, your president, etc, affect them. you have a duty to know about the countries that your country opresses.

i also hope people read at least the wikipedia page on globalism if they wont read marx. and you can actually learn what the fuck global south is too

here's more information on imperial core countries and how that affects the rest. its a newer article, as opposed to the maps from 2000 and 2005.

im srsly done w this whole discussion and unless you want to discuss actual issues about exploitation and neocolonialism instead of asking me to name 50 usa states dont botheeeer im done

[itsharleystuff]

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝐌Í𝐀 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

Gif not mine!

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Javier Peña x afab!fem reader (implied hispanic/latina)

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.3k

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After a major fight between the two of you, a month goes by in which you give each other the silent treatment, figuring out if you should start seeing different people. However, Javier has a problem: he can’t get his dick hard for anyone that isn’t you. So, when he sees how easily you can move on from him, he gets awfully jealous.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), sex, possessive/jealous behavior, unprotected sex, p in v, cuffs, slight dirty talk, semi-public sex, use of ‘slut’, pet names (sweetheart, corazón, cariño, hermosa, etc.), praise kink, come eating, oral sex (f! & m! receiving), mentions of drugs, smoking, a bit of angst, very little plot (mostly filth), weirdly structured plot. I think that’s it.

— a/n: there’s some phrases and words in Spanish, some are translated and some aren’t. Let me know if translations are needed :)

No use of y/n.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Javier Peña has never been a jealous man.

It's simply never been in his nature, not even when he was a child playing around with toys that he loved to share. And nowadays? Well, he had other stuff in mind that didn't leave any room for those pedestrian feelings.

As of now, he -supposedly- didn't have anything to be worried about. Specially not women.

Everyone knew he fucked hookers so good that they'd spill all their secrets in his ear, and that he was attractive enough to leave a bar with company just after a couple of minutes from arriving there. But to anyone observant, it was obvious how bad he had it for you.

Still, that didn't stop him from being an asshole.

You remember the last time you two spoke and how it turned out to be a fucking disaster: basically, he didn't like the idea of exclusivity because it involved feelings that he wasn't ready to admit, so you had called him a slut (along with many other insults) and he'd said that you were childish and sensitive. So naturally, everything went downhill after that fight.

Currently, things were pretty tense with Javier, even at work. But things just got worse when the Colombian police sent you onto an undercover mission, nothing really extravagant but still quite dangerous. And apparently, the DEA knew nothing about it.

The task was rather simple: you'd go to one of Medellin's busiest nightclubs and find out if there was a cocaine distribution line working there. The problem was what the agent had overheard from Carrillo. Not only did he knew now that you were at the place, but he also had word that one of the cartel's most wanted sicarios was about to be there too. And knowing the Coronel as well as he did, you were right in the middle of a crossfire. He arrived at the club earlier than any of them, hoping to find you quickly and draw you out before the asset came in.

But, oh hell.

What he saw the minute he stepped in almost made him lose his shit.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

You had no business being in there this late. You'd already passed down all the information needed to your boss and now you were just waiting for the cartel's member to arrive so you could call Carrillo and let him finish the job.

But in the meantime, you decided to at least try and have some fun. After everything that went on with Peña, you felt like you deserved a distraction.

The music was loud, reggaetón reverberating in your body as you danced, eyes wide awake in case the target decided to show up. The stranger you were dancing with had his hands all over your body, holding you close to him while you moved in synch. He was handsome in a boyish way, and a bit clumsy, but good enough to take your mind off from the irritating DEA agent. At least for now.

To be honest, you didn't lack any attention at the moment. Both men and women would come up to you, hoping to get a piece of what you had to offer. It came without saying that everything about you tonight resulted appealing to the kind of people that frequented the place, being an undercover assignment you did your best to blend in. And it seemed to work out wonderfully. The flashy makeup and short dress that only accentuated your figure made you stand out amongst the rest; nevertheless, what really attracted everyone's gaze wasn't any of that, but the confidence with which you'd walk around the place like you owned it.

"¿Qué tal si nos vamos pa' un lugar más oscurito, mamacita?" (How about we go to a more private place?) The guy, whose name you didn't even know, proposed. And though the idea sounded nice, your job wasn't quite finished.

"Not yet, papi. Dame un par de canciones más." (Let's dance a bit more). He hummed in response, his hands traveling from your lower back to grab your ass firmly.

"Usted manda." (You call the shots). The answer made you smile cheekily as you lean in to him, hoping to connect his lips with yours.

However, you definitely didn't expect to be abruptly pulled back with force instead, ripping you apart from the man's hold.

"What the hell..." you start to complain and twist in the strangers grasp, who started to drag you out the dance floor and keeping your wrists behind your back.

"Hombre, ¿pero qué diablo' le pasa?" (What's wrong with you, man?). Asked your poor companion, glancing over at the guy that took you away from him.

But you knew exactly who he was even before he spoke. You'd recognize that musky cologne anywhere, mixed with the scent of cigarette smoke. Damn, even your body recognized him so well that the way his fingertips dig on your skin flooded your mind with memories from the past.

"Peña." You mutter through gritted teeth, not bothering to turn your head towards him.

"It's agent Peña to you, sweetheart." He snarls, completely blowing off anyone that would try to get in his way to lug you outside.

A new, fueled up rage crept up your spine while he harshly pulls you to te entrance, right were you see the colonel's target going in.

"Let go of me, mierda!" You struggle against him, not wanting to actually put on a fight but just make him reason. "I have a fucking job to do, so let go of me or..."

"Or what?" Javier spins you around carelessly, leaving your face so close to his that your breaths merged with each other's, chest pressed against your own as he keeps you still, his hands gripping you so hard that it would certainly leave bruises.

"I need to call Carrillo. I'm working, even if you don't believe it." You tell him, letting your racing heartbeat start to settle.

The man's eyes were dark, covered by a shadow of anger that matched his stern expression. He was always handsome, but whenever he'd get mad, Javi was hot. Although it was unusual for you to see him like this, him being always attentive and careful, though still very passionate. He would never explode, not even when the stress and tension became too much to handle. But then, you realize...

"No way..." you scoff, keeping direct eye contact. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

His reaction is immediate, turning your body again and flushing your face against the trunk of his jeep Cherokee, bending you over the car. You gasp audibly, feeling the cold metal under your cheek and his body towering upon you while he holds you down by the back of your neck. Javier's lips brush the top of your ear when he leans down to you.

"The fuck do I need to be jealous about, cariño?" He whispers lowly, his hot breath giving you goosebumps and making your knees tremble. "Eres mía, you've always been."

Ah, fuck.

Despite all the shit that you went through with him, the effect he had on you remained the same. No matter what, the agent was aware of it, conscious of how you'd always melt under his touch, he just knew all your sweet spots by core memory and what'll have you squirming underneath him. Yeah, even if your mind tried it's best to erase Peña, your body would always betray you.

"You lost your chance." You mutter in a bittersweet tone. "Now get the hell off me so I can finish my task."

He doesn't instantly let go, but eventually loosens the grip on your nape. Though right when you thought he'd actually let you free, there's a cold metallic sensation brushing on your wrist and you suddenly can't move your arms from your back. The motherfucker had just cuffed you.

"Malparido, hijo de..." You ramble, straightening your back to glance at him in exasperation.

"Don't move." He growls, opening the driver's door and taking his radio out. The agent starts to talk through it, but you're way too outraged as to pay any attention, your vision going red when you catch your name, the words 'Carrillo', 'sicario' and the place were you're at, figuring out that he's doing the part of the job that corresponded to you.

"You're sick, Peña." There's no reply to the snarky comment as he simply shoves you in the back of his truck, rather carefully, considering the situation.

You watch intently while he gets back on his seat, analyzing every detail about him. It wasn't anything special, you had seen him quite often at work after your fight, and nonetheless, now... Something seemed off.

Javier was wearing a red button shirt under his black leather jacket, from which he drew out a pack of cigs and a lighter. He appeared the same, however, you could sense the tension on his shoulders and back, the kind you'd help him deal with before, and it almost felt like he was holding back from doing something. Heck, you hated it. You completely despised arguing with him, being apart from the man almost made you physically unwell.

But that was the root of this whole problem. You were able to admit it; how much you liked him and didn't want anyone else. Him on the other hand, wasn't ready for all that. Although, despite him implying that he couldn't fully commit or correspond to your feelings... Right now, his actions were very contradicting.

Because Javier Peña never got jealous.

And yet, there he was.

Perhaps, if you spurred him on just enough and cornered him in a trap... Perhaps then, he'd be able to admit it. 

"So what now, agent?" You wonder, laying your back flat on the leather sit, feeling the coldness of the material on your exposed skin and trying to find a comfortable position. "You mind explaining yourself?"

He looks at you through the rear-view mirror, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. A challenging fire shines in your eyes when you lock glances with him. But he doesn't say anything, simply starting the car and getting the windows down before lighting up a cigarette.

"What about you, sweetheart?" He asks, the fag hanging from between his lips as he starts driving away from the club. "Care for elaborating on your actions?"

You snort, gaze diverting towards the window. "I was just killing time."

The streets of Medellin were loud and busy, specially on the weekends. But at the moment, the paths were dark and quiet, as if everyone knew that there was a storm coming and they had to stay out of the hood.

"So that's your idea of 'killing time'?" He comes again, tapping the cigar out his window to leave the ashes behind. "Letting random men grope you in those wrenched bars?" You grin, still defying him with your attitude. "And yet, I'm the slut..."

"You must certainly are, Peña." You reply condescendingly, watching the road. "When I was with you, that was it. No one else even crossed my mind. But then, you? How many other women did you have besides me?"

He grunts, taking a long drag without looking back in your direction. You recognize certain spots and locals, but none of them were anywhere close to your apartment. Instead of asking were he was taking you to, the idea you previously had lingers on your mind.

Red light.

"You know, ever since we... Well, ghosted each other. I've actually had tons of fun." His eyes darkened, but no matter all the warning signs he was sending with his body, you just couldn't hold back anymore, starting to play a game that might get out of control. "Actually, you know that guy working with the CIA? Balcázar?"

Javier looked so gorgeous while driving. His big hands over the lever and muscles flexing whenever he'd make sudden moves. Even now, tense as an arrow an white-knuckling the wheel at your words, he was the hottest man you'd seen.

"Shit, he’s good..." you purr, slightly arching your back so he'll get a better view of your breasts, barely contained in that tiny dress you were wearing. "I really miss him. Hated it when he went back to New York."

His stormy glare was on you, watching closely every single move you made. Your legs were briefly parted, just enough for him to peek a sight of your laced underwear. The agent's breathing became ragged and he had to try his best to stay concentrated.

"Careful, cariño." You hear him rasp out with a hint of danger. "You really don't want to go there."

Green light.

He puts the cigarette out and throws the tail away carelessly.

"Ay, Peña." Your voice goes an octave lower, licking your lips. "Don't act like you haven't been to every brothel in the city trying to fill in my spot."

The man huffs a laugh, shaking his head in disapproval. "I know what you're doing." You look at him through your lashes, faking innocence and confusion. "But if you really want me to say it, there hasn't been anyone else."

"Yeah, right..." That mocking tone was really getting on his nerves.

"Not even when we were together." Javi sulks out.

"Then why was it so difficult for you to be serious with me?" You question grimly. "Do you not like me?"

His eyes bore back into yours somberly, as if you'd just said the stupidest thing in the world despite the graveness in your voice and expression, lazily scanning you head to toe.

"Like you?" It sounded like he was struggling not to come off sardonic, cocking an eyebrow at you. "I can't believe you just asked me that."

You lean in towards him when he takes an unexpected turn, inhaling his particular scent mixed with the leather and smoke. Suddenly, he parks the car someplace dark and empty that resembled an abandoned gas station. Kind of creepy, but you recognized the area now. It was a neighborhood located a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

"Why?" You coo, taunting, patiently testing how much he'd spill. But Javier won't meet your glance, focused on the nothingness ahead of him.

"Because I can't even get my dick hard for any other women, for fucks sake!" He howls, rubbing his face with his palm, clearly pissed.

At first, you thought he must've been joking. But the way he said it came out so frustrated that it made it hard to believe he was lying. His bold statement gave you a rush of power, knowing that you had him in mind and body, the man that made every woman he acquainted feel like a schoolgirl crushing on a senior. You understood why he was so mad right now; it wasn't only cause he was jealous, but because he hated seeing that you could easily move on to the next man while he remained stuck.

Though it was a lie. You only responded to him and you wanted to prove him that. But Javier had to acknowledge the mistake he made.

"Perhaps you're just old." You teased, "Have you tried pills for that?"

His reaction was so unexpected that you had barely any time to process the circumstances. He got out the car and opened the passenger's seat, tugging at your arm to get you out the jeep apprehensively.

"Take a guess, sweetheart." He grits next to your ear, his chest pressed to your back.

"Fucking hell..." you mewl at the feeling of Javier's hard boner firm against your ass. His hands hold your waist for a second before manhandling you to the edge of the back passenger's seat, hunching down in front of you with both hands gently gripping the exposed flesh of your thighs and looking up at you with fiery eyes.

"If you want me to say it, fine." He bites, giving up. "I made a mistake. It was stupid." Then his tone denotes the way he's struggling to contain anger. "I can't bear it. Seeing you with other men... It drives me insane. I can't even think straight- shit, I almost blew a whole ass operation tonight just because I saw you dancing with that guy." You gulp, remembering how furious he was just a few moments ago. "But let's not fool ourselves, cariño. We both know you haven't slept with anyone else either."

How he figured that out was a mystery to you. Maybe he truly was a very good agent.

There isn't a retort in your behalf. What could you possibly say anyway? He had you figured out already, he always did.

Back in the day, when you first started working with him, Javier acted like a complete shithead. Him an Murphy would give you a hard time with the DEA, always getting in trouble, messing up your schedules and bribing confidential information out of you. That's how you grew closer to him. Peña used to invite you for dinner or beers as an apology, granted that he always looked forward to take you back to his apartment, of course. Except you had heard the rumors regarding his reputation, and that was a well in which you weren't particularly eager to fall in, specially since he was a coworker.

Yet, it was all in vain. How could you ever say no to him if he'd look at you with those sparkly, deep brown eyes that resembled a lost puppy? You fell for Javi's smug smirk, the groovy hair, plus that confident and bite-back attitude of his, knowing how it would eventually end. Even so, no one could really blame you. He acted different around you, people were able to tell, brighter, more open and honest.

"See, I'm sorry about what I said..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"Don't be. I deserved that shit." The man stands up, taking a bunch of keys from the pocket of his jeans and going to take off the cuffs. "You should feel sorry for all those poor guys you toyed with while thinking about me the whole time."

You stretch your arms and massage your wrists, unwilling to meet his intense gaze, conscious that you'd fall for his charm immediately. He worked smarter, grabbing your chin to raise your face towards him.

"Did you enjoy it?" He hissed, fingertips digging on your jaw with moderate force. "Having other men grab your ass while everyone watches? Teasing the hell out of me in the office with those obscenely tight skirts and talking to Murphy as if I wasn't right beside him?" Your tongue darts out to lick your lower lip, not breaking eye contact. "Answer me, corazón."

"Yes," you respond cockily, "I enjoyed it." His face swiftly sobered, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "But I didn't think it had any effect on you, so it felt like a waste of time and effort."

Javier laughs huskily, bending forward. You close your eyes, thinking he's going in for a kiss, but instead his lips go to rest on your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck and all the way down to the valley of your breasts. As of now, you're a panting mess, already turned on by his adamant behavior. The fact that you were finally getting to feel him like this after a month or so of completely ignoring each other... It felt divine.

Your tug at his shoulder as he keeps nibbling the sensitive skin. The agent knew your body better than anyone else ever could, he'd memorized all the spots that would have you moaning and squirming underneath him, which was the case just now.

"Javi..." you sigh, running your hand through his hair.

"You're such a fucking brat." He reflects, kneeling between your parted legs. "A month ago I was merely a ghost to you, a few minutes prior I was simply 'Peña'. But when my lips are on you I'm suddenly 'Javi'?" He boasts with a devilish grin. "How convenient..."

"Mmm..." he laughs gruffly at your loss of words, his fingers hooking your underwear beneath the dress and slowly pulling it down.

At this point you're so wet it's embarrassing. It was probably due to the lack of sex you've had recently, or perhaps you were really growing fond of this new phase of his and the idea of Javier being possessive over you.

"Don't you dare look away." He warns roughly, peeling the fabric off you with a tad of your help. "Keep your eyes on me. I'll only tell you this once."

You nod eagerly. "Javi, are we- are we going to do it here?" It wouldn't be a new thing, you've done similar stuff in the past, though never in such an open space, despite appearing deserted. "Your place is barely a few blocks away..." His lips graze the soft skin of your upper leg, the feeling of his mustache raising goosebumps on your body.

"Can't wait." He stated, voice tinted with lust whilst his palm caresses your calf. "Need you now."

Somehow that made the pit of your stomach feel warmer. The rush of excitement coming from that desire he had for you had gave a thrill of control, completely ignoring how he was the one in charge of this situation. Javier carefully slips your dress upwards, taking in every single reaction you had to his touch and cursing at the sight of your throbbing pussy. The heat of his breath against your exposed core only increased your arousal, seemingly encouraging him.

"Shit, this cunt really did miss me, huh?" You nod again, basking in the contact of his nose brushing your clit, sending shivers down your spine.

In spite of your low whimpers of need, he deliberately denied you of his touch were you most needed him, simply roaming his lips and fingers over your inner thighs and pubic bone. Desperate, you scratch his scalp softly, pulling a groan from him.

"Javi, please..." he was definitely going to make you beg for it, regardless of how much he wanted it too. 

"Did you let anyone else do this to you?"

"No." You breathe out.

"Good." His thumb suddenly falls on your clit, rubbing slow circles. You squeal from the spontaneousness of the action, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. "This is mine." Then he slides down his finger to slightly part your swollen lips, coating it with your slick. "All mine."

"Sí, Javi."

"That's right, corazón." He murmurs, slipping two digits into you. "I'm going to fuck you so good that you won't ever think about anyone else." He sets a pace pretty quickly, pumping his fingers in and out, curling them to hit all the right spots. "I'm the only man for you. Understand that?"

"Yes, shit-" you choke down a moan when he mildly pinches your nub. "You are."

He makes a satisfied noise before diving in your pussy, starting to lick and kiss your clit without pulling out his fingers, maintaining a relentless pace and rejoicing himself in the sounds he'd pull from you.

"Fuck, that's good..." you manage to say, knowing how he likes the praise, your hand messing up his hair.

Javier pulls away for a second, grabbing your thighs to part them further and place your legs over his shoulders eagerly, hungrily looking up at you. You arch your back, ever so responsive to him while struggling to maintain a hold of yourself.

"So pretty." He whispers, admiring how your chest goes up and down from your rag breathing, your face contorted by pleasure as his fingers disappear in your cunt, the squelching sounds of your pussy and the moans spilling from your lips making him painfully hard. "Toda mía."

Your legs were already shaking, your body being so sensitive and needy. Specially for him. Always for him. But it wasn't enough and you both knew that. Though before you can beg him for more, his mouth takes place were his digits used to be, eating you out as if you were his favorite meal, lapping you up kind of selfishly, almost like he did it for his own pleasure.

"Javi, that's-" you can't even form coherent sentences without being interrupted by your cries of pleasure. "Too fucking good."

His tongue is hot and soft between your folds, licking up your slit as he rubs tight circles on your clit, fucking you greedily and moaning graciously against your slickness. Also, the image of him between your legs was always a sight to see, adding to the pool of arousal. You start seeing white spots and the knot in your lower stomach starts to loosen as the orgasm approaches, gripping the leather seat as if your life depended on it. It's a good thing that he's holding you, cause in a matter of seconds your whole body starts to tremble and his name leaves your lips repeatedly.

"I can't- shit!" You pull his hair involuntarily and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your core and pushing you to the edge. "I'm gonna..."

You can't even finish speaking before you're coming undone in his mouth, feeling the hot waves of satisfaction wash over you. He doesn't pull away until you're practically whining from the overstimulation, trying to regain composure as he licks you clean. When he does, his eyes peer at you, intoxicated with desire as he starts to stand on his feet, towering over you.

"I missed that sweet taste of yours." He licks his glistening lips and you wish he'd finally kiss you. "Can't get enough of it."

Your hands reach his belt, trying to unbuckle it, but he takes your wrists to stop you.

"What's wrong?" You question, genuinely confused.

"I'm taking you to my apartment. I'm doing this properly." He retorts. However, you're too turned on now to care about the place.

"Please Javi, let me do something for you." One thing that made him go stupidly insane for you was the way you were never coy when asking for his cock, looking up at him with pleading eyes. As if having him on your throat gratified you. "I need you."

He almost caved in. Almost.

"Stop that or I'll cuff you again." He grumbles, only making you smile.

"Do it. I don't need hands, I can always take you in my mou-" Javier flips your body abruptly, pressing your face against the seat, and you can hear the familiar sound of metal clipping in.

"Such a greedy slut." He fixes your dress, not without subtly smacking your ass beforehand.

"Mm, can I at least get my panties back?" You ask in defeat, turning to face him, but he was already shutting the door.

"No." He quickly starts the car as you settle on the back, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed and lips plump from biting them, eyes still sparkling from the high post-orgasm.

"Do you like me like this?" You wonder as he begins driving. "All fucked out, cuffed and ready for you to take?"

Peña doesn't answer immediately, not daring to look back at you but desperately wanting to do it.

"I do." He answers, eyes on the road. "I like you naked. And dressed too, specially with those pretty skirts. I like it when you tell me how your day was, or when you're reading quietly." His words make your heart flutter, blushing harder. "I like listening to your voice, and the way your gaze always seems interested whenever I talk about me. Shit, I even like you when you're ignoring me." You can almost hear his smile, if that made any sense. "I like you all the damn time, hermosa."

Honestly, you weren't expecting such a straightforward answer, finding yourself at loss of words. Nonetheless, you didn't need to say anything, cause sooner than expected you were being taken out of the truck, flashes of the building he resided in passed right in front of your eyes while he dragged you through the dark, silent halls.

"Javi..." despite having limited mobility, you lean towards him, whispering in his ear. "Please kiss me."

He laughs dryly at your plea and struggles to open the door. "You want that, huh? ¿Quieres que te bese?" Then he takes your arm to drag you in, closing the door behind him.

"Yes, mi amor. I missed you so fucking much." You stay close to him, your face nuzzled on the crook of his neck. His hand brushes the hair out of your face and he presses his lips to your temple.

"Hm, is that right?" He hums and you can feel it against your nose. "Didn't seem so."

You back off swiftly, keeping your eyes locked with his. "I'm sorry, Javier. I really am."

Something shifts in his gaze, a possessive, deep emotion takes over him and he decides to take you up on your previous proposition.

"Prove it." He commands, voice hoarse. "Show me how much you missed me." The idea of getting what you wanted pursed your lips in a mischievous smirk. "I'll kiss you afterwards if I'm convinced."

Instead of responding, you start peppering kisses all over his jaw and neck, going as far along his chest as the buttons of his shirt would allow you. He lazily unbuckles his belt and pants while you lower yourself to your knees in front of him, but doesn't bother to go any further. It was going to be difficult, though nothing you haven't done before, nearly forgetting the cuffs as you craved his taste.

You rub the side of your face on his stiff erection, feeling how hard and hot he was under the tight fabric of his jeans and a low groan scratches his throat. You mouth at it before taking the zip between your teeth and sliding it down, eyes peering up at him at the same time. Javier observes every move attentively, his cock twitching at the sight of your lust-drunken gaze, breath starting to become unsteady when you kiss and lick the head of his dick over the thin fabric of his boxers. You taste the precum throughout it, salty and good, before pulling down his underwear by lightly biting the elastic.

Your mouth waters at the view, jaw going slack even before taking him in your mouth. His girth slaps against his clothed belly, tip red and leaking, just as big as you remember. Shit, you really had missed him. Javier's hand tangles in your hair, running his fingers in between the locks lovingly. He gasps when you press your lips to the slit, kitten licking the top and starting to spread wet kisses all over his length, running your tongue along the shaft, his musky scent getting to your head quite fast. He loved how every time you were on your knees for him it felt like you adored him, as much as Javier did you.

And it was true. Knowing how good you made him feel satisfied your senses, every expression and single noise he'd make could turn you on and push you to edge so easily. The man was simply delightful.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he sighs, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb when you finally suck him in. “That’s it, wrap those gorgeous lips around my cock. So pretty…”

He lets out a gruffly moan as you take him further, watching as he screws his eyes shut and throws his head back, the sound so divine that it immediately makes your pussy clench around nothing. Javier is thick. And it’s always so hard to get him all in your mouth, but this time you make a double effort. You run your tongue against the veins on the underside of his dick, enjoying the weight of it in you, the taste and the admirable sight of him coming undone while he tries his best not to start fucking your face without warning, laying his palms flat on the wall behind you.

“Shit- that’s…” he grumbles, head spinning from pleasure, unable to make up any thought or manifest anything into words. You start bobbing your head up and down his length, hollowing your cheeks to provide more warmth.

You’re dripping, feeling the slick run down your thighs and the ache becoming unbearable. You squeeze your legs together in order to release some of that need, letting out a whine that vibrates through him and makes his hips jolt into your mouth.

“Fucking hell…” Javier’s hand snakes to the back of your neck, massaging the soft skin. “Does it turn you on to get me off like this, hermosa?”

You hum in response and the feeling sends him to oblivion, letting out a coarse moan that shocks another wave of hotness between your legs.

“What a nasty girl you are.” He mumbles breathily, “My girl.” He’s practically shaking at this point, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and your nose pressed against his pubic bone.

Air wasn’t a necessity at the moment, your ears ringing and the corners of your eyes watering. He warned you he was close but you didn’t back out, letting him hold you for support. He gasps out a raspy ‘fuck’ when he releases, hips stuttering and back arching slightly as his cum hits your tongue. You pull apart just enough to lap at the tip while he rides it out, feeling him throb in your mouth while you savor him until he’s completely spent, soft moans barely audible.

You wait until he opens his eyes again, brown gaze meeting yours between shaky breaths. “Will you uncuff me now, agent?”

He huffs a laugh, tugging himself back in his jeans before helping you get up and taking the metal cuffs off. For a second, none of you say a thing, simply staring back at each other with a swirl of emotions between you. But then he says your name, merely a whisper that makes you crumble.

“Don’t do that, Peña.” You scold, turning your back to him and walking towards the couch, taking a seat and listening to the leather crack under your weight.

“What do you mean?” He turns to you, hands on his hips, pants unbuttoned and hair messy.

“When you say my name like you need me and give me those puppy-dog eyes, I actually believe that you want me for anything other than sex.” He seems disappointed, mostly on himself. “So can we just fuck and get this over with?”

“Is that what you think I…?” Javier shakes his head and follows your direction, but only observes from above. “It’s not like that.”

You take off the heels, your feet starting to hurt. “Then how is it?”

His hand goes to your chin, urging you to look up at him. “I’m not good with this… I screwed up back in Texas and I did it again with you.” You gulp, your hands tightly gripping your knees. “I don’t know how to handle this sort of things, and it’s been a while since I felt like this for anyone…”

He takes the jacket off and sits on the edge of his coffee table in front of the sofa, cupping your face in his hands.

“All I know is that every time we’re together, nothing else matters. Things feel right. But when you’re not with me… Shit. Life becomes insufrible. I can’t sleep, can’t think, fuck, I can’t even have sex!” He looks genuinely irritated. “Everything’s about you when you’re away. And I can’t tolerate to see you with anyone else. It’s like someone just took a shot at me.”

You inhale sharply, taking his hand in yours without breaking eye contact. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve came back to you.”

“Precisely. I tried not to be selfish and let you go, but I can’t. It hurts too much.” He pouts, as if the mere thought made him sick. “And you deserve better.”

Inevitably, you roll your eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, Peña.” He furrows his brows at your reply, his palm falling from your cheek to his lap. “That’s crap! You think you know what’s best for me?”

“Well shit, I’m sorry for trying to look out for you.” Javier snarls back.

“I don’t need you to do that, you idiot.” You grab his jaw, taking him by surprise. “I know what I want and I was straightforward about it,” His heart starts thumping against his ribs. “So, if you want me, take me. Cause if you don’t… Someone else might.”

Your statement stirs his pot and his expression shifts. “Fuck no. You’re mine and I’m yours. That’s how this is going to work.”

“Yeah?” He lets out a throaty growl and leans down towards you.

“Yeah.” His mustache tickles your upper lip when he crashes his lips to yours and you whine into his mouth.

It was desperate and demanding, ripping all the emotions from you. Javier tasted like cigarettes, a hint of mint and of you. And you tasted like tequila, honey and of him. His cologne was a little faded, but you could still smell it.

“Say you’re mine, corazón.” He mumbles when he pulls back for air, forehead pressed to yours. “I don’t care if you’re lying, I need to hear it.”

You take him by the collar of his shirt so that he’s sitting down next to you, snaking your hand to press the palm against his bare chest.

“Soy tuya, Javi.” You tell him, laying a small kiss to his lips. “I mean it.”

He smiles cheekily as he pulls you on top of him, spreading your knees to each side of his thighs, your dress slipping upwards. Javier tugs a strand of hair behind your ear and his fingers roam your face as if he wanted to memorize every edge of it by tact alone. His thumb sweeps over your bottom lip carefully, parting your lips briefly before going to kiss you again. This time he does it slowly, taking his time with your lips prior to sliding his tongue past your teeth and relishing on your taste, almost like he wanted to lose himself in you.

To him, the world meant nothing if you weren’t by his side. And now that you were here, he intended to make the most of it.

His hands are everywhere: your waist, hips, lower back and butt, grabbing every bit of your flesh that he could, keeping you close. So close that it almost seemed like he wished to merge into you. You made out for what it appeared to be hours, until the kisses got sloppier but never less passionate, and you started grinding against him. You hold his shoulders for support, creating that delicious friction between your naked cunt and his stiff boner tucked in his pants. He jolts his hips up, making you release a whimper in his mouth.

He backed off, his lips now scrape your jawline, neck and collarbones. You arch your back when his hand slithers to pull down the zipper of your dress, granting him a better view of your tits close to his face.

“My room?” He asks, biting your earlobe mildly.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Javi carries you to the bedroom with your legs wrapped around his waist, still finding a way to keep his lips on you in the meantime. Clothes disappear in the blink of an eye and you sit at the end of the sheets to help him take off his pants, kissing his abdomen, your dress now discarded somewhere on the floor.

“Eres preciosa.” The way he says it makes you blush, skin burning under his chocolate gaze. “I’m all yours, mi amor.”

You bring his face close to yours, infatuated with his beauty. “All mine…”

“Yes, corazón.”

You lay down on the mattress, Javier starting to play with your hard nipples, nibbling at them, sucking and kissing with his attention focused on all your reactions. You’re so aroused that you’re quite literally dripping onto his sheets, legs trembling from every light stimulation and skin scorching from desire, already spurred on by the make out and giving him head.

“Please, Javi… I- need you inside.”

He wastes no time to compel, maneuvering a hand to your lower back and aligning himself to your entrance, keeping your legs spread. You feel him inside, splitting you open with no previous warning and the tight grip of your cunt feels like homecoming to him. You hold your breath until he bottoms out, enjoying the sweet stretch he provided. Then your whole body quivers, a sheen layer of sweat covering both his golden skin and yours, a couple of curly locks sticking to his temples from it.

You watch him from below through hooded eyes, every inch of him inside you making you feel so full and complete, the outline of his fingers dig in your waist to keep you angled. You bear down on his cock, enveloping him in the warm, welcoming grasp of your body. He holds your hand above your head and leans down to kiss you again, drowning his own moans in your mouth as he draws out slowly to set a pace with his hips, the wet sounds of you pussy and skin clapping against skin sending a thrill of excitement down his spine.

You get it then, as he pours out all sentiment into you, overcome by passion. He is yours. Even though he just said it, only now does it become evident to you. This is Javier’s way of proving it.

He grabs one of your thighs and lifts your knee to the crook of his elbow, the new angle spreading you further open and allowing him to hit deeper. The impact of his tip hitting every right spot relentlessly forces you to break apart from his lips, your head thrown back into his pillows while practically screaming for more, his face nuzzled in your chest as he melts into you.

“Shit baby, I won’t last.” He warns, sinking his teeth to leave a mark between your breasts. You can feel it too, hot shots of ecstasy creeping up the pit of your stomach every time his cock jumps inside you.

You tug at his hair, a strangled moan escaping his lips. “Do it in me- Please, fill me up.”

Your request sends him right to the edge, his thrusts becoming careless as he starts grinding into you, Javi’s fingers quickly finding your swollen clit. The sole touch made you writhe and reach your high in absolute bliss, clenching your walls around him and crying out from raw pleasure. He fucks you through it, overwhelmed by the sensation. You feel dizzy, barely conscious when he finds his own release, your name spilling from his lips like it was the only word he knew, coming in warm spurts inside you. His spend is dripping from your pussy and thighs when he pulls out and sits up to admire the absolute mess he just made of you.

“Well…” he says, guiding his finger to push his seed back into you, making you whine from the overstimulation. “Hope that made it clear.”

You smile, every muscle in your body weeping from exhaustion. “Yeah… I’ll have to make you jealous more often.”

He groans in annoyance and you pull him back on top of you, spreading tender kisses all over his face, laughing in the meantime.

“Not funny.” He grumbles, despite the grin forming on his lips. Javier rolls to your side, coming to lay down next to you and immediately holding you against his sturdy chest, wrapping his arms around your waist to spoon you. “Stay with me.”

His plead is barely a murmur that filters through your ears and you’re too tired to figure out what those words actually mean. You simply let your eyelids drop and retort with a hardly audible ‘always’.

[rassicas]

In the splatoon fanbase, there are many misconceptions surrounding the relationship between inklings and water. without fail whenever I mention something related to the topic I'll get replies of "actually the canon is [some popular but incorrect theory]" "no they can do this and this canonically [it's actually a headcanon]" "no its really [something NOA made up]"

so to briefly go over The Facts:

Inklings canonically die when submerged in water. And yes, getting "splatted" is them dying for real, respawning is also an in-universe thing that has existed for at least 2000 years and not just a game mechanic. While the dying in water thing originally came from a game mechanic, it has been repeatedly stated that they incorporated this into the inkling's biology. The water weakness is not because of the water itself being toxic. The reason is based in osmosis. in the process of their evolution, Inklings (and octolings) changed a lot, and one of these changes was the ability to transform between a humanoid and swim form. Doing this transformation requires skin that is a thin, semi permeable membrane [this kind of skin is a trait found in real life molluscs]. The evolutionary trade off is that, because of how semi permeable their skin is, the ink inside of their bodies will bleed out when in contact with another liquid. This is the answer given directly by the series' creator. And here it is confirmed that while the water weakness originated from game mechanics, it is very much became a part of an inkling's in-universe biology. Kind of like how a slug will die if you sprinkle salt on it (for a reason that's almost the same as the inklings), but ultimately needs salt in its diet through the food it eats to live, inklings do drink water and other liquids. Its also not like they touch water and immediately explode, it seems they can wash their hands in it and dip their feet in it and be fine.

Some people think the water weakness is stupid, personally i think its reasonable because Inkling biology is already weird as hell and of how ridiculously advantageous it is to be an ink-based cephalopod. the ink gives them the ability to jump absurdly long distances and cheat death to an extent. they're not losing much by not being able to dunk themselves in water. Anyway point is it sucks that all the relevant canon information on this is one of those japan only things/exclusive to developer interviews and pretty much every time it's brought up in English the localizers make shit up. I plan to make a video about this one of these days, but with how 'controversial' the topic is, and how many little details and connected concepts there are, I've been holding it off because I want to do it right. there's also some specific details that are unclear that I've been hoping would be clarified in the artbook or a dev interview but haven't, I might just have to go for it at this point. for the time being, i hope this post helps clear up a few things!

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Plus size!fem!Reader x Johnny

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Loss of virginity. Romantic Johnny. Fingering. Johnny and reader tasting themselves. Protected vaginal sex (He's got stacks on stacks of condoms, let's be fr). Semi-awkward sex? A surprising amount of plot from me...

| wc: 6.3k

| aurora's note: this was originally written as a self insert!oc x idol!oc. please let me know if i missed changing any names, pronouns, or information.

When Johnny opened the front door to his apartment, you were hit with the warmth from the heaters in every room and the heated floors kicking into gear suddenly. The contrast between the cold outside of Seoul in winter and the warmth inside made his apartment even more inviting than it already was. You stepped in behind him. You had been to his apartment a million times over, there was nothing to be worried about. This was Johnny, after all. He would probably offer to watch a movie or two, then you would crash on the couch together, cuddled up in each other’s arms, you half off the couch because of how much of a rough sleeper you were.

“Would you like something more comfortable to wear?” He tossed his keys on the counter after you nodded shyly. “I have some pajamas you can wear, come on.” He held his hand out for you to take, then he led you to his bedroom where he pulled out fresh navy blue sweatpants, a grey t-shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. “I’ll change in the guest room.” After grabbing his own pajamas from the bed, he gave you a quick smile and a peck on the lips, and he left with the door closing behind him.

You stood there, baffled, staring at the door, wondering what would happen within the next few hours. You never changed in his apartment before— Never wore his clothes. It happened so quickly, you didn’t even realize that your feet had carried you from the front door all the way to his bedroom so easily… What if he had other intentions? It would have been so easy for him to coax you there all the same, and Johnny had a certain reputation surrounding him, despite your many months of dating, so who was to say you wouldn’t have fallen into some kind of plot just to get you into his bed?

No, come on. It was Johnny! He never would have done that to you in a million years.

You were embarrassed after putting his pajamas on. They didn’t fit the way they were supposed to, at least not in the way you imagined wearing a partner’s clothes… You thought that it would be loose fitting and so baggy that it would hide everything, because that was how you always saw girlfriends wearing their boyfriend’s clothes online and in movies. Instead, because Johnny was so much taller and skinnier, his sweatshirt fit you perfectly, almost a little too perfectly, and it made you feel self-conscious. You disliked that the waistband hugged your hips, or that there was no bagginess in the sleeves, and that he would be able to see everything from your boobs to your hips to the tummy you had… You wanted to cry. But it wasn’t like you could take it off and go back into the living room wearing a nice dress for the rest of the night. And you knew that he would have been disappointed if you didn’t wear his clothes. Fuck.

You tried to suck it up and go out there anyhow. They were just clothes, after all.

“I made some hot chocolate, I hope that’s alri—” Johnny stopped in his tracks when he looked up and saw you standing there. “I…” It looked like his brain went into Windows Reboot because of the way he was mindlessly gawking at you, like he couldn’t think straight for two seconds. “I, um, made some hot chocolate…” He gulped. “Figured it was… too late for coffee…” He slowly ventured around the kitchen island with both of the mugs in his hands. “You look pretty,” he finally let out just as he was standing in front of you and could steal another kiss.

You blushed against his lips. He was embarrassing you even more than wearing the clothes already did.

When you couldn’t find the strength to reciprocate or move, Johnny took the hint and went towards the couch so that he could set down the drinks and plop himself down comfortably on the cushions. “Can I convince you to watch Star Wars with me?”

You had to snap yourself back to reality with a deep breath and a blink of your eyes that made you glance over at his casualness. “Depends on which one,” you replied as you went to join him. “If it’s one of the sequels, I’ll leave.”

He laughed and pulled you down onto the couch with him. “I was thinking the fourth one.”

“Thin ice, but it’ll do.”

As Johnny turned on the TV and scrolled to find A New Hope, you got comfortable laying next to him, your back pressed against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder so that he could see what he was doing on the TV. All the while it was painfully obvious to you how Johnny's feet were lazily playing with your ankles. Did he realize what he was doing? Did he know that you were very aware of the clothing you were wearing and how he was pressing his body into yours? Maybe he didn’t fully know it, but you did. It made you dizzy and excited, but you had to play it off coolly so that you didn’t look like an idiot around him.

When the movie started, Johnny put the remote to the side, then his hands went to your hips. You finally tensed up at the same time your breath hitched. Surely Johnny knew exactly what he was doing! You even imagined that he was grinning behind you as his fingers drew light circles on your hips, tickling your skin, forcing the hair on your arms and legs to stand up before a shiver ran down your spine, causing you to buck back into him slightly. Johnny sighed. He didn’t flinch or react too wildly… He just sighed contently behind you.

Luke met with the Jawas, and Johnny's hands wandered down to your thighs, a part of your body which you had a love-hate relationship with. On one hand, thick thighs were nice because they gave you bigger hips which you enjoyed, but you also hated the idea of how much fat there was on your legs and how it made you different from other women— The types of women Johnny used to get with before he fell head over heels for you. Having him knead your thighs made you unsure of what to do. Were you supposed to tell him that he was being distracting? Perhaps you could have shoved his hand away if you truly disliked it. Or, worse, you could have admitted to him that it was nice, that you wanted more, that his hands could have even gone between—

What the Hell were you thinking!

Ugh, it was all Johnny's fault. He was purposefully teasing you. All night, he’d been affectionate with you in the car and at his birthday dinner, and now that you were at his place where he could do anything he wanted, he was taking full advantage of it, and you couldn’t tell the difference between up and down whenever he touched you like that.

As Han flew the crew away from Tatooine, you couldn’t take it anymore. The movie was going too fast yet so slow, and it was like you were watching it for the first time or not at all… You just couldn’t think straight with the way Johnny was behaving. So you decided to distract yourself from your wandering thoughts caused by his curious hands, pushing yourself off the couch to get more to drink from the kitchen. You prayed as you picked up his mug that he didn’t notice your flustered face. Hopefully he didn’t see your anxiety stricken hands or wobbly knees either.

Johnny shuffled around somewhat on the couch behind you while you made drinks in the kitchen. You tried your best to ignore him, to not give him any inclination that all you could think about was him, but it was so hard when all there was to think about over the sound of the movie was how it sounded to hear him sigh in your ear when you moved.

Then it occurred to you. A wicked thought. Something slightly brilliant that Yuta would be proud of if you ever got the courage to tell him about it.

If Johnny wanted to play the teasing game because he thought it would be easy to get away with, then you would fight back, play the same game, meet him at eye level so that he didn’t get all the fun out of it. He would either lean into it, and what was the harm at that point when you were already committed to each other… Or he’d tell you off, at which point you would know for sure what the boundaries were and that he wasn’t actually fucking with you, he was just trying to get comfortable while spending time with you. Either way, it would give you some relief and peace of mind.

So you returned to the couch with full cups in hand, and you gave Johnny's mug to him before carefully sliding directly onto his lap with your thighs bracketing his, preventing him from seeing the movie— All there was to see was you, in his clothes. You both stared at each other while you hesitated. What were you supposed to do next? You hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. Shit.

Johnny took the initiative instead. His free hand began gently gliding up your thigh, inching its way towards the spot which craved him most. You tried so hard to play it smooth. You didn’t want to let him know exactly how much he had actually gotten to you, because that wouldn’t be fun, for it defeated the purpose of the game you wanted to play with him. So you swallowed your embarrassment before smoothly taking a drink while staring down at him. Johnny's breath fluttered.

“How was your birthday?” you finally asked him quietly.

His hand snaked higher towards the hem of your pants, finding the shoestring waistband that he could tug on to keep his mind occupied. “It was fine…”

“Did you have fun?”

He gulped and nodded vaguely.

“You sure?”

He nodded more confidently. Slowly, little by little, as if he was worried that one quick movement would scare you off completely, Johnny leaned in towards you while tilting his chin up for you as you leaned down and in just as slowly as him until… eventually… your lips touched. You elected to set your cup down on one of the tables beside you so that you could wrap your fingers in his hair, but Johnny was too distracted to go to all that trouble. He did his best to balance his drink in one hand while holding you close on his lap. You took pity on him. It wasn’t like you were stupid— You knew exactly what was happening and where things were leading to, so you put more of your weight down on his thighs, even though you were terrified to do so, and that prompted Johnny to put his cup next to yours.

“Tell me if I should sit up,” you whispered between kisses. “Or get off…”

But his hands drifted around to the small of your back so that you couldn’t let up at all. Suddenly, much to your surprise, Johnny grabbed your ass and held on while moving your hips forward and back, which made you feel his clothed erection pressing against your covered clit. You both moaned. He moved you faster, and you bit onto his bottom lip in an attempt to fight for some kind of dominance, however all that did was encourage Johnny to use his tongue in your mouth to reclaim the dominance he always won. You groaned and pulled at his hair.

“John,” you muttered between kisses, but he kept going so you had to push away in order to breathe. “I have to tell you something first…” You bit your lip nervously. “I…” Your gaze tore away from his due to the shame bubbling up in your chest. “I’ve never…” It was too fucking embarrassing to admit it. Shit. “I’ve never done…”

Suddenly, his thumb was tilting your chin so that you had to look at him again. “It’s okay.”

You pouted at him, relieved but also still ashamed.

“It is!” He chuckled, wiping your pout clean off your face ‘til you giggled, earning a grin from him. “But we’re not doing it on the couch if that’s the case.” He grabbed your hand from his hair. “Here…” He kissed your knuckles before slowly helping you off his lap so he could stand and take you along with him towards the bedroom. Cautiously, he closed the door so that you could be more private and intimate. “Is this okay?”

You nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “I’m just nervous, I’m sorry.”

Johnny led you towards the bed. “Don’t be sorry.” He kissed your cheeks gently. “Just… tell me if we should slow down or stop, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

He moved down to kiss your neck. “I’m not gonna rush. Okay?”

“Yeah…” you bit back a moan.

As he chuckled against your skin, he carefully helped you lay back onto the mattress. Despite your anxieties in the back of your head about what was going to proceed, Johnny's hold on you managed to calm you down just enough that you were able to participate by tangling your fingers in his hair once more as you spread your legs in order to make room for Johnny as he shimmied down. He thanked you by settling comfortably. Through his lashes, he looked up at you carefully while his cold hands snaked under your shirt, slowly pushing it up and up and up until it was over your bra and up to your chin. Johnny gulped slightly. His eyes were glued to the beautiful image of your lace bra holding your breasts, and you could see as his eyes glossed over that he was imagining what you'd look like sans the bra. The self-consciousness was settling in slightly. No one had ever looked at you like that. Not in the context similar to your current predicament. The angle he was at made it so that he could see how your stomach pressed against the waistband of the pajama pants he lent to you, and that was enough to make you want to cover yourself up— But the second your hands went to do so, Johnny grabbed your wrists to prevent you from hiding what he was admiring.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” he said reassuringly, like he could read your mind. “I know what I’ve signed up for.” Much to your surprise, Johnny kissed both sides of your waist before inching up to kiss your clavicle between your breasts. “You’re so fucking beautiful—” He barely got the words out before he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, jumping up to kiss you passionately. While you kissed, you continued to play with his hair, and Johnny's hands slid under you slowly with your help by shimmying around slightly so that he could unclasp your bra after a few seconds of struggling. At least he got it off. You thought that was a talent in itself since you were laying down and you were kissing so roughly. “Fuck…” As your bra disappeared from your chest, Johnny cupped one breast with his left hand.

You whimpered into his mouth. Johnny took that as his chance to stick his tongue further in, your own tongue immediately giving up all control to him so that he could do as he pleased.

Suddenly, just when you were getting used to the slickness of his tongue that was beginning to feel natural to you, Johnny pulled away and moved back down, his lips immediately wrapping around your right nipple. You hadn’t anticipated it. Not for a single moment had you assumed that he would do such a thing without any warning— It caught you so off guard that you reacted by immediately tugging on his hair while you moaned quietly. Johnny seemed to grin.

Somehow you had enough of your wits left about you to remember that you didn’t want to let him have all the fun. Adjusting to the feeling of having him suck on your nipple, you reached for the shoulder seams of his shirt, and you started scrunching the fabric up into your hands so that his shirt was slowly pinched up to his head, revealing his muscular back to you.

Johnny showed some mercy to you by finally neglecting both of your nipples in order to sit up and pull off his shirt. You froze up entirely. He was… Well, it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen his torso a million times before on sets and in dressing rooms— And since you started dating, there had been a few times where you were making out and you had nearly seen it all within the same context of which you were faced with in that moment… But seeing him like that made your head spin. Why did he have to look like that? Why was he as hot as he really was? And why did he have to entice you so badly with his tight abs, defined pecs, muscular arms, tight back, and his… Well, the erection that was glaringly obvious in his pants.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Can I?” You played with the hem of his pants like he did to you before on the couch, and you bit your lip at the thought of what was waiting for you beneath those pajama pants.

He looked fazed. “Y-yeah…” And as you pulled the drawstring loose, Johnny reached out to run his thumb over your bottom lip until you released it from your teeth. “Don’t bite your lip.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me want you more.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You slid your hands around his hips, working your fingers into his pants slightly.

Johnny gulped again. “I want to… control myself tonight… You’re making it difficult…”

You slid his pants down over his ass, his erection still holding the front up a little bit, but you were beginning to see his groomed pubic hair. “My apologies.” With another swift movement, you finally had enough strength in you to pull his pants all the way down to his knees. You tried your best not to look at it. You wanted to show some decorum and keep looking him in the eye, but his panting chest and his flexing thighs in your peripheral vision were becoming too much to ignore.

“Is this still okay?” he asked, his finger remaining on your lip.

“Yes.”

Johnny leaned down again so that he could kiss you passionately, his hips hanging in the air, out of your reach or view, leaving you confused and yearning to know more. He had seen you struggle to behave. He knew that you were trying your best to be proper… So he saved you before you had to embarrass yourself, but that also meant that you didn’t get to indulge your curiosities either. He got to see all of you, why couldn’t you see all of him? He was the one more naked than you were.

“My pants,” you mumbled into the kiss. He blindly fumbled with it as you wished. Together, you worked to lift your hips so that he could push the fabric down just enough for you to kick it off and to the side. Now you were more naked than him. “Touch me.”

Johnny took your lead, one hand cupping the underside of your breasts while another sneakily made its way down towards your thighs. He squeezed the sponginess of your thick thighs. It took you by surprise, but it was welcomed, so you spread your legs out to make more room for him. Johnny's breath shuddered against your lips when he settled between your thighs. It was like he was most comfortable there. Not only was he able to balance himself more easily, but he was also in the prime position to thrust into you whenever you were ready. 

“More,” you pleaded with him.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

To distract you from his anticipated movements, Johnny drifted his hand from your thigh to your slick folds, slowly running his index finger between your dripping entrance and your clit. You bucked into his touch. No one had touched you there before. No one but yourself.

“You're so wet,” he told you.

“Stop teasing...”

You weren't sure why you were jumping the gun, truth be told. He insisted on taking things slow, at your own pace. You were the one who was scared to lose your virginity in the first place— Weren't you supposed to be ashamed? Hadn’t life and the media taught you that it was embarrassing to still be a virgin at your age, despite your many efforts to remedy the issue? Wasn’t Johnny supposed to be turned off to the idea of sleeping with you once he knew that you had no experience? No… Johnny wasn’t like that, and neither were you. You both had a fight and a wit about yourselves that drew you together; You couldn’t be torn apart by something so stupid as the concept of virginity. Johnny could be an idiot sometimes, but he wasn’t that fucking stupid.

“Gotta warm you up with my fingers first, darling, I’m sorry.”

You nodded knowingly, agreeing with his statement that came off almost like a proposition. Johnny kissed you again with even more passion just before his index finger dipped into you. You pulled roughly on his hair and croaked out his name.

“You okay?”

You nodded again.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you can keep going… Don’t stop.”

To encourage him, you swallowed your nerves then reached between your bodies, going around his own hand which was toying with you so that you could find the tip of his cock with your thumb. You weren't expecting there to be pre-cum dripping off it. Well, you knew in concept that it was possible, but you didn’t know that when you would touch him that it would be there… It was all too new to you. You didn’t know where to start. Was your thumb over his tip enough? Surely not. What if you dared to use other fingers on his wet tip? Yeah, that seemed to get a decent reaction out of him, he bucked his hips forward and gasped into your mouth. What if you did what you had seen a million times in porn and read about in plenty of smut stories… What if you wrapped your entire hand around the length of his dick?

“Jesus, baby, don’t make me cum yet.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re distracting me.” To get back at you, Johnny tried to fit his middle finger inside of you, alongside his index finger. “I’m supposed to be focused on you, remember?”

“Just want to know what you feel like…”

“And what do I feel like?”

You blushed under the intense stare of Johnny who suddenly curled his fingers directly into your g-spot like he knew you perfectly from the first day they met. How the Hell did he know that spot was there? You didn’t even know what. You couldn’t hit that spot the way he did—

“Fuck—” You turned your face to hide in the pillow. Johnny hit it again. “Fuck, J.”

“Tell me what I feel like, baby. You can do it.”

It was like he knew that the embarrassment got to you in a good way, he looked so confident above you with his fingers moving skillfully in and out of you while waiting for a proper response. Dickhead. You tried your best to get back at him by jerking him off harder, but it didn’t seem to faze him too much. Truly a confident asshole.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“You just want me to tell you that you’re big.”

“I already know that.” He curled his fingers again. “That’s why I’ve gotta stretch you first.” And as he said that, he scissored his fingers apart then back together, and he repeated the motion a couple of times, slowly spreading you more and more to make sure that you would be able to fit all of him.

“I need you,” was all the dwindling courage left in you had to say.

Johnny seemed slightly disappointed that you couldn’t bring yourself to admit what he really wanted to hear, but there would be plenty of other times to pry that embarrassing information out of you. Plenty of opportunities. So Johnny continued to take your lead by slowly removing his fingers from your core to leave room for what would come next— However, you were surprised when Johnny stuck his middle finger in his mouth, and with his gaze glued to yours, he tasted you. You tried to hide your embarrassment from him. You used your hands to cover your face, but Johnny didn’t like that one bit. He used his dry hand to reveal your face to him again so that you had to watch as he cleaned his middle finger off completely, then with a pop he released it from his mouth.

“Do you want to try?”

You gulped. Your hand slowly drifted up his length, earning a quiet pant from Johnny, his thighs tensing, and you collected some of his pre-cum on the tips of your fingers. Johnny shivered. With your gaze still watching him in the hopes of standing up to his confidence, your touch left his aching cock before you wrapped your lips around the tip of your index finger.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He tasted… odd… Not bad, necessarily, but it definitely wasn’t anything you were used to. You thought that you would be prepared for the “salty” taste everyone claimed semen had, yet you couldn’t have predicted the texture or the underlying flavor that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but you wondered if you would ever be able to suck him off and swallow. Again, you didn’t hate it; Maybe it would just take some time to get used to.

You also popped your finger out of your mouth. “Wanna try?”

Johnny chortled. “Fine.”

Still keeping you on your toes, Johnny leaned over to take your middle finger in his mouth at the same time he urged you to suck on his index finger. You obliged at the same time he did. You also hadn’t expected what you would taste like. It was similar to Johnny, but also not? It somehow seemed more pleasant than his pre-cum.

Johnny moaned around your finger, and you caught a quick glimpse at his cock jumping with anticipated excitement. You already told him that he could fuck you— You made it clear multiple times, but he was the one procrastinating. What if he didn’t want to hurt you, or was worried about you rushing things just to get it over with? But you weren't like that, and he knew it… He must have been savoring the way you were genuinely overconfident for the first time, because at work it was all a facade, and with him you were too shy and scared of spooking him off that you kept quiet. You enjoyed the chance to not be afraid of what was about to happen. Johnny made you feel so comfortable that you didn’t have a moment to second guess or be fearful of any pain that the sex might cause.

“Condom, J…”

“Hold on, I’ve got some.” He leaned over to open the top drawer of his bedside table while drying his hand on his own bare thigh. Somehow in the many months of dating, you never knew about the stack of condoms he had tucked away in the far back corner of the drawer. Well, he certainly did have a reputation to uphold.

With an unsurprising amount of expertise, Johnny used his teeth to tear the packet open before holding his erection in one hand and using the other to roll the condom on. The anxiety began to kick in again. After feeling how big he was in your hand, and knowing what it felt like to be stretched by just his fingers… Now you were slightly scared. He was there, hovering over you, and the fact that it was him made it reassuring, but all the expectations you had leading up to that point were crashing down around you all at once.

“Hey,” he cooed gently, pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger, “just watch me. Hold me like this,” he guided your hands to his shoulders, “and pinch me if something’s wrong.”

You nodded silently.

He leaned in again, shifting his weight so that his hips could move towards yours while simultaneously bracing himself to kiss you. “Come here.” He laid an extremely gentle kiss on your lips, waiting to see if you would reciprocate. Your mind was so busy wandering for a minute that you couldn’t focus on him until he tilted his head to the right and started kissing you harder so that he could get you to breathe which allowed his tongue to slide into your mouth and claim dominance. You moaned when you felt Johnny’s tip brush against your clit. That gave him even more opportunity to distract you with his tongue.

You braced yourself on his shoulders and spread your legs even more when his cock drifted down your slit, landing at your dripping entrance.

“Breathe,” he moaned into your mouth.

You did as he instructed, and once you let out a deep exhale, Johnny began pushing into you. You winced slightly. The stretch was uncomfortable though not unbearable thanks to the previous efforts of his fingers. Feeling his girth push you open, and his length gliding along your slick walls was… There really weren’t any words… It felt so strange in comparison to how you imagined it. Having something inside of you like that made your stomach feel full, but in such a pleasurable way that it made you break the kiss so that you could throw your head back against the pillows.

When Johnny was settled in all the way, he paused to look at you and wait for a squeeze to his shoulders, yet it never happened.

“You okay?”

You took a deep breath in order to relax yourself. “Yeah… I think…”

“I’ve got you. Promise.”

You nodded. To hear that from him comforted you more than it ever did when you tried to remind yourself of it silently. He’s got you. He’s good to you. He wouldn’t hurt you. Those were all empty words until Johnny made them real.

“You can move.”

Johnny grinned before obliging you. Your breath got caught in your throat when his cock started dragging along your tight walls while he pulled his hips backwards. Was it supposed to feel that tight? Was he supposed to be that big? It hurt to some extent, but it felt good too, and Johnny was going slow enough that the pain was overshadowed almost entirely by the unfamiliar pleasure.

“This okay?”

“Keep going,” you begged him a bit.

Johnny's length pushed back into you, then he pulled back out. He was getting a bit faster. There was a rhythm building somewhere that you could sense, but he was giving you time to figure out if it felt good or if he needed to stop. No, don’t stop. You knew that it was pathetic, but you were almost inclined to beg him desperately to speed up and fuck you at a brutal pace like you’d always dreamed of; But Johnny wasn’t going to do that to you… Not yet, at least.

He was so gentle with you. It was like in movies when there would be a montage of bare skin and panting, maybe a tad of hair pulling here and there. Johnny was like that. He made sure to make every kiss count by letting them linger for long periods of time and the passion would vary between breaths. He held your hands, tangling your fingers together, just so he could feel if he was too fast or rough through the pulsing of your hands. If you squeezed him too tight, he slowed. If you winced, he pulled out slightly so that your walls could readjust and bear him before pressing into you again.

The only time he was certain was when you whispered into his long hair, “I’m getting close.”

Not that you were close. Not that you were cumming. But you were getting there if he kept going.

He tried to egg on another comment by nipping at your jawline and whispering back, “You’re so fucking tight… Fuck…”

While it didn’t earn him a proper response, you tugged at the strands of hair on the back of his neck in order to kiss him as hard as you could. There was a tension building in the pit of your stomach. There was a coil made of pleasure wrapping round and round, and it wasn’t a foreign feeling that scared you or made you second guess what was going on. You had touched yourself plenty of times in the past. You knew what made you cum— And that always happened with your fingers against your clit, but no one knew that about you except for Yuta ever since the asshole pried that information out of you when you were drinking. Johnny must have felt your walls fluttering around him and decided to do something about it.

“This the spot?” Johnny's fingers returned to your clit.

You moaned, throwing your head back into the pillows. “Y-yeah— J-just… just… like that… Fuck.”

Johnny was a fucking menace. While you had difficulties cumming via penetration on your own, the way Johnny worked his length in and out of you, his tip hitting all the right spots, and he played with your clit so fast, all of it had you seeing stars… At least his reputation paid off. At least it wasn’t all talk. He definitely knew what he was doing, which picked up the slack when you had no idea where to look or touch, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak any more than necessary out of fear that you’d turn him off in an instant. You were too close to the edge to fuck it up.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded.

“Gonna cum on my cock, pretty girl?”

You had never heard him speak like before, you didn’t expect to ever hear anything like that from him. Was it all those years of experience that taught him how to talk dirty to girls? Or was he doing that just for your sake? Why did you feel like if you tried that then it would be cringe as fuck and you'd turn yourself off? But when it came from him, it did everything it was supposed to.

“I’m close.”

That was a step up from before. Johnny was immediately encouraged to fuck you even faster, his abs tightening as much as possible, his biceps bulging even more to the point that you were concerned they were going to pop at any moment. The way he panted in your ear was a telltale sign that he too was close. His head fell into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his lips wet from licking and biting them so often throughout the whole ordeal; and Johnny began muttering a bunch of nonsense that you couldn’t understand while he was buried against you and moaning desperately with every thrust.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped when Johnny hit a new spot deep within you as his pelvis met your core entirely. A sinful moan left you in the process. Your eyes blurred slightly, so you squeezed them shut to not think about it and to focus solely on how Johnny's hips were still but his fingers were doing so much work on your clit in order to help you ride out your orgasm. Johnny let out a breath, then thrusted another two times… and with a grunt and, “I’m cumming,” Johnny came in the condom he was wearing. You laid there while you also let Johnny hit his high appropriately. You weren't sure if there was anything you could say or do, so you remained in your position to allow him to use you however he needed while you participated by pulling on his hair and kissing his neck.

“Fuck, princess…” He slumped on top of you.

You both laid there as you tried to catch your breaths and stop your heads from spinning.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you said with a slight giggle.

“It was okay?”

You laughed even more and hit him. “Yes, stupid.”

He also chuckled as he pulled out of you and took off the condom which he tied shut then tossed into the trash can nearby. He flipped over onto his back beside you. “You promise it was good—”

“I promise. Stop worrying.” You turned to lay on your side to face him. “Thank you.”

Johnny grinned and reached out so that he could play with your swollen bottom lip. “But you promise you actually came, right—”

You shut him up with a kiss mixed with another giggle that made Johnny laugh too. It wasn’t so scary in hindsight. Sure, there was pain, as expected, but that had subsided so fast thanks to the care Johnny put into making sure that it was perfect, almost like he had been planning what your first time together would be like— Except he probably hadn’t anticipated taking your virginity, too, but he didn’t seem to mind once it happened. You were relieved. All those years you spent worrying over it and being self-conscious about it now made you feel stupid beyond comparison.

taglist: @hisunflower , @zozojella , @l4na3s , @taehyungnl , @theycallmesya , @peachytokki , @neotechclub , @drxmxss , @evergreeneyesx , @got-sum-badhabits , @putlonghatdog ,

[aireia]

from the stars did your kindness bleed through. — you are a spy, he is a sorcerer, a student in the very place you plan on betraying, but he doesn't know that, because he'll fall for you, the same way you fell for him.

tw/cw: reader referred to with she/her. angst with little fluff. hurt no comfort. spy! reader. spying. mentions of blood. minor violence. blades. suicide/ self harm. death. injuries. lowercase intended. author's first language isn't english. wc: 7.5K

note: riko told me to rival her 6.2k word fic, so i'm pulling up with this. (i got carried away) —masterlist

entry snippet, september 5th.

gojo introduced us to a new student today. she seems a little bit like me, but she isn’t, at least that’s what our unreliable teacher told us.she hasn’t interacted much with itadori or kugisaki, even after their pestering. i’m guessing it’ll take a while for her to get used to the new faces. not that it concerns me anyway…

the sun didn’t shine very brightly the next day. grey clouds covered the skies, the winds were getting colder, the once green leaves on trees were turning into a mixture of yellows and browns. winter would be approaching in just a few months, which meant they’d soon have those nights again, where they’d get permission to stay at each other’s dorms and have sleepovers while trying not to burn the kitchen down by making ominous hot chocolate for each other.

that morning when the trio walked into class, they were greeted by you absentmindedly staring out the window at the falling leaves. no concentration to any surroundings, considering you didn’t even look at them when they came in. yuji was the first one to say something, loudly greeting you a good morning, followed by your name, hoping to catch your attention.

you looked over to the trio, trying to take note of their expressions. 

itadori yuji, who seemed excited, waving with his arm in the air and a grin as if you were worlds apart and you wouldn’t have seen him if he didn’t.

kugisaki nobara, who waved with a smile on her face. the perfect mix of crazy and calm, you think.

and finally, fushiguro megumi, who had his arm raised in an attempt to wave, but instead looked like he was raising his hand to answer a question. his expression showed nothing, something between irritated and ‘why am i friends with these people again?’ 

he reminded you of yourself… in a way. probably not what you were thinking about him, but something about him. maybe it was keeping interactions at minimum with people he didn’t know much about… yea. you’ll keep it at that. 

the hyper duo had walked up to your desk before you finished processing your own thoughts. itadori slammed both his hands on your table, causing some of your things to vibrate upon contact. 

“so, y/n, where are you from? what grade are you?” he asked.

“i’m from osaka, and i’m a semi second grade sorcerer.” lies spilled from your mouth easier than when you breathed around them the day prior. being a spy meant having to detach your identity as a person, which also meant having to create layers and layers of lies about who you actually were. 

right before the cheerful boy managed to get another question in, the door of the class flew open, and gojo walked into class with nothing but happiness and positivity surrounding his aura… he was about to send all of you on a mission. you knew, even if it was just a gut feeling.

a loud clap followed by details of a new case confirmed your suspicions. a simple investigation in shinjuku about an unidentified curse that had caused deaths and disappearances of innocent civilians, as well as injuring numerous others.

“i’ll be leaving the rest of the details to our trustworthy assistant director ijichi! he’ll be waiting for you at the entrance.” gojo finished his ‘speech’ before hurrying all of you out the door.

-

“that gojo…” ijichi silently sighed before beginning the mission brief. 

“your task is to only collect information from the residents in a specific area of shinjuku, mainly the offices around schools.” ijichi stopped speaking, only continuing after a brief period of silence. “If you happen to run into any high grade curses, please don’t try to challenge it.” 

“my heart can’t take this type of stress anymore…” ijichi sighed.

the four of you began the mission shortly after, around 10am in the morning. you began by questioning some of the residents. a lot of them seemed nervous the moment anyone in your group mentioned the curse, some even running away from you. most of them didn’t have any information either. 

when noon rolled around and your efforts weren’t bearing any fruits, the four of you decided to split into two groups. nobara with yuji, you with megumi. after the split up, you and megumi continued the search for anyone that might have had any type of intel. you never expected him to speak to you first.

“l/n, right? let me be straightforward about this. why did you join jujutsu high school?” 

“to spy on you, obviously,” but you couldn’t say that.

“to help others,” another lie slipped past your lips.

“...did principal yaga actually let you pass the interview with that answer..?” 

“no, but i doubt you’d want to listen to the speech i memorised to get in. he told me to stop before i finished it,” you sighed, remembering the amount of struggle you faced a few days before the interview. you had to ensure you had a 100% chance of getting into the school, or you would’ve been a failure as a spy. who the hell failed a mission before it even began?

megumi looked at you with a bewildered expression, though quickly shook the look off his face as you approached an ice cream vendor near one of the high schools. 

“recently, less and less people have come by to buy ice cream. a lot of those were kids who would come by to get a sweet treat after school, so i have noticed quite a few of those disappearances.” the vendor placed his fingers on his chin, thinking of the customers that he enjoyed speaking to, even if their interactions were limited.

“alright. thanks for your time,” you expressed your gratitude, even though the things that the vendor had said had helped you in your investigation in… absolutely no way possible.

just as you and the raven haired boy walked away, your phones rang. a message from yuji, reading, “we ran into one of the victims that managed to escape the cursed spirit!! apparently most of the victims are people who’ve lost or cut contact with their parents. they won’t tell us anymore about it.”

“that’s vile,” you thought to yourself. 

“we should meet up with them and report back.”

-

“so, what do we do now?” nobara whined out of boredom. ever since reporting back, there hadn’t been much to do. you all had a free day, but nothing to fill said free day with.

“we should go watch human earthworm 4!” 

“no.” nobara and megumi said in unison, wanting to avoid the movie at all costs. 

“oh! y/n, we should go shopping together!” nobara suggested. and somehow against both yuji and megumi’s wills, you had all been dragged to go shopping.

nobara suggested that she helped you get a new wardrobe, which ended in you trying on multiple sets of clothes. nobara insisted that you got them, and forced megumi to carry your shopping bags even though you said it wasn’t needed and felt bad that he had to help.

the rest of the day went by with a blur, and you exited the mall after the four of you had a few photos taken in a photobooth. 

“my child…” everyone was walking in front of you when you heard that voice. it sounded oddly familiar, and it was calling out to you. you whipped your head around to look for the source, but there wasn’t anyone there. the call of your names continued, and you strayed from the group to look for the source of the sound. 

you were almost one hundred percent positive that it was the curse you had investigated the other day. why was it targeting you? and no one else in the group seemed to hear anything either. 

eventually, you were led to an abandoned building. you could feel the cursed energy leaking from it, and there was a very pungent smell coming from the abandoned structure. you briefly wonder how no one has flagged the place for an investigation yet. maybe it was, and was ignored. who knows?

the voice continued to lure you closer to the building, eventually getting you into the building and up the slippery stairs, wet from the leaking pipes around the building. your footsteps echoed in the building, the sound of your breathing in your ears. 

you walked up to a room with a closed door. a heavy stench seeping from the gaps of the door, even worse than when you were in front of the building. maybe coming here hadn’t been your best idea, but you were already this close, so why stop here? 

you exhaled deeply before twisting the rusty knob open. you saw the dead. blood and corpses were by the spirit’s legs. its claws were digging into the flesh of the innocent, shaking the body as if trying to toy with it more.

the report you submitted was done a week ago, and the incident started way before this. these bodies had been rotting for weeks at least. assuming the cursed spirit in front of you killed all the people around it, you were going to be next. 

you entered a defensive stance, hand on the handle of your weapon, ready to fight if it pounced on you. instead, you watched as it slowly turned its head towards you and walked towards you. your body tensed, but it didn’t seem to bear any hostility. 

it held its hand out, taking one of your hands, and you found yourself unable to move. even when you screamed at yourself to get out of the way, you found yourself unable to resist as it dragged its fingers along your wrist, a thin line of red bleeding out.

“l/n, step back!” the familiar voice snapped you out of whatever trance you were in before the spirit in front of you was hit with a few nails. 

“you’re just like fushiguro. you really should tell us more about yourself, you know?” nobara sighed, holding her hammer over her shoulder. “oi, i’m the one who noticed she disappeared in the first place,” megumi grumbled. you looked at his hands. 

so that’s how they found you.

“if anything, she reminds me of when you first came to the city, kugisaki!” yuji chirped in, seeming laid back even in this situation. he turned to look at you. “you aren’t hurt anywhere else other than your hand, right?” you shook your head.

you looked at the spirit on the ground. it was a first grade at most, but it had been weakened significantly, probably even before you arrived. it wasn’t long before you exercised it, with some degree of resistance. 

as the three of them prepared to leave, you walked towards one of the dead bodies and crouched down, placing your hand over them. 

while yuji and nobara had already left, megumi was curious about what you were doing. you got up and exhaled when he asked. “i don’t know if it works on those who’ve already passed, but usually, my cursed technique allows me to grant people on the verge of death a better demise.”

“it overrides the brain and erases any and all memories they have in exchange for peace, and a painless goodbye.”

“those two are probably waiting for us. we should report back.”

-

when you got back to your dorm, you took the picture out and stared at it. more people that you couldn’t be friends with, but they had saved you earlier… maybe you’d get it framed just to decorate your dorm.

you looked at your injured arm, which had been bandaged, and closed your eyes. 

yuji itadori is physically gifted, a guy born with a set moral standard. his mental game is easily shaken, but that might change in the future. he has a ton of room for improvement. that’s what makes him scary. 

nobara kugisaki is strong-willed, a woman born by the countryside. she cares for others the way she cares for herself, and doesn’t like showing her affected mental state to the world. she’s strong in her own way, and that’s just the type of person she is.

-

weeks passed by quickly. you continued gathering as much information as possible, while growing closer to your classmates. yuji often told you to cover up for the pranks he pulled, nobara would invite you out to go shopping with her, and you and megumi enjoyed reading together.

one morning, you saw megumi sitting by the benches eating alone. right, yuji and nobara had recently been dispatched on missions. you realised early on that you preferred to be with megumi out of everyone. 

maybe it was his personality that drew you in? the both of you were paired up on missions often, so maybe the fact that you were partners helped develop your trust in each other… when he shouldn’t be trusting you at all. or perhaps it was the way he put you first instead of himself. 

megumi is a selfless person that might not seem caring at first glance, but actually does in his own way. he holds back a lot, and has a mind matured enough to compare to that of a man twice his age, though lets loose around people he can truly find comfort in. that was the conclusion you came to about his character. 

you walked towards him, hoping to be able to make small talk with him. instead, you were called upon by someone right before you got to him. 

-

“so this is the location?” you and megumi had been informed of a cave infested with multiple third and fourth grade spirits. your job was simple. take care of them and go home. 

“yea. be careful,” you said, gripping your weapon tightly. 

you and megumi stepped into the cave, almost immediately registering that there was something wrong. a veil was lowered. were such low grade spirits capable of such a thing? you gulped and looked around. just the herds of lowly graded cursed spirits around. no signs of anything else.

“be careful.”

the both of you managed to make quick work of the spirits. a few scrapes, sure, but you were overall uninjured. now, there was only one problem. every last spirit in sight had been exorcised by you and megumi, but the veil wasn’t lifting. something was still there, and you both knew. 

something in your senses clicked. “fushiguro, jump out of the way!” you screamed at him. there was something underneath you, and megumi had dodged just quick enough to not be drilled and split into two halves. 

a drop of sweat rolled down the side of megumi’s face. how would he deal with this? his first thought was to have you distract it while he attacked, but that would probably be useless and would put you and him in too much danger. 

“fushiguro! focus!” megumi lifted his head up, and you were in front of him. you had blocked a direct strike for him. he needed to concentrate. this wasn’t like the spirit you had dealt with at the abandoned building, where it showed little to no hostility, and had been weakened.

“are you back in your game yet?” you breathed out, the tiredness from blocking the attack and dealing with the earlier curses starting to kick in.

megumi took one look at your expression and hummed. there was something about it he couldn’t read, but he can’t let his thoughts consume him now.

you aren’t allowed to die here. 

the both of you observed the curse for a little longer while simultaneously dodging its attacks. it primarily dug underground to attack, which made it hard to predict where its location was. the only warning sign was the rumbling of the ground before it drilled back up, which made it just a little easier to dodge. 

it could blast balls of pure cursed energy, and with each dodge meant the interior of the cave was crumbling. you’d have to look out for falling rocks and stray boulders. 

its weak point was probably somewhere other than its head, considering it used it to dig into places. 

you shot glances at each other before megumi summoned his demon dogs to attack it from behind. “i have your back.” 

you and megumi took turns switching on offence and defence. the one on offence would deal attacks to the cursed spirit, while the one on defence would watch out for oncoming attacks and destroy any rocks that were falling from the ceiling of the cave. 

the plan worked well for the both of you. the uncertainty of when the both of you would switch out confused the curse, making it more vulnerable to your attacks. once you felt that the curse was confident on when you’d switch, you and megumi delivered one final attack to it together, letting it fall with a thump. 

“is it over?” you heaved, your hand over your chest. a sudden realisation hit. the veil hasn’t been dropped. that meant– 

“l/n, look out!” megumi pushed you out of the way before he got hit by a shot of pure cursed energy. you hear the sound of his body smashing against the rough walls, and his coughing afterwards. you looked towards megumi and briefly saw him cough blood out. you’re hoping he didn’t take the impact head first. 

you narrowly managed to escape another blow just when your eyes snapped back onto the weakened, but still active cursed spirit. it can be exorcised in a single blow. 

you rushed towards it and drove your weapon through its body as hard as possible, twisting, and slicing right through it. it’s as good as dead. you stared at the splatters on the floor that used to be a cursed spirit. you don’t have time for this. 

turning your head away from the remains of your enemy, you focused your attention to megumi who was bloodied and injured. he was resting against the stone walls of the cave, and you could hear his heavy pants and breaths. you gulped and looked at his leg. it had stopped bleeding, the crimson now staining his leg.

you ripped a part of your uniform before crouching in front of megumi to tend to the wound. your eyes showed almost no emotion in the face of the situation, yet your trembling lips gave yourself away. you weren’t supposed to care for them, and yet here you were helping one of your targets. 

you only spoke up once you finished bandaging his wound with the makeshift bandage.

“why would you do that?” you had unintentionally let your emotions slip. megumi looked at you tiredly. “just returning the favour. i would’ve gotten hurt if you hadn’t blocked the attack at the start of our battle.”

“fushiguro-” you started, quickly being cut off by megumi. “i know what you’re about to ask me,” he coughed a few times before he continued to speak. “you’re assuming i’m going to die? you’re cruel, you know?”

you tried to find words to speak, yet all you could say was a “no, i’m not,” turning your head away to not meet his gaze.

“i would kill myself if i died on you now,” he confessed, closing his tired eyes. 

“and besides, you’re all i really want to think of right now.” 

megumi went completely silent afterwards, and you heard soft breathing coming from him, compared to the heavy breaths from just a few minutes prior.

the next time he awoke, you were asleep, your head in your arms by his bedside. he felt a little sluggish, but his wounds had been properly bandaged and he was fine, aside from some soreness. you on the other hand, looked exhausted. there were creases on your forehead as you slept, and dark circles under your eyes.

there was a plate of food wrapped up on his nightstand, with a note stuck to it. “we make a good team.”

only after did he learn from shoko that you had completely gone against her instructions of two days of bed rest, and spent the time taking care of him instead. 

-

“you still couldn’t have brought something more digestible?” megumi eyed the three of you, who had brought pizza to him. something that probably wasn’t nutritious enough for a patient in recovery.

“if you don’t want it, i’ll help myself!” the pink haired male took a slice of the pizza and began feasting on it. “oh, and since we’re already here, let’s just have our sleepover at fushiguro’s!” “itadori, talk after you’re done eating!” nobara shuddered at the sight of the food in his open mouth, while megumi looked as if he were about to kick everyone out of his room.

“we are not having a sleepover in my room,” megumi said in a deadpan voice, though the annoyance was evident on his face. “we can’t have it anywhere else because you aren’t permitted to leave your room, fushiguro,” you joined in on itadori’s suggestion.

“hypocrite,” megumi thought.

“alright it’s settled, we’ll have it here!” nobara clasped her hands together in victory, earning a sigh from megumi. “i still haven’t agreed to this,” he grumbled.

-

december 21st.

it’s cold outside. the temperatures have dropped significantly ever since the day you stepped foot into jujutsu tech. currently, you, alongside two of your classmates, were camping in megumi’s room. you had to admit, with so many people, the room considered spacious for one person became cramped.

you were sitting on megumi’s bed with a mug of hot chocolate in hand as you watched nobara and yuji fight over what they wanted to put into each other’s drinks. you found their sibling dynamic entertaining. megumi on the other hand, looked at you with softness in his eyes. the both of you had grown a lot closer compared to the first day you met. you were grateful for that.

maybe not in the right way, but at least you knew he was your friend, right?

the night went on with both chaos and comfort. yuji had suggested playing cards at one point, and he lost just about every single round. monopoly was going great until megumi somehow dominated the game so hard that the banker had to borrow money from him. 

“i’m telling you fushiguro, it’s just this once! i’ll pay you back!” “you’ve said that about three times, itadori.”

you certainly weren’t in any place to laugh, and neither was nobara, since the both of you were basically hanging onto a thin thread, and if by any chance you landed on anyone’s property other than your own, you would’ve been out of the game from bankruptcy.

but you laughed anyway.

the night ended with all of you (except megumi) in your respective sleeping bags with extra blankets in case it got cold. it was quiet. too quiet, even with yuji’s snoring and nobara’s breathing. maybe that’s why you couldn’t fall asleep.

you slowly sat up, careful not to make too much noise. you looked at the clock on megumi’s nightstand. 11:47pm, thirteen minutes till midnight. 

“can’t sleep?” a quiet and soft voice invaded your ears, and you looked over to megumi. he was lying down on his bed, staring out into the bushes and trees, which had been covered in a thin layer of snow. as a response, you shook your head and got up to sit on his bed. the both of you sat in silence for a while before you spoke up. 

“fushiguro, you like the stars, right? wanna go stargazing on the roof?” 

“are you crazy? it’s freezing outside.”

“we can use blankets.” 

“have you forgotten that my leg’s still injured?” 

“i’ll carry you up.”

that was how you found yourself sitting on the rooftops with a thick blanket around your shoulders. the stars shone brighter tonight. the cold winter wind that breezed by you every once in a while made you shiver. you looked up at the moon, it was full tonight. although the moon didn’t have an expression, you were sure it was smiling down at you and the raven haired boy sitting next to you.

come to think of it, even without exchanging a lot of words, you’d argue that you were closest to megumi out of all your classmates. when you first met him, you saw him as the moon, someone like yourself. yet you realised over the months that if you had to describe him, you’d have to say he were the stars. so pretty, yet disregarded by many as something outshone by the moon. 

“y/n,” megumi’s voice broke through the comfortable silence, and you looked over at him. he had a small smile on his face. you felt him shuffle closer to you. maybe it was getting cold? the wind was getting stronger, afterall.

“yes?” megumi looked at the moon once more, then back at you. “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” the words reached your ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “and what of the sunset?” you questioned him back, feelings hidden behind your eyes and the convincing smile you put on your face.

“the sunset? i dislike it. the rays of the sun blind me too much for me to appreciate it as much as others do.” the sound of your soft laughter reached his ears again when he finished his sentence. “is that so…” you rested your head on his shoulder and looked towards the skies, some of the stars now covered by clouds. “really? i think the moon is beautiful too, but i’m the opposite. i prefer sunsets over moonrises.” you continued, one of your hands inching closer to him and eventually resting on top of his hand.

you exhaled deeply before lifting your head up. “fushiguro, what time is it?” he looked at you with confusion before answering. “a little bit past midnight, i’m guessing.” “oh.”

“may i kiss you?”

your question caught megumi off guard. it was expected, considering it came out of nowhere. a familiar warmth creeped up his face, and the hand on top of his now seemed to weigh heavier as you looked at him, awaiting an answer. he slowly nodded, and you leaned in to press your lips against his. the kiss was short and sweet, the light of the stars shining down upon him as you did.

“fushiguro-” 

“don’t call me by my last name.” you smiled when he said those words. 

“happy birthday, megumi.”

-

nobara eyed the both of you suspiciously, looking you up and down. “you guys could at least try to keep it down when you’re climbing onto the roof. i need my sleep,” 

“i thought i was being quiet. my bad,” you apologised sheepishly. the brunette looked clearly annoyed before she sighed and let it go. 

“sorry,” megumi said to you. “why are you saying sorry?” you shot him a confused look. 

“we would’ve been quieter if you didn’t have to carry me.” 

“oh, thaaattt,” you dragged your words out. “don’t feel bad. you were worth it.” 

“how about you come with me to the cliffs sometime? maybe in the next few days? there’s a great view of the ocean and sky from there, and it’s more secluded.” the invitation fell from your lips before you even processed it. 

a rare smile appeared on megumi’s face. “alright.”

“what are you two doing?! we have a mission soon, hurry up!”

-

he kept to his word. you and megumi ended up going stargazing together so often that yuji and nobara started questioning if you were going on dates. to them, it was blatantly obvious that you two liked each other. hell, even the both of you knew. it was just that none of you had confessed yet. 

megumi always felt warmth when you guys would go together, pointing out constellations and shapes of the clouds when you did. 

you on the other hand, felt the spark between you grow stronger the first few times. you tried your hardest to suppress the rising guilt. afterwards however, you spiralled deeper and deeper into the guilt you felt as a spy. you were never supposed to fall in love with him, and yet you couldn’t help but do exactly that. 

you wanted– no, needed to get rid of your feelings for him. you would never want it, but you’d need it in order to get over him.

you began growing more distant. it was hard, slowly excluding yourself from hangouts and ignoring them more and more, day by day. you felt terrible. every second away from them felt agonising. you’d push them away, dismissing their help. 

the fact that they noticed your distance made it feel even worse. you were going to betray them, and everything you had built up for four months, their trust, friendship, it would crumble.

you’d complete your mission and switch identities again. anyone you’ve met here won’t matter anymore once you disappear. that’s what you reminded yourself.

-

january 25th.

“oh, you’re here,” you approached megumi from behind, sitting down beside him. the skies were dyed with violet and orange hues, the sunset that megumi had once described to be too bright. 

“i was waiting for you. you’ve been quite distant lately.”

“i thought you said you hated the sunset?” you asked, changing the subject to avoid the question. “don’t try to change the subject, y/n. answer me, please, tell me what’s going on.” you could hear the alarms in your mind go off. you wanted to get up and run away. hell, you should’ve never succumbed to the burning feelings in your heart over your mind. 

“it’s really nothing. i’ve just been more busy lately, i guess,” a lie rolled off your tongue again.

megumi sighed. he could tell you were lying, but he didn’t want to push it. “you said the sunset was pretty. i thought the other day that maybe it was because i never took the time to appreciate it, but…”

“hm?” you hummed, looking at megumi. 

“i still can’t see why you like it that much. i still prefer the night skies better.” 

the soft laughter you let out afterwards had goosebumps pricking on his skin. he watched as the light of the sun glowed on your skin, and you looked at him. “i personally prefer the sunset…”

“but if you like the stars that much, i’ll be sure to hate the sun and love stars the next time i’m reborn.”

a light shade of red appeared on megumi’s face, and he turned to look away from you. in reality though, he’s glad. there’s the girl he fell in love with. “you don’t have to do that. we can like what we want.” 

“and i want to be able to truly love the stars.” you said, your tone sullen. 

night fell not long after, but there was no moon that night. the waves underneath you didn’t seem calm either. it was especially cold this winter night, and you and megumi found yourselves bidding goodbye to each other in front of the dorms earlier than you expected. 

mental entry, january 25th.

i wasn’t planning on seeing megumi at the cliffs today, but he was there. i was planning on spending the last day at jujutsu high alone. megumi and i really are alike. It’s a fault on my part, i guess. i grew too attached to them.

i don’t want to do this anymore.

you gulped, and just before he was out of earshot, you called out to him, grabbing his attention. he turned around to look at you, only for you to mumble a “nevermind” before quickly apologising and running back to your dorm. you couldn’t bear to tell him.

megumi was confused. why’d you suddenly call out for him? he decided not to dwell too much on it and went to bed. and the more he thought about it, the more he felt as if he had lost the chance to speak to you about something important, because you disappeared the next day.

you stopped going to classes, training, and you weren’t responding to texts either. any calls were immediately sent to voicemail, and other than the picture that the four of you took at the mall months prior, which was framed on your nightstand, your dorm had been completely emptied out.

megumi was the last person to see you.

the week following your disappearance, it was raining every day. although the higher-ups had confirmed to have launched an investigation for you, megumi was sure that they were looking into things much deeper than just your status as a missing student. he just wasn’t sure what it was. 

the first day you were introduced to them, he felt that you were different in a way. was this connected to it? 

the higher-ups had also told the first years to not worry, and that they’d take care of it. as if they’d ever listen. they had discussions every single day about where you might’ve gone, if you were okay or not, and why they couldn’t see signs of this earlier. 

they got confirmation shortly after that there were no signs of cursed energy from your dorm. it was as if you had never existed, and had it not been for the pictures you’d taken together, along with the texts you’d exchanged with each other, he probably would’ve believed it.

-

february 26th.

JUJUTSU HEADQUARTERS NOTICE

one, y/n l/n has been confirmed to be sharing confidential information to third party sources. she has hereby been expelled from both jujutsu high and the jujutsu realm as a sorcerer. 

two, the penalty of the crimes committed by y/n l/n is death. the execution will be carried out promptly.

three, second grade sorcerer megumi fushiguro will serve as the executioner for y/n l/n’s death penalty.

-

a full month after your disappearance, a notice was released by jujutsu headquarters. 

megumi’s head was pounding. he had just returned from a meeting with the higher-ups, and throughout the entire time he was in front of them, he wished for nothing more than for whatever you were accused of to be false. he was hyperventilating, his face in his hands. megumi swore he heard loud footsteps outside his room before loud knocks echoed through his room. 

 “fushiguro, open up!” the familiar voices of his classmates rang in his ears. no. as much as he wished to find comfort in his friends, he didn’t want them to see him in such a terrible state, so why did his legs move to help him stand and walk towards the door?

megumi doesn’t know whether to regret or to thank his decision of opening the door. his mind couldn’t register that it was yuji who placed his calloused hands on his shoulders and told him to snap out of it. even when they questioned him for details about you, whether he knew about your intentions, and if it was the reason you had grown distant the few weeks before you vanished, he answered vaguely. all he could think of was that it was over. you’re gone, and you’re never coming back. 

megumi wanted to run into the pouring rain and let it wash his soul away so he wouldn’t have to face reality. he wished he’d wake up and realise it was all just a dream, and he could still see your face when he walked out of the dorm in the morning. he remembers the words of the higher-ups so clearly, he was to carry out the execution without delay. he wants to be selfish and give the responsibility to either nobara or yuji, yet the better part of him stopped him from doing so. he can’t do that to them. for once, megumi wished that he would stop loving you.

that night, megumi had trouble falling asleep. he found himself tossing and turning in bed, his head constantly clouded with the many things that would follow this incident. it felt like hours before he managed to go to sleep. 

-

he saw you, right there by the cliffs. you were looking at the sunset again. now that he thought about it, how many of the things you’ve told him were lies? 

megumi walked towards you, standing beside you as he watched the sunset with you. 

“megumi, i understand why you dislike the sunset now,” you said to him, earning a puzzled look from him. “i thought you loved the sunset?” he asked. the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks reached his ears, and you turned your head to look at him. 

“it really is too bright. it doesn’t suit me.” you replied. 

“megumi, have you regretted it yet?” you questioned him back, and he gulped. “regretted what, exactly?”

“us.” 

megumi wanted to say yes. he did regret it. he regretted that he loved someone whose purpose was to eventually betray and leave him. yet, his answer was stuck in his throat, and he said he never did. not for a second did he feel that you weren’t worth his time. he looked towards the horizon, where the sun had now fully set, then at the sky, where the moon was supposed to be, and finally, back at you.

“you made me fall in love with the moon.” you chuckled at his answer.

“i thought you loved the moon from the start.” a brief silence ensued. one that felt comfortable. something he couldn’t feel for the past month when you were brought up.

“would you let me substitute the moon in your sky?” your voice pierced through the silence, and he responded almost instantly.

“always.” 

a content smile appeared on your face. “i’m glad.”

megumi’s eyes fluttered open, the sun shining in his eyes. the male rubbed tried to rub the sleep in his eyes away, only to be met with a damp feeling. tears? what was that about? his mind was hazy, and he swore he dreamt, but he couldn’t remember what it was about. 

he could remember the curve of someone’s lips. yours? yea, it was. even if he went through hundreds of lives, he doesn’t think he’d mistake someone else’s smile for yours.

he didn’t have time to think about that. through the hours of lost sleep, he had convinced himself he was ready to serve his role as an executioner, and he had a feeling in his gut he knew where you were already. at the place he had refused to visit. his mind told him that you had been going there every single day, waiting for him.

-

“you’re finally here.” megumi could feel his heart clenched as he heard your words, and the eerie silence that followed creeped him out. you had a smile on your face, arms behind your back as you looked at him. 

“why aren't you moving?” you turned your body to look at him and spread your arms out. “you need to do your job, megumi.” the smile on your face dropped when you noticed he wasn’t going near you. there were no signs that his shikigami were active either.

one step, two steps, you walked towards him instead. a part of you felt as if you were walking towards your death. you felt him flinch when you used a hand to cup his cheek. his skin felt cold and slightly damp to the touch. he had been sweating. you looked down. his blade was just inches away from your stomach.

you took his expression in, and you couldn’t help but hold back your laughter. megumi’s eyes widened when you suddenly laughed. he felt guilty for loving it. was it genuine? or another one of the things you did as a spy to toy with his feelings? 

“megumi, you’ve grown attached too, huh?” it only dawned on him then that you felt just as guilty for everything you were. 

“do you know what would’ve happened if you sold us out?” megumi spoke with poison laced in his tone, and a lump formed in your throat. “the world would’ve weeped for your sins, y/n.” your expression dropped completely. “i know that better than you do, and here i am, giving you a chance to end my life. yet, you’re hesitating,” you retort back.

“so hurry up already.” you looked at him with sharp eyes, looking for any signs that he might finally give in to the orders given to him. megumi’s hands trembled as he tightened his grip around the handle of his sword. “it’s not that easy to just…” he groaned loudly.

“megumi, do you want to know why they chose you to execute me instead of anyone else?” you sighed and stared directly into his eyes. “they knew i would have resisted had it been anyone else but you.”

your hands went to wrap around his. then, you slowly pry his fingers off his blade and inspect it for yourself. “you sharpened your blade. were you hoping to finish me off in a single strike?” megumi almost choked on air in response, and nodded.

your eyes softened. “how nice of him,” you thought. 

“how about this?” you stepped further away from him and pointed the sword at your skull. “i’ll be the one to carry out my own execution. then,” you pointed your finger at him. “you won’t have to bear the burden of killing me.” you could hear megumi’s heavy breaths. it seemed that reality had yet to crash into him when he first found you here. “megumi,” you whispered as you took one final look at him, “i think you know better than i that i wasn’t trying to give you an option.” you gripped the sharpened blade and winced at the pain as your hands bled, then flashed him a quick smile before you slashed your eyes.

you groaned, holding back the scream threatening to release itself in an attempt to sooth the pain in your eyes. you had no right after all the hurt you’d caused. you couldn’t open your eyes. it hurt like hell, but you didn’t want to see the look on his face either. you convinced yourself it was worth it. 

megumi felt as if he were frozen during the entire duration of your encounter with him. what was he doing? he was spiralling into his own thoughts, and here you were, handling your own execution because he was too much attached and too much in love with you. 

every nerve and muscle in your body seemed to scream at you as you gripped the handle of megumi’s sword tight. even then, your ears couldn’t mistake the heavy footsteps of your beloved as he ran towards you just as his blade pierced your abdomen. his scream rang through your ears when crimson spilled from your wound.

ah, it seemed that blinding your eyes wasn’t enough to keep yourself from thinking of his panicked expression and guilt ridden face.

then, everything went black. you weren’t sure how long you were out for. a few seconds, perhaps a few minutes? your entire body stung, as if you were laying in a tangle of thorned roses. one thing was for sure, you were dying. 

you felt something soft under your head instead of the grassy surface the rest of your body laid on. “megumi…?” your voice sounded tired and hoarse. “is that you?” there was a brief period of silence that made you doubt his presence, but a hum from him confirmed that he was indeed still there. a smile tugged at your face even through all the ache.

“i can’t see right now. look up.” megumi looked up, and realised today was the beginning of a new moon. he could barely see anything. “could you tell me what the moon looks like?” 

“a blood moon. it looks as if roses had bloomed on the moon.” liar.

“it’s not good to lie, megumi. but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“very.”

you didn’t exchange any words to each other for a period of time after that. by now, your breathing had calmed down, and everything around you seemed hot and cold at the same time. something in you told you to let go of your consciousness, and another part wished you’d stay awake longer to feel megumi’s touch. be a little selfish, you told yourself. 

you shakily reached your hand up towards the skies. you balled up your fist, a part of your childish mind hoping you had caught a star.

megumi could hear his heart thumping in his chest, and he pulled your body closer to him. he thought to himself, even if there had been that satellite in the sky, his moon was going to stop shining soon. he couldn’t help but wonder if the stars in your sky had burnt themselves out. 

maybe all of them, except for the one that willingly let the moon outshine it.

“y/n, can’t you use your technique to give yourself a better death?” megumi asked, his hand supporting the weak, quivering fist you held up, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“i can,” you replied back without hesitation. 

“but i’d have to erase everything that’s in my mind. and besides,” you flashed him a pained toothy grin. 

“you’re all i really want to think of right now, megumi.” 

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

fun fact: i actually invested sm into this fic i made sketches of the one of the curses

[lover-of-mine]

I'm here to argue my case about how Eddie fell first and has in fact been semi-aware of his feelings since season 3 and it's currently dealing with the way he thinks he'll have to be the best man on Buck's wedding. So sit down, buckle up, grab your delusional drink of choice (today I'm drinking my delusional tea lol), and let's go.

Okay, given season 6 information, we know Buck and Eddie are roughly the same age and we know Eddie was pursued by Bobby and Bobby wanted a partner for Buck (unrelated but Bobby so hoped the military guy would balance out Buck and for a while there he ended up with two very impulsive firefighters and he definitely had a few what the hell have I done moments lol) so it's kinda safe to assume that Buck was one of the selling points of the 118 because Buck is a very competent firefighter and they would be on the same shift. So Eddie went in with the expectation of someone his age he could befriend. I'm making some assumptions but the internet tells me the academy takes a year, we know Eddie still doesn't have a permanent childcare plan, so this man is interacting outside of the academy exclusively with his 7 yo, his abuela, and tia for a year, so I think that the idea of having a friend his own age was appealing to him. Especially after the army and Shannon leaving him. So much so that with his sharp edges, you can actually read things like "I'd go lower" or "you're in the wrong light, man" as attempts to create a bond, very awkward I haven't tried to make friends in forever attempts but attempts nonetheless because he's trying to be helpful. Buck is being Buck, but even Eddie says I hear you're a good guy, so dude is trying to understand what's happening, what's setting Buck off, and while he matches Buck's energy after the gym conversation, he actually continues to try and bond with Buck with the thing that actually works and the "you're badass under pressure" that is still another attempt to get through to Buck. I have various theories about the way Eddie keeps trying to start something, the one I like the most and the most painful one is about how Eddie has had the weight of the world on his shoulders forever. And he had to grow up really fast, and then there is Buck annoying him about nicknames and discussing his body fat percentage, and with all that really carefree energy season 1 and beginning of season 2 Buck had that he probably wanted to know what it felt like. But Buck is Buck and Buck also wanted a friend so dude imprinted on Eddie like a baby duck. But Eddie doesn't mind, like before Bobby comes in to say who got the spot on the calendar, Eddie looks amused by Buck not annoyed. But up until now, that's casual. They're coworkers.

Then we have the earthquake. We know Christopher is Eddie's whole world and he's very careful about the people he lets into their life, considering the earthquake happened on Maddie's first day on the floor and she must've had some sort of training before that, it's safe to assume that Eddie didn't mention Chris at the firehouse for at least a few weeks and he is very hesitant to tell Buck about him, but again Buck is Buck and he switches into reassurance mode and that's when Eddie actually lets him in. I actually would love it if we had an explanation as to why Buck drove Eddie to Chris' school after the shift, but it's something that he went from being hesitant to even mention he existed to introducing Buck to him. But then we have the moment Buck becomes his ride-or-die, you imprinted on me but now I'm hanging on to you, with the whole going to the hospital with him because of abuela and also the way that Buck clears Chris staying at the firehouse before Eddie thinks to do it.

This moment right here it's what gets Eddie. He's ready to apologize and justify and he doesn't have to because Buck stepped up to do something simply because he realized Eddie needed help and he could do something about it. Eddie is doing everything alone and he needs help but he doesn't know how or who to ask for it and Buck just steps in and does it before he needs to ask. And then there's Carla. Buck tricks him into showing up and literally hands him the solution to his problems because Buck knows Eddie wouldn't accept it if Buck had said what that was about beforehand, but at no point does Buck make it seem like Eddie is a bad parent for needing help. And I think with the whole thing with his parents trying to take Chris from him, that really does something.

I really like to use the second gif here as a major example of Eddie's heart eyes for Buck, but the first one, when he realizes who Carla is and what she can give him completely changes his demeanor. He was ready to be polite, was probably trying to figure out a way out without saying he was still married, but instead, Buck does something that not only makes Eddie's life easier but makes Christopher's exponentially better. And right then, Eddie is done for. I'm not saying he fell in love with Buck here, I'm just saying right here is when Eddie goes you're stuck with me now dude, and let his guard down with Buck, as much as this Eddie can at least. That's when something starts for him. You can't change my mind on this one. But for now, there's the Shannon of it all, because Eddie does love Shannon but their relationship is beyond complicated. 

But Buck is still constant through Shannon and I think that's important, actually, because Eddie is having trouble trusting Shannon and I feel like having Buck around helps him not go straight to the worst-case scenario all the time. I don't have a point in mentioning this, it's just a clear show of how much Eddie already trusts Buck, but to have Buck go with him to take Chris to see Santa is so wild. Who takes their best friend to see Santa with their kid? Like, what?? But Isn't it interesting that Eddie decides to propose again after Buck asks when is the wedding? I find that fascinating really. Then Shannon dies, Buck almost dies, dude goes into move past it mode but the seed is there. Forever thinking about the wistful shot of Eddie saying almost after Hen says things are back to the way they should be. Something else about the finale it's that it's the first in the list of irrationality moments from Eddie regarding Buck. Eddie is a firefighter, he's objectively stronger than Chimney, so the logical thing to be done is to have Eddie helping lift the truck and Chim treating Buck. But no, at that moment he's a medic who's there to hold Buck's hand. He's just holding Buck's hand. He could've left Buck with Hen and go help lift the truck. But no, he's staying by Buck's side.

But season 3 is when things HAPPEN. We start out strong with the sheer excitement on Eddie's face that Buck is going back to work. Then the way Eddie just hands Christopher over to Buck without a single worry. "Oh, you're falling apart? Here's a kid, he will help" and just goes. We focus a lot on Buck's reaction to them finding Chris because it is what the show wants us to focus, this is the moment Buck looks at Chris and goes "shit I really love that kid" but Eddie looking back at Buck as he holds Chris is interesting. Eddie just went through 30 seconds (actually it's 1 minute 4 seconds from the moment Eddie notices Buck to Eddie having Chris in his arms not that it matters) of the worst possible moments in a parent's life and I guess, since Buck didn't have Chris, and Buck was too shaken to explain what had happened, he assumed Buck lost Chris during the first wave and he's looking back because he's shocked he saved not only himself but Chris from the wave, but from his focus to shift to Buck like that it's interesting. Even more, considering the way he barges into the loft to hand Chris over again. "There's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you" I'm sorry, there's no platonic explanation for the wording of this, okay? This is a man who looked at his honest to god wife, the mother of his child, and said "I can forgive you, I'm just not sure I can trust you" and trust is always the thing Eddie struggles with. To trust someone with Christopher is Eddie's ultimate show of love because it's what makes sense with his character, he is loyal until it kills him but nothing goes above Christopher. Also, Mr. Kids are signs hands over his own child to someone and I'm not supposed to look at that and go "huh wonder what he's feeling"? And there's the lawsuit of it all. Eddie gets that mad because he misses Buck and has no idea what to do with it. Because he got used to being a priority to Buck and he cannot handle the idea that maybe he's not. He's struggling, Chris is struggling and he needs Buck to do the thing he does where he fixes the problem without Eddie having to ask. But Buck has no real responsibility to Eddie or Chris, you can't really expect your best friend to base his life decisions on what's best for you. But it is the expectation Eddie has. He needs Buck to consider him. He needs Buck to be there for him no matter what. And at this point, when he's screaming at Buck as if they are a divorced couple, he's aware of something. He's definitely aware of something he doesn't want to look too closely at. 

Because being left by Buck leaves him completely off balance. And since Eddie is famous for not dealing with the shit he's feeling, things keep escalating because anger it's easier. Anger he can deal with. But in the end, he just wants Buck back so he forgives him the second he lets Buck speak. Because he wants the Buck that looks right through him, he wants what they have back. And he doesn't hesitate once he does. There are definitely some lingering feelings about how he kept pushing Shannon away and then she died and he "lost" time he could've had if he had let her in after he sought her out, so when Buck apologizes he just goes let's go team and moves on because tomorrow isn't promised to anyone. 

But I think there's something important to take into consideration, that it's Eddie's therapy session. He talks about not feeling anything, good or bad, and the his feelings are boxed thing and how he doesn't know what to do with them and yes, that comes back into play later, but it is important that Eddie doesn't name his feelings and he consistently tries to box them and move past them instead of feeling them, and it gets to a point where he's doing this even to positive things. So he is not looking too closely as to why missing Buck throws him off balance. He's all let's go back to the way things were and they do. Forever seeking for a heterosexual explanation to the kitchen scene in 3x09 but I also do think there are different types of tension between them there. Because while Buck is teasingly trying to get Eddie to admit on what had happened and how Buck's absence was a trigger for Eddie's fight club era in his flirty way of his, Eddie is trying to make him stop talking in a real "man don't make me look at what happened too closely" because he doesn't know what he'll find. Or if he's ready to find it. Considering the whole widower who never processed a big emotion in a healthy way he has going on there. But Buck is a really steady presence in Eddie's life, and Buck does his best to not put them in the lawsuit situation again, he's around, he's helping Eddie with parenting issues and then we have the well.

The well is a pivotal moment. Not just because of the sheer amount of Buck in Eddie's I need to keep fighting montage and the way Buck is acting above the ground, but because of the way Eddie changes his will after that and chooses to hide the fact that he did. Eddie has parents who are more than willing to raise Christopher, he has sisters, he has a lot of blood relatives that he could assign as Chris' guardians if something happens, but he chooses Buck. He chooses a firefighter, who is not only a firefighter, it's also his partner so if Eddie ends up in a life-threatening situation, Buck will probably be there too, so it's not the biggest safeguard. Buck is also single and without kids of his own. He also has known Buck for what? 2 years at that point? Eddie's lawyer probably stared at Eddie in disbelief when Eddie explained the situation. But the real thing about the will is that Eddie doesn't talk about it. Dude had some revelations while under all that mud because the only reason he wouldn't tell Buck is if he couldn't tell Buck without talking about himself. That's the only explanation for why he would hide it. Because Buck would ask why him, why now, like he did when Eddie did finally tell him, but right then Eddie can't shift the focus back to Buck. But there's a very subtle change in the way Eddie acts around Buck after the well. And again, sure, you can play off Eddie's reaction to when Buck wants to do something dangerous as he needs Buck to stay alive, but you can't really apply that logic to the way Eddie acts about Abby. Like, Eddie is petty to girls who want Buck, that's a fact. And Eddie is petty about Abby, but he also gets unsure about his place in Buck's life when he sees Buck's reaction to seeing Abby. And they focus on Eddie there. We get Eddie's reaction to that interaction. That means something.

We get Eddie legit feeling insecure about his place in Buck's life over the fact that Abby is there. And Eddie knows Abby as this entity, the one that got away, the person responsible for Buck being the way he is, because that's the way Abby is talked about, and sure, if I was in Eddie's shoes, only seeing the damage someone did to my best friend and then have them risking their life because of whatever lingering feelings are still there, I would also reserve myself the right to hate them, but it's more than that. Like, the way he backs away from the both of them once Buck goes into protector mode.

"Abby, His fiancée's Abby." *stomps away*. Absolutely insane interactions happen there that paint Buck as still hung up on Abby, even more after the whole thing with Red, but if you look at it with the right lenses, it paints Eddie as jealous of the way Buck is willing to put himself in danger to keep someone who broke him happy.

Every reaction from Eddie in the train wreck feels so calculated to give this idea that he's unsure of his place in Buck's life. His face when he realizes who he's talking to, his hand hovering over Buck's shoulder like he wants to comfort him but doesn't know if he can, the way he looks at Buck after Abby and Sam are in the ambulance. He's completely off balance at the sight of the ghost of Buck's great lost love and I'm supposed to believe that man is just experiencing platonic friendship feelings about his best friend? Come on. 

Season 4 is complicated. Because of the Ana and Taylor of it all. They do have the easy banter, Eddie being someone Buck can rely on during the whole mess with his parents, a few scenes of Buck completely comfortable in Eddie's space and Eddie just moving around him like he's meant to be there, but we know the Ana of it all happens because of external pressure. Eddie thinks he needs to date, so he grabs onto the first woman he can. The way his whole body relaxes when he realizes Christopher is with Buck is actually insane. But even though he's dating, he's holding on to Buck in a way. Absolutely obsessed with how much he hates Taylor. Dude legit looks like he's fantasizing about running her over with the fire engine while watching Buck and Taylor interact making Buck ignore him. 

But then Eddie gets shot. Say whatever the fuck you want Eddie reached for Buck. He thought he was dying. And he reached for Buck.

Eddie's been aware of something he doesn't want to look at too closely since the lawsuit that became harder to ignore after the well that he became fully aware of when he got shot. I know that what we have now says Eddie doesn't remember the shooting but wouldn't it be beautiful if he lied because he can't say what he remembers because everything he remembers is about Buck? The dramatic effect of I'm lying to you because I realized I loved you then but I can't tell you that now? Ugh. Anyway, Eddie got shot, things fell into place when he hit the ground, terrible place to have an oh! moment though. Dude just got shot, he's bleeding out, and the thing he gathers the rest of his energy is to ask if Buck is hurt. Sure, you can look at that as I think I'm dying so one of us has to make it home to Chris, but the possibility of it being an I love you I need to know you're okay before this kills me it's there. But he doesn't die. And when he wakes up Buck tells him it would've been better if he had been shot. You can see it on Eddie's face that he kept rehearsing what he was going to say about the will. Something else is the way that Ali takes Buck home after the truck so it would honestly make sense if Ana took Eddie home but he probably asked Buck to do it. That scene feels like an aborted love confession. "You act like you're expendable but you're wrong" the way he's saying you're not spare parts, you're not less important, you matter so much to me. Eddie knows Buck, he knows Buck associates love with pain. He wouldn't actually say something after he almost died, but it feels like he's working up to something. Sure he needs to break up with Ana, but there's time before he heals and can just, do something about it. But then Taylor fucking Kelly is in his welcome home party. He knew Buck and Taylor were working up to something. He knows Taylor being there means it happened. A violent reminder that Buck is straight (debatable) and doesn't feel the same (also debatable). So back to safety, he goes. 

I need to know who decided that having this particular look when they are literally talking about how Eddie is about to meet Ana's whole family was the way to go.

Also, can you believe Eddie needed Buck's approval to break up with the girlfriend he didn't even want to date anyway?

Season 5 is complicated because of Eddie's PTSD, 5A has a lot of Eddie pulling away because of the way he knew when the dam broke it wouldn't be pretty and he didn't want to take down anyone with him. But even when we see Eddie out of the job, we see him making an effort to include Buck and Taylor so Buck would know that he really did mean the whole "you're stuck with us" thing. I can talk about 5x11 to 5x14 and the implications of it to buddie for days, really, (you can read this for some of those thoughts), but the thing here I guess, it's a lot about how when the box exploded, the feelings are all over the place, Eddie sits back and lets Buck in. He talks about the way he's feeling in a way we don't really see Eddie do all that often and he leans on Buck through his recovery and the process of finding out how to not feel like there's no hope for himself and how to feel comfortable in his own skin again. And it's a lot about Buck and the way Buck is constant. Eddie feels like Buck is this steady presence in his life that can and does help Eddie move forward.

But the thing is, the shooting happened, Eddie realized things, Taylor Kelly (derogatory) happened, Taylor Kelly (derogatory) took herself out of the running, Eddie now has the tools to deal with his own emotions, he's single, Buck's single, they're having dinner with Chris at Buck's loft and Eddie is asking Buck about things Chris kept from him, but Eddie is in a fantasy bubble where he can pretend he has the things he wants without actually asking for anything to change. I mean, post therapy Eddie is better with his feelings, but he's still Eddie. He was in his little I have time bubble. That was violently popped. Because Buck died. And he had to save him. "Do more" is such a desperate thing for a first responder and former combat medic to scream at a team of doctors. He knows they always do the best they can. He did the best he could, but there's only so far he can go. The way he follows the gurney hurts me in so many ways. Some real don't go where I can't follow bullshit.

This is a man who watched Buck almost die multiple times. But this is also a man who never contemplated the possibility of Buck actually dying. The thing that drives me crazy about Eddie and everything surrounding Buck's death is that he can't look at it. He can't take his eyes off him, but once he's out of his sight he can't look at him again. He spends the whole time not looking at Buck. He looks away every time someone mentions it. Even when he's in the room with Chris he's not looking. 3 minutes 17 seconds. Look, this number bothers me. Bobby said they were 3 minutes out from the hospital and that it took 3 minutes to start compressions. So Buck was dead for 6 minutes. The rescue took 3 minutes. And Eddie counted. That's the only explanation for this particular number. He counted how long it took to get Buck to Chim and Hen and in the ambulance ready to go.

But Eddie was living comfortably in his bubble, I don't think he was at peace with it, but I do think he accepted it. But Buck wakes up, Buck seeks him out to help deal with the trauma. They look like a family, they act like a family, maybe it's not hopeless after all. Maybe Buck can feel the same and they can talk about it once Buck is not feeling so raw over his own death. Buck is just there all the time, something like that can't be one-sided, can it? But then Buck pulls the rug from under him. I made a very long post about the cemetery, you can read that one if you want, but the thing about that conversation is that it is a reminder that they are not on the same page. Because Buck throws him off balance again, considering the way Eddie was trying his hardest to be there for Buck just for Buck to say he's getting what he wants from a random woman he met a few days before. And it makes Eddie back away so he won't end up hurting his own feelings more. I think at this point Eddie has accepted the fact that he's going to have to be Buck's best man and is trying to find a way to be okay with it. So he's retreating to familiarity again. It explains why he's trying to recreate what he had with Shannon because he loved Shannon, so maybe if he found that again he wouldn't have to cut Buck off to move on. Because he needs Buck on some level but there is a limit on how much he can take while Buck goes around looking for something he already has.

And yes I talked and talked and talked but why does this mean Eddie fell first? Well, Buck will never figure it out on his own. The thing about Buck is that Buck doesn’t know what healthy love is. He thinks love is work, but in a it’s bleeding himself dry for someone way. He thinks love is pain. Eddie is safety. Eddie is home. He never knew home as a place where he can find love.

This is all for today. If you read this I love you. Also the doc I typed it out says it has over 4.3k words so this is long as fuck congratulations for sticking through it 🩷

[baronessvonglitter]

Darlin’ Cowgirl

Jack Daniels x f!reader

Word count: 3.1K

Summary: looking for a way out of a bachelorette party, an accidental butt dial becomes a booty call

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit and Mature, friends/coworkers to lovers, reader is at least 21, tipsy flirting/dancing, improper use of a mechanical bull, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, smut, dash of romance with a happily ever after, no use of y/n, reader has hair and wears a dress

Author's Note: this was the first one-shot I'd ever written on AO3 and decided to post here as well 🤠🥃

JACK DANIELS MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You aren't looking forward to the bachelorette party. You don't even like weddings, yet somehow you've been roped into being part of your old college roommate's wedding party simply because you ran into her at the grocery store a few months back. It was only when you had the bridal shower that you realized you were one of thirteen bridesmaids. Great. Now you'll feel even more invisible than you already do.

You've been in a slump lately, and the only thing bringing out of it is your devilishly handsome coworker Jack Daniels, aka Agent Whiskey. You're an Information Security Specialist for the Statesmen, an ultra-secret espionage agency, so naturally you keep the details of your job pretty hush-hush. Whiskey, as you affectionately call him, is one of your few confidantes, despite the fact that he flirts with you at every turn. You admit to yourself that it's a nice distraction from your loneliness, even if you feel his flirtatiousness is just a bit of fun for him, his own distraction.

You take your time in dressing up for the night: a spaghetti strap black minidress with a plunging neckline and silver cowgirl boots. At the bar you meet up with your fellow bridesmaids and the bride-to-be, who are all in shades of pink and white, near exact replicas of each other, nearly indistinguishable. You stick out like a sore thumb and you know it.

The bridesmaids want to take shots so you take some with them, hoping your anxiety will dilute just a little. Your inhibitions are lowered just a little, but not enough to go out to the dance floor with the others. You watch as others watch them, in admiration as they laugh and gracefully (despite the Buttery Nipple shots they'd all consumed just minutes ago) and wish you could be part of them. You hang back at the bar, politely declining offers to dance from men who come by to not-so-subtly ogle you. You feel like a piece of meat. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come out, knowing you hate places like this. However, just as you're about to order a Lyft, you get an incoming call from Whiskey himself.

Confused and blushing you go to a quieter place of the bar, which is still very loud. "Hello?" you practically shout into the phone.

"Hey darlin'!" you hear Jack's voice on the other end. "You called me?"

"Um.. no, I didn't.."

He chuckles, warm and low in your ear. "Yes you did, darlin'. I was hopin' you were okay."

You quickly check your call log and sure enough, you'd called him about fifteen minutes ago, when you and the bridesmaids were doing shots. "I must have butt-dialed you," you shout back, giggling.

"Aw, lucky me," he drawls. "That pretty ass was thinkin' about me?"

You're too flustered to reply.

"Where are you anyway? Loud as hell over there."

"I'm at a bar for a bridesmaid party."

"That one you were talkin' about earlier today? No invite, huh?"

You giggle again. "It's for women only."

"Exactly! That's my kinda good time!" You hear him chuckle again.

"Actually it's kinda lame. I'm thinking of calling it a night."

"Don't you dare," he says with mock authority. "Wait there a minute and I'll be on my way. Text me the address."

You hang up and text him, wondering what he's up to. You've never hung out with him after work, even with all the flirting you've both done. You think it's strictly professional with a touch of playfulness, but you've never been one hundred percent sure.

You hang out at the bar, wanting to be visible to him when he arrives, but it's only after you're returned from the ladies' room checking your makeup, outfit and hair, that you see him, well the back of him, and he's mingling with some of the bridesmaids, who are obviously taking a much-needed alcohol break from dancing.

You gently touch his shoulder. "Hey there, stranger."

He turns, smiling, and the look in his eyes becomes one of pure lust. He drinks you in, unabashedly. "Damn darlin', you look so good it hurts," he drawls.

You glance at the bridesmaids, most of whom are checking him out with flagrant interest. "Did you meet everyone? Kaitlyn's the bride-to-be," you introduce them.

"I have, and her husband's one lucky sonofabitch, if I may say so," he places a gentlemanly kiss on the bride's hand and she in turn blushes. "Who's your friend?" she asks.

"A coworker," you say mysteriously, glancing at Jack, who has now turned his whole attention to you.

"You wanna dance, darlin'?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

Your stomach drops, just because you're pretty shy about dancing, and if anything you'd like to leave him with the impression that you can at least move in rhythm. "Maybe the next song," you suggest. "But first, how about a couple of shots? On me."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Darlin', I can't allow that. My treat," he insists, and orders a couple shots of whiskey for you and him.

"Had to be whiskey, huh?" you tease him, taking the shot glass in your hand.

"Of course." He lifts his glass to yours for a toast. "To coworkers getting to know each other better," he says, and there's a twinkle in his deep brown eyes that's hard to miss.

"To getting to know each other better," you grin and down the shot. It's like fire in your throat and stomach.

"Too much for ya to handle?" he teases, having downed his with ease.

"Depends.. which Whiskey are you talking about?" you tease back, feeling a little surge of confidence that either comes from Jack or from the shot.

"You're a little firecracker," he says in a low voice, his eyes blatantly going over every line and curve of your face, and downwards to eyeball your neck, the curve of your breasts. You wonder what he's imagining.

"Firecrackers are fun but dangerous," you warn him with a cheeky smile.

"We both know I'm all about that danger. Ain't nothin' I can't handle.." a subtle lift of his brows suggests he means more than mere flirtation.

"Is that a challenge?" You step closer to him, and the scent of his cologne, notes of leather and tobacco, catches your attention.

He notices your stance, the way you've shifted from a sweetheart wallflower to a provocative temptress. "What if it is?" he whispers into your ear, his breath tickling your skin and raising goosebumps on your flesh.

You follow his lead and whisper into his own ear, your lips grazing his cheek. "Then I accept.." you keep the ghost of a kiss upon his freshly shaven cheek and slowly pull back, looking into his eyes and seeing a newly effected desire there. "Dance with me." You bring him out to the floor, having completely lost sight of the bridesmaids. Nothing exists now but you and Jack and this chemistry that's been building between you.

His hands are on your hips as "Neon Moon" starts to play, a slow and soulful song that suits the mood you're both in. The colored lights sweep across the room, casting blue and scarlet and amber glows across the crowd. You're lost in each other, in the touch of his hands on your hips, the way he caresses them, loving their shape. You rest your hands on his broad, strong shoulders.

"You're a good dancer, Jack. You know what they say about men who are good dancers," you tell him suggestively.

"Really? What do they think, Gorgeous?" He pulls you even closer so your bodies are practically flush together.

"That they're good in bed," you answer with an arch of your brow, as if to imply it was beyond your belief.

He looks at you like a man looking at his first meal in a week of starvation. "Do you want to find out just how good of a.. dancer I am?"

Heat blooms across your body, and your pussy clenches in response. It only takes a moment to imagine what it would be like, riding this cowboy. You see him and you realize you have him right where you want him. "There is something I've been dying to ride.." you gently tug his shirt to bring him closer, as if in a kiss..

For a moment he looks like he's going to melt from the heat coming off you. "Oh yeah, darlin'? And what exactly is that?" he smirks.

Your face lights up. "That mechanical bull!" You grab Jack's hand and lead him across the huge barroom to the line to ride the bull. Sneaking a look at his face, Whiskey looks bewildered, but manages to cover it just in time. "That stupid thing? I can think of something more fun to ride," he smirks again and you resist the urge to drag him outside and let him have his way with you in the alleyway.

You only smirk back at him as the operator calls you to come forward and get atop the bull. Getting on top is easy, but staying on will be hard. As soon as you're situated, the bull starts spinning and bucking, slowly at first to let you get your bearings. You laugh and hold on, your body moving with the bull, anticipating its every move. Your hips grind down to the leather, thighs locked tight as you move your pelvis forward. Catching Whiskey's eye you blow him a kiss.

Seeing that the ride is winding down, he goes up to the operator and pays him to let you go again. This time, apparently on Whiskey's orders, the ride goes slower, allowing you to continue your little show for Jack. Keeping eye contact with him, you imagine it's him beneath you. Suddenly you gasp as you realize the bull is moving faster, and you watch as Jack's expression turns dark, lustful. You bite your lip as the speed increases. Pleasure pools in your belly, more specifically between your thighs, and the first stirrings of pleasure begin to radiate outward to your limbs, You rear your head back, face pointed up in ecstasy, and a rolling thunder starts in your veins.

You don't realize it until it's happening but you're being led away by Whiskey to a small corridor where no one can see you, and buries his face in your neck. "Tell me to stop if that's what you want," he says, his voice strained. "But by all that's holy, you are the hottest god damn thing I've ever seen."

But by then your leg is already hooked around his hip, shamelessly rubbing against him, the pleasure from the bull ride still fresh in your body. "I don't want you to stop," you whisper.

He growls low in his throat, which you dare to kiss, grazing your teeth across his skin. He gives a sharp hiss, and when he presses against you you feel proof of his desire, as if you needed any more. His hand goes beneath the hem of your dress and slides up, finding the edge of your lace panties. "Black?" he murmurs, his lips still against your neck.

"How did you know?"

You feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "I always know." His fingers trace your inner thighs before dipping into your heated, slick cunt. "Christ woman, you're soaking wet. For me." With his fingers inside you he kisses you, and you tip your face up to lean into his kiss, He slowly pumps two thick fingers inside as he slips his tongue into your mouth, mimicking the movements, earning a deep moan then a whimper from you.

"Watching you ride that bull, I just know it was me you were thinkin' of," he whispers huskily against your ear. "God damn if you aren't the most gorgeous thing I ever laid eyes on,, been wantin' you a long time, darlin'."

Through the haze of desire you smile, finding the temerity to feel touched by his words. "Took you long enough to show it," you tease, cupping the back of his head as you kiss, leaning against the wall as he fingers your wetness.

He groans again. "As much as I want to continue, I'd like to find a more comfortable place to fuck you." He pauses to look to you for consent. "That is, if you still want this."

You reply by palming his rigid cock, already threatening to poke through his tailored trousers. "I absolutely do.."

In a flurry of movement he brings you outside. The bachelorette party is the last thing on your mind, if you even still remember it, All you can think of is being with Jack. He leads you to his truck, the spacious backseat warm and inviting. He's on you again as that door is closed, His mouth finds yours, tongue claiming you. "I want to be gentle, but I don't think I have it in me right now," he admits.

You shake your head. "I'm not asking for gentle, I'm asking you to fuck me, Jack."

You've never called him by his name before, never been so informal with him, but the look in his eyes tells you it's perfectly all right by him. He lays you down on the seat. "Can I get a little taste of ya, darlin'? Been wonderin' what you'd taste like since the day we met."

This draws a sweet whimper from you, to hear he'd always wanted you. "God yes, please.."

He gingerly removes your panties, kissing his way back up your calves and thighs once they're off. You blush when he breathes in your scent. His hands cup the backs of your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders and you can't help but feel exposed. "Christ.. woman, you're gonna be the death of me," he mutters before taking off his hat and leaning in to devour you.

You give a sharp gasp as you lean your head back against the seat, hands mussing his hair as he laps at your wet cunt, licking up your folds and dipping his tongue inside you. He gently laps at your clit, using more pressure with each lick until he cups his lips around it and sucks, listening to how much you like it, how much more you need.

"Fuck!" you shout, a victorious roar as you feel yourself so close to that edge, and Whiskey is happy to let you use him for your pleasure. His tongue draws shapes upon your clit, alternating between swiping with his tongue and suckling it. Only when you come and he sweeps across every fold to drink up your juices does he stop.

You practically push him down, effectively trading places with him as you kneel before him. "My turn.."

His gaze turns dark even as his face lights up. "Hell, I'm not sayin' no to that, darlin'."

Smiling, you undo his trousers and pull them down with his briefs. His cock springs out, thick and long, perfectly curved, smooth, perfect. "God, I just knew you'd have a big dick.." you whisper, tracing with your tongue from root to head.

Whiskey exhales, watching you work on him. He palms the back of your head but doesn't urge you any further than what's comfortable for you. You use your hand to stroke his base while getting the first few inches of him into your mouth, daring to deep-throat him, wanting to see that look on his face, wanting to see him go crazy for you.

"Jesus, darlin'. I'm so on edge right now I might just burst if you keep doin' that," he chuckles. "Get on up here and ride me, gorgeous."

You feel your heart pound in every extremity of your body, especially your cunt, as you get up and straddle him, hiking up your dress. He stops you a moment and caresses your cheek. "This okay with you, darlin'? I have protection if you prefer.."

You smile and shake your head. "I'm on birth control, and I'm clean."

He smiles back. "Ah good. I'm clean too, darlin'." You know it has to be true, as the agents do periodic physicals and are prohibited from missions for the slightest findings.

Kissing him, you rise over him, using your hands to find him and bring him into you. He slides in without any resistance, and you take your time trying to get as much of him inside as you can. "Fuck, Jack," you whisper as he fills you.

Through the pleasure of connecting your bodies he smirks. "Is that an order?"

You giggle a little. "Looks like I'm the one doing the fucking." Just as you say that, he pushes up from under you, moving you up, filling you up just a little bit more. "God!!"

Sinking his teeth in to his lower lip he grabs onto your hips and moves you how he wants, watching your body for clues on what you like and what you want more of. He pulls the front of your dress down and frees your breasts, suckling on each nipple at a time as you melt on top of him, inadvertently letting more of him inside. He's fucking you and you're fucking him.

You grab his hat from the seat next to you and put it on yourself, riding your cowboy. Whiskey watches you, whispering your name, calling you his Cowgirl, bucking his hips up into you until he bottoms out, then lifting you with long strokes until you push him down to grind down. His thumb flicks over your clit, swirling the letters of your name and his, hearing your wild moans and shuddering sighs. You've never come so hard or so fast. You feel the first fluttery feelings deep within, and they shoot through your veins, lighting up your entire nervous system, and you scream his name as your cunt clenches spasmodically around his cock, and soon you feel him spill his cum deep inside you, spurting its warmth to your insides.

It takes a moment for you to come back to earth, and when you do, Whiskey is kissing you, tenderly, with the remainder of the passion you two just shared. "That was.. wow," you sigh, feeling shy around him now, of all times.

"It was spectacular, darlin'. I hope you know I'm gonna want you again," he puts his forehead to yours.

"Is that so?" You blush with elation.

"Of course darlin'. I'm hopin' to make this a long-term association, if you're so willin'. But on one condition."

You raise a brow. "Already calling the shots, huh? What's the condition?"

"That the only thing you ride is me. Ain't no way I'm being upstaged by a damn mechanical bull ever again."

You laugh, and he loves the sound of it. "We'll put a pin in that conversation."

He strokes your hair. The electric light from the bar sign lights up the inside of the truck, magenta and cyan. "You comin' home with me tonight, Cowgirl?"

You smile and give him a soft kiss. "You bet, Cowboy."

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Six

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour in a semi-public place. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Six

It felt like you were in a daze, like the night before had just been a fever dream. You’d almost been willing to write it off as a dream before you saw a note in your kitchen from Billy, telling you that the leftovers from dinner had been put in the refrigerator for you. There was no telling if he’d brought them through himself or if he’d had the maid do it, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

After your usual morning routine, you headed to the library to finally return Billy’s copy of Dorian Gray, exchanging it for Jane Eyre, another book that you’d never been allowed to read growing up.

By the time Billy emerged at sunset, you’d finished the leftovers and you were sitting on the sofa, with your nose buried in the book and your stuffed beagle on your lap. You’d even put tonight's blood in his thermal travel mug, hoping to keep it warm for him.

“Good evening,” he said as he joined you on the sofa, eyeing his travel mug before turning his attention to you and smiling all the more when he noticed the stuffed toy. “I hope I’m not interrupting the two of you.”

“Not at all, me and Bill were just reading.”

“Bill?” He laughed. “You can’t call him Bill.”

“But he’s Bill the Beagle,” you told him, biting your lip and trying your damnedest to stifle your own laughter. “It’s too late to change it, he’s used to it now.”

The both of you sat for a moment, trying to fight back the laughter but it didn’t last. You cracked first and, soon enough, the pair of you were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Just the sound of his laughter had you smiling. It was nice, precious even. It was only then that you realised that you didn’t hear him laugh very often, at least, not properly. He seemed happy, honestly happy with no hint of smugness.

“Is this for me?” He asked, reaching for the mug.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious at how much thought went into the gesture. “I just thought…”

“Thank you,” he offered, obviously sensing your discomfort and not wanting to force you to finish the thought. After taking a slow drink, his attention turned to the book on your lap. “So, what are you reading now?”

“Jane Eyre,” you answered and caught a questioning look from him. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just very... apt.” 

“Is it?

“I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you,” he answered. Then, a beat later, he changed the subject. “I’d like to ask you something; I’m throwing a party here next month, and I’d very much like you to come. It’ll mean taking you for a new dress, of course, but -”

“A new dress?” You repeated, barely keeping up with all the information he was throwing your way. “But I already have so many.”

“I want you to have something special, something you picked for yourself. And it means an evening out of the penthouse,” Billy explained. You didn’t need to answer, he could tell just from the look on your face that you wanted to. “We can go on Wednesday.”

“Okay,” you smiled.

“Great, now that that’s settle, what do you want to do tonight?”

You fell silent, wondering if it was a trick question, if there was an expected answer. It’d be a lie to say that some part of you wasn’t hoping for a repeat of the night before, but you couldn’t say that.

“We could watch something?” You offered and Billy almost seemed taken aback by the simplicity of the suggestion. “Just - you know, because we talked a lot last night and I haven’t exactly done anything interesting today...”

“If that’s what you want to do,” he shrugged.

“We don’t have to, if you’d rather...” you trailed off, cheeks starting to warm.

Billy reached for you, fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “No pressure or expectations, remember?” He told you softly. “If you want to watch a movie, we can watch a movie, okay?”

The only response you could give was a meek nod before quickly excusing yourself. When you returned a couple of minutes later, you had a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, explaining to Billy that they were crucial for a TV night. He nodded while fighting back a laugh and you realised that, while you’d been out of the room, he’d been and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Why don’t you find us something to watch?”  Billy asked, handing you the remote.

And then began five minutes of mindless scrolling through Netflix, watching trailers, and trying to find something that you’d both enjoy.

“What about this one?” You asked, lingering on Black Sails, a show that caught your attention because it was about pirates and you’d been interested in pirates ever since you’d  secretly read Treasure Island as a child. “It’s a series but... well, we’ve got all year, right? Maybe we could watch TV together more often?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, the smile on his lips growing, like you were offering him far more than the occasional night in front of the TV.

“Okay, let’s watch some pirates,” he agreed, filing the two wine glasses and handing you one of them.

When you’d chosen the show, you’d thought that you’d be able to watch and talk but, within five minutes, you were hooked. 

It wasn’t long before Billy was awkwardly reaching across, trying to steal your popcorn, prompting you to edge closer and closer until you were pressed against his side. You were so caught up in the show that you barely noticed Billy draping his arm around you or the way your head had ended up resting on his shoulder. 

One episode finished and another started, then another. You made little comments to each other, but after the popcorn and wine were gone, you were mostly silent. There was more sex and nudity than you’d expected and you felt your cheeks warm every time. If Billy noticed, he was nice enough not to say anything about it. But, aside from that, you were enjoying it; you were enjoying the whole night. It was nice. And Billy seemed to be enjoying it too.

“Oh, now I see why you’re watching this,” Billy joked when a particularly muscled and shirtless pirate appeared on screen. You pulled a face. “What? He not your type?”

“I don’t have a type,” you confessed, playfully nudging him with your elbow. 

Billy retaliated by nudging you back and things seemed to escalate from there. You gave him a shove and he pushed back, his hand discovering a ticklish spot on your side and, once Billy realised you were ticklish, it was game over. You squealed as he started to tickle you, laughing and pushing against him but, somehow, you ended up on your back with him above you. The tickling continued for a moment, but it soon turned into kissing.

“What is it about you?” he asked softly. “How do you make me want like this?” 

Before you could answer his lips were on yours again, the kiss more eager than the last. He pressed closer, his hips between your thighs, and you soon felt the increasingly familiar press of his erection against you. A soft sound slipped from your lips and into his, your heart hammering in your chest.

“The things I want to do to you,” he muttered, lips pulling from yours to your neck, kissing and sucking, leaving little marks in your skin. “The ways I want you,” he continued. “I’d ruin you. I’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

It sounded insane but that didn’t stop you from wanting it, craving it.

Your hips pushed up against his while your fingertips pressed against his spine, holding him against you. A loud moan spilled from your lips when he pressed back, causing your body to tremble, your back arching against him of its own accord.

His head lifted from your neck, his dark eyes looked down at you, his jaw tense. 

“I want to make you mine,” but this time it wasn’t Billy’s voice, it was something closer to the way he’d sounded that night in the kitchen when he’d been hungry.

Every fibre of your being suddenly tensed, your heart stuttered and your breath caught. Your eyes were wide as he leaned to roughly press his lips to yours, his tongue dominating the kiss. His hips pressed down against yours again, grinding his clothed cock against you.

“I want to make you scream my name.” He growled before sinking against your lips again.

The whimper that escaped you next wasn’t one of pleasure, it was shock and, if you were honest, a little bit of fear. But that little sound seemed to be enough to snap Billy out of it.

His lips pulled from yours suddenly, and he buried his face against your neck. He was still and silent for a few seconds. All you could hear was your own panted breaths and the echo of your pounding heart in your ears.

The shock lingered but the fear was quick to dissipate. He’d stopped. You hadn’t even had to ask him to. He’d stopped the moment he realised that you were uncomfortable, even though you could still feel how unfulfilled he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your neck, then again; “I’m sorry.”

Your mind was racing, between this and the night in the kitchen, you didn’t know what to think. He’d been hungry that night - at least, that was the excuse you’d given for his behaviour, but now it was starting to seem like it might be something else entirely.

“Are you -” you dared to quietly ask, “- okay?”

“No,” he answered and that one broken syllable shattered your heart.

Without hesitation or pause to think, you started to run your fingers through his hair, wanting to soothe whatever it was inside of him that was hurting. You heard him take an uncomfortable breath, but you didn’t stop. 

After a few minutes, he finally started to relax a little.

“It’s okay,” you muttered. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His head lifted slowly and the look on his face caused your stomach to knot.

“I could have,” he told you, looking almost sick at the thought.

Finally, he moved, pulling away from you and sitting up, his head in his hands. You followed suit, sitting beside him, giving him a moment of silence to think.

But that silence quickly felt deafening and you felt worse for the part you’d played. You hadn’t expected the things he’d said and they’d unsettled you a little, but that was all. You weren’t used to men being so forward and borderline aggressive about their desires. But he’d stopped. He hadn’t done any of the things he said. He hadn’t hurt you. He certainly hadn’t forced you into anything.

“You could hurt me right now,” you stated. “You could’ve hurt me last night, or that night in the kitchen, but you didn’t. And I don’t think you will. I get that I’m fragile and weak, and that worries you, but -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile or weak,” he told you, lifting his head and fixing his gaze on you. “You’re not either of those things.”

It was your turn to drop your gaze, cheeks warming as you shook your head.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, and you did as he asked. “You being here is proof that you’re not

weak. Taking this job, being stuck here with me for a year, there’s nothing weak about any of that.”

Your head shook again. “You don’t understand. You were right, I am running away. I’m here because I wasn’t strong enough to do anything else.”

“Everything you’ve done since you got here - standing up to me, the night you helped me, that was reckless and dangerous. It was brave.” He told you, not giving you a chance to argue. “So, no, it’s not because I think you’re fragile and weak. It’s me, I...” he sighed, “I told you, control is an issue for me.”

Cautiously, you reached for him, taking his hand between yours and holding it tight. 

“I didn’t even have to ask you to stop, Billy,” you told him softly. “You stopped yourself before you took things too far. You were in control. And I - I don’t know, it’s not like I was scared, I’m just not used to things being that... intense.” You watched him swallow awkwardly and decided to cut him off before he could speak. “Why don’t we rewind this episode and finish watching?”

He gave an uncertain grumble and you reached for the remote, winding back the last fifteen minutes of the show, back to the last thing you remembered. Sitting back, you grabbed Bill the Beagle and pulled your blanket back up over your legs, and when Billy finally sat back, you snuggled into his side again. And, eventually, he wrapped his arm around you again.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Your eyes started to close and, for a few minutes, you even drifted off. Billy woke you with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Bedtime, sleepyhead,” he muttered softly, and you reluctantly agreed, stifling a yawn as you got to your feet. “I should see you briefly tomorrow, but I’m needed in the office pretty early.”

Nodding, you headed for your rooms, saying goodnight before leaving him.

True to his word, the next day you saw him at sunset for a few minutes on his way out. On Tuesday, he was almost late leaving because he pulled you into a hot and heavy makeout session in the kitchen that seemed to suggest he was frustrated about not getting to see you. But then Wednesday rolled around, and it was time for Billy to take you dress shopping.

The moment you stepped into the elevator with him, he took your hand in his and kept hold of it all the way down to the parking garage below the building, leading you to his car and opening the door for you. You’d never been in a Rolls Royce before, and you caught Billy smiling as you looked around the car in wonder as your fastened your seatbelt.

It wasn’t a long drive to the dress shop - a large boutique affair, filled with bespoke pieces as well as off-the-rack gowns and dresses. And, while you’d been in fancy dress stores before, you found yourself taken aback. Usually at times like this, you’d have your mother at your side, and she always had an idea of what you were supposed to wear; what colours were acceptable and how much skin a decent woman should show.

“Mr Russo, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” one of the assistants said as she approached.

You watched as she approached Billy and he kissed her cheeks in, what you could only describe as, a Parisian fashion. He introduced you and she took a step back, looking you up and down. Next to her you felt more child than woman - she was obviously a vampire, with perfect skin and hair that fell in natural tight ringlets, framing her face. She was another example of the stunning women who seemed to gravitate around Billy.

But it was her looking at you in an appraising way that really caught you off guard.

“Your pictures really didn’t do you justice,” she remarked and you quickly looked at Billy for clarification. 

“Hannah picked your wardrobe,” he explained.

“Oh.” Suddenly you found yourself looking down, thinking about the outfit you’d put together - jeans, a blouse and boots - wondering what the person who’d chosen all the items thought of how you’d decided to wear them.

“Why don’t you have a look around, see what speaks to you?” Hannah offered.

Billy gave a wave of his hand, indicating for you to do just that and, slowly you started to move towards the racks of dresses. It wasn’t long before you were looking at the sorts of dresses your mother might have picked for you; a-line dresses that showed a hint of your waist and with necklines high enough to cover any and all cleavage. You could practically hear her voice in your head telling you how no respectable man would ever want you if we went around showing too much skin.

While you looked, a bottle of champagne was opened and two glasses were filled; one for you and one for Billy. He kept hold of your glass while you looked around.

You pulled one dress out and looked at it front and back. It was like every other dress you’d had since you’d started to grow into your figure. It felt safe but boring, like it wasn’t really you but what you thought was expected of you. But you weren’t that person anymore - at least, you were trying not to be.

“If you don’t mind me saying, with your figure, I’d suggest something a little more fitted, something with some slink.” Hannah offered.

“Slink?” You repeated, looking at Billy, wondering what he thought.

“I think you’d look lovely in a slinky dress.”

“Can you help me choose?” You asked Hannah. “I don’t know where to even start.”

Rather than the expected look of judgement, Hannah just smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you and Mr Russo go sit down and I’ll put together a collection for you to try.”

“That would be brilliant, thank you Hannah,” Billy answered for you, handing you a glass.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in a fitting room the size of a small bedroom, looking through a whole rail of dresses. You started with a black dress, but hated it the moment it was on, then you half pulled on a short red dress but decided that you couldn’t stand the colour. Then you started to rummage through the rail again.

Your attention was quickly drawn to a  silver number, and finally you understood what Hannah had meant by slink. It had thin spaghetti straps and a neckline that plunged to a couple of inches above your belly button, and a slit running up one side from ankle almost right to your hip. Even the back of the dress hung low. 

You pulled it on and looked at yourself awkwardly in the mirror. Because of the way the dress was cut, you had to remove your bra to get a real idea of how the dress was supposed to look. You stood on tiptoes and turned this way and that, not sure what to think.

“How’s it going?” Billy called from outside.

You stayed silent for a few moments before sighing. “I don’t know,” you called back.

“Need a second opinion?”

You poked your head around the door, the awkward discomfort on your face drawing a sympathetic smile from Billy. He waited a beat before getting to his feet, you felt your cheeks warming as he approached you. You remained hidden behind the door, not sure you wanted him to see.

“I look ridiculous,” you pouted.

“Are you gonna let me see?” He asked, a hint of laughter in his tone. You shook your head and he gently pressed against the door with his hand. “Come on, let me see.”

For a moment more, you held the door in place before finally stepping back and letting the door swing open so he could see you. When he didn’t immediately say something, you took another step back.

“You hate it.”

“What? No, I’m speechless,” he told you, stepping forwards, closing the gap between you. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like a kid playing dress up.”

He kicked the door shut behind him as he stepped into the fitting room, his gaze roving up and down your body. Clearing the distance between you, he placed his hands on your hips, turning you to face towards the mirror.

“Look,” he instructed in a low voice, spoken into your ear, and you did as you were told, looking at your reflection. “You only feel like a kid because that’s how you’ve let people see you. But that’s not what I see. I see a sexy, elegant woman. I see curves and tits that get me hard, and it kills me that you don’t realise how amazing you are.”

His lips pressed to your neck before you could respond and your breath caught, watching your reflections. 

Whether it was his words or the way he was touching you, he made you feel more confident, like you really could wear the dress and not be seen as ridiculous. You pressed against him and felt his cock against your hip, and that felt like all the proof you needed that he meant what he was saying.

His hands began to move, one pressing against your stomach while the other moved to rest over your racing heart. You took a breath, filled with a sort of wanting that only he seemed to bring out in you. Not giving yourself a moment to second guess, you reached behind him, palming his erection through the fabric of his dark jeans.

“Can I -” you started quietly, voice little more than a whisper, cheeks starting to heat. Billy stared at you in the mirror, expectant but patient, letting you find the nerve to finish. “Can I touch you?”

He smirked at you through the mirror as he undid the fastenings of his jeans and pulled his cock out. Your eyes widened, watching everything through the mirror because you were too embarrassed to look down. Billy took your hand in his and wrapped it around his shaft, and you started to stroke him slowly. And, when your gaze dropped, you found Billy’s fingers beneath your chin, urging your head up.

“Don’t be shy,” he muttered in your ear, his breath catching as your thumb brushed over the tip of his cock. “See how amazing you look right now, taking what you want?”

You bit your lip, watching his reflection, seeing the way his jaw went slack as his breathing got heavier in your ear. Once he was certain you weren’t going to look away, his hand moved from your chin to your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of the dress. 

“You look so fucking good in this dress,” he groaned, returning his lips to your neck, “so confident and sexy. You’ve got no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

His hand moved, slipping one of the thin straps down your arm, causing the front of the dress to fall, exposing your breast to him. Your hand faltered for a moment, cheeks burning hotter.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he husked in your ear, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. There was a seriousness about him that sent a shiver down your spine despite the smile on his lips.

Your hand started moving quicker as his cold hand moved to grope you again. And, finally, you started to see it; when you looked at your reflection, you didn’t see the shy, embarrassed girl, you saw the woman who had Billy Russo, desperate and groaning, in the palm of her hand. You felt almost powerful, filled with a kind of confidence you’d never been allowed to feel before, and it was all thanks to Billy.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he grunted, face pressed against your neck. Your hand moved quicker as his body started to tense. “Oh, shit...”

You felt him twitch in your hand and watched him come undone. It was a beautiful sight, even if you did go straight back to feeling embarrassed once it was over.

“Are you going to try any of the others?” He asked, pulling the strap back onto your shoulder and straightening the dress, before tucking himself back into his jeans.

“I don’t think I’ll like any of them as much as I like this one.”

“I don’t think I will either,” Billy agreed, smirking at your reflection. “Why don’t you get changed and we’ll have Hannah help you find some shoes.”

You nodded and Billy pressed one more kiss to your neck before pulling away from you. He left to speak to Hannah and, for a moment, you couldn’t even move. You kept your eyes on the mirror and the woman that was staring back at you; was that really you? Could you be the confident woman who took what you wanted? Eventually your gaze dropped, realising that Billy had managed to get cum on the mirror.

That got you moving.

You quickly, but carefully, dropped the dress and started to pull your clothes back on when, suddenly, the door opened and someone stepped in.

“Sorry, I -” you started to speak but stopped the moment she lifted her fingers to her lips.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she explained in a hushed whisper. “My name is Agent Madani, I’m with Homeland Security, and I believe you’re in danger.”

“What? I -” you took a step back, head shaking. 

“Are you being kept against your will?”

��No, I - it’s my job, I -” you didn’t get to finish.

“Your parents believe that you’ve been kidnapped,” she sounded almost confused at the revelation you were there of your own free will.

“No, I left home. It was my choice,” you told her. “They don’t know I’m here, do they?” Your voice quickly turned frantic, trying to make sense of what was happening. Surely your parents wouldn’t have been able to get Homeland to look for you.

“No, they don’t know yet -”

“Yet? They can’t know at all,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“Your parents aren’t why I’m here,” she continued quietly. “Has Russo said anything to you about the other women who’ve worked for him?”

“No, I just know that they quit because they didn’t want to work for him anymore,” you tried to explain, your mind racing.

“Three of them are missing. All presumed dead,” she told you. “Each went to work for Russo and haven’t been seen since.”

“Billy wouldn’t, he’s not -” you stopped abruptly, noticing her eyes finding the mess Billy had left on the mirror and obviously putting the pieces together. When she looked back up, you could barely hold her gaze.

“Have you seen anything suspicious? Has he tried to feed from you without permission?” She asked. “Is he forcing you to sleep with him?”

“No - no, nothing like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told her, so confused by everything she was trying to tell you.

“You need to be careful. He can’t know that we’ve had this conversation. He’s dangerous -” a noise outside the fitting room seemed to spook her, “- I’ll be in touch again soon. Don't worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And, then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she left. 

Your mind was reeling over everything she’d said. It seemed insane, ridiculous. Billy had been nothing but kind to you, nothing but careful and considerate. You couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. There had to be some other explanation.

You must have been taking too long because, soon enough, Billy appeared at the door again. 

“Are you alright? You’re not having second thoughts about the dress are you?” He asked with that soft smile that caused butterflies in your stomach.

“N-no, sorry... I guess I just got distracted,” you told him, deciding not to mention Madani to him, not knowing how he’d take it.

“Come on,” he offered you his hand, “Hannah’s picked out some shoes for you to look at.”

There was something about him in that moment, something about the way he was smiling at you that made you want to believe the best in him. After all, you’d met monsters before, and Billy Russo just didn’t seem to fit the bill. 

Grabbing the dress, you took his hand and let him lead you across the store to look at shoes. Agent Madani was nowhere to be seen and, for that evening at least, you decided to try and forget all about it. Tomorrow you’d be having lunch with Karen, maybe you’d be able to find out something then. But, in that moment, you were content to hold his hands and look at shoes, trying to forget the stain on an otherwise amazing evening. 

End Note : Dun-dun-duuuuuunnnnnnnn. I have nothing to say because I don't want to potentially spoil what I've got planned. But, yeah, I decided that reader and Billy should watch Black Sails together because it's been showing up on my dash a lot and it's an a+ show if you haven't seen it already.

As always, thanks so much for reading (and also thank you so much for all the new followers) I've really loved all the feedback from this fic and for my last fic, and you've all just been wonderful.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

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[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

i've been waiting for you

part three of daddy all along: part 1 here, part 2 here

pairing: older (dad's best friend)! leon x younger! reader

cw: brief mention of past suicidal ideations, oral sex, semi-public sexual activities, love

summary: the aftermath of daddy all along pt 2 (you had me at 'hello'). mild angst, mild smut, mild fluff. their trials and tribulations still have a happy ending

a/n: this is a commission for the lovely @porcelainseashore <3 !!

wc: 8k

title is a reference to the song of the same title by ABBA. (this story is best experienced alongside the song).

The kiss you shared was laced with the kind of love that was powerful enough to stop time. Until your father interrupted the sacred moment with a far-from-subtle “ahem”.

You turned to see him in the hallway, standing behind you. He’d just witnessed the spectacle. You weren’t sure whether to be angry that he interrupted you or that he wasn’t applauding your love, which had gone through trials and tribulations and come out stronger on the other side.

“I suppose I missed a lot while I was in rehab,” he said.

You looked at Leon, hoping he’d have an answer, but his mind was still hazy from the kiss.

“I think I deserve a briefing on this,” your dad said, nodding towards the living room, an order to follow him.

You silently did as he asked, but Leon lingered in the doorway, uncertain despite the simple directions.

“Leon?” your father called him back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” Leon said, still drunk on the kiss.

“We’ve been friends for decades, don’t call me ‘sir’.

Leon had to resist the urge to say “yes, sir” again. He nodded and stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. He followed you both into the living room and sat on the couch with you, placing a noticeable distance between his body and yours, in an effort to keep things appropriate in front of your father. Though it only served to make things more awkward.

“So?” your dad said, looking back and forth between the two of you, probing you both for answers.

“You saw what happened a minute ago. What more is there to say?” you said because you didn’t know how to tell the story. At least, not in a way that would be acceptable to him.

“I think there’s a lot more to say,” he said. “What happened while I was away? Did you two get together?”

You tried to be as diplomatic as possible, which meant being vague. “We got to spend a lot of time together while you were gone, and we realized that we have feelings for each other. Well, I already knew I liked Leon, but I didn’t know he liked me back.” You conveniently left out the part about having sex on your birthday.

Your father turned to Leon, looking for his explanation. It was about as revealing as yours. “I know it might seem a little weird, but I love your daughter, and I care a lot about her. I always have.”

Leon looked at you affectionately. He even dared to reach across the couch and grab your hand as proof of his love.

“Are you mad?” you asked your dad.

“No, I’m not mad. Like Leon said, it’s just weird for me… to see you two like this.” He turned to Leon, and said, “I know you’re a good man, Leon. I’ve always known that, but I know your history with women, and I need to know that you’re not going to use my daughter… as a hook up. I don’t want her heart to get broken.”

It pained you to hear your dad mention Leon’s past relationships, or lack thereof. Was it worse to think of him as a man with a history of one-night stands, or a man who’s truly loved other women before you?

Your dad played it as cool as possible, holding in all the things he wanted to say, until you decided to head to bed. You hoped Leon would come with you, but your dad asked him to stay downstairs under the guise of hanging out together for the first time since he’d been home.

Still, you sat at the base of the stairs to listen in on their conversation. You always did. Any information you had about Leon or your father – their lives outside of being your caretakers – was gathered through this method.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. You’re gonna break her heart, and I can’t let you do that.”

“You know I’d never let her get hurt.”

“She’s gone through so much lately… with the accident, me going to rehab, and now, coming home. It’s not fair to shake up her life even more.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re asking me not to shake up her life because she’s dealing with the problems you’ve caused?”

There was a pause, and you swore you could see the looks on their faces. Your father’s horror, Leon’s regret.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that,” Leon backtracked.

“Go,” your father said, stern, but not aggressive. “I’ll tell her you had to leave and you didn’t wanna wake her.”

You heard Leon’s heavy footsteps walking towards the door and you bolted up the stairs, slipping in your socks and falling face-first on your way.

Leon saw it happen, but didn’t move. He used to pick you up when you fell. His arms were strong, but the awkwardness weighed them down, and he couldn’t reach out to catch you. Your father heard the thunk-thunk-thunk sound and ran over.

You turned to them, realizing the option for flight was gone. You had to fight — for Leon, for you and Leon.

“You were just gonna lie to me? Both of you were gonna lie to me?” You were used to your father lying. As angry as you were, you weren’t surprised by his behavior. Leon’s near-instant agreement to go along with his lies was what made your heart sink. How many times had he done this? Was your whole life a series of your father’s lies and Leon’s willingness to cover them up?

“Listen, sweetheart,” your dad said, “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“You only care about me now that you’re home, and all you wanna do is control me again,” you said. Holding back tears, you turned to Leon. “And you, you wouldn’t even fight for us? After you came here to confess your love for me? Is it all just bullshit to you?”

“No, I care about you,” he said, “just like your dad does.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Neither of you care about me,” you said, stomping up the stairs and shutting yourself in your bedroom. Nothing good would come out of arguing further. It was 2 vs 1, an unfair fight, you’d better quit before you embarrass yourself.

It was ironic, you realized, how — mere hours ago — you would’ve given anything to have your two favorite people here with you. Now, you got what you wanted — what you thought you wanted — and you would give it all away in an instant. Maybe you were right, back at the dinner table, when the realization came to you that you couldn’t have it all. You’d have to choose between leaving Leon and disappointing your dad.

It was wholly frustrating that you did have them both for most of your life – there didn’t have to be a choice, there was always dad and Leon. Leon was right, sleeping together was a big deal, and maybe you should’ve heeded his warnings.

Questions flooded your mind, all unanswerable. Is this what regret feels like? If you could turn back time would you change it?

Who can you cry to when the people you love most are the ones who hurt you?

When you snuck downstairs later that night to grab a glass of water, Leon was gone. He’d left hours ago. You weren’t sure who to be more angry with – dad or Leon. Their previous togetherness multiplied the amount of love you received as a child, and now it multiplied the loss.

You refused to speak to your dad for days. You didn’t have to refuse to speak to Leon, as he didn’t try to reach out. You learned how to draw and ripped up the pages, you started journaling and ripped out the pages. You called a friend and tried to avoid explaining what was going on. But it was hard to think about anything else. Your life was filled with Leon, Leon, Leon. Like always. Sure, you’d lived with him for months during your father’s rehab, but you had a life before him – no, not before him, but before his constant presence. But where was it?

Leon left. Clearly you weren’t in the mood to see him, and your dad had explicitly told him to leave. What’s that saying? “If you love something, let it go”? Leon tried that with Ada many years ago. He let her go, and she came back, and then she left again, sticking them in a perpetual cycle of what he perceived to be intimacy and completely ignoring the others’ existence. They’d been seeing each other periodically for decades. Leon’s love for her faded a little bit every time she left the morning after. He let her go and she let him go. If she wasn’t willing to fight for him, then he wouldn’t fight for her. But, you were different. The way Leon loved you made him consider the possibility that whatever he felt for Ada wasn’t love. More likely it was a deadly combination of admiration, attraction, and misplaced trust. Plus, the inextricable link that forms between people who’ve saved each other’s lives.

Usually, Leon didn’t give himself time to make mistakes in his relationships – he tended to leave the morning after, never wanting to be a nuisance. If a woman ever came home with him, he’d make her coffee in the morning and lend her a clean towel so she could shower. He didn’t think he had much else to offer.

He knew how you took your coffee and how you liked your eggs. He knew how to set the thermostat to your preferred temperature. There was always more in his heart for you.

A woman thought he was being considerate when she noticed that he had tampons under the sink, but really they were for you, not her. Another thought he was seeing someone else when you left your toothbrush at his apartment. How could he explain to her that you were the most important woman he knew, but no, he wasn’t seeing you. That was well over a year ago. It should’ve been easier after “I’m in love with you.” Who is she? She’s my girlfriend. A one-word explanation.

He tried to devise a plan to win you back, like the male love interest in a cheesy rom-com. He seriously considered the prospect of showing up at your house with a boombox playing Peter Gabriel like Lloyd from Say Anything. It would probably give you second-hand embarrassment, he decided. If only he knew, you’d still take him back.

Leon knew you well enough to know your idiosyncrasies. You stayed up to watch American Idol on Monday nights. You’d be in the living room if he came over around 9. He could park around the corner and sneak up to your window. Your dad wouldn’t be watching unless he had a complete change of heart. (He’d refused to watch American Idol since the contestant he liked didn’t win in Season 2 – he was convinced from then on the competition was rigged.)

Leon got home from work, quickly changed, and headed over to your house on his motorcycle, hoping he could convince you to go for a ride with him. Something you’d never done before. Because he hadn’t allowed you to. Maybe he should have worried about the possibility that he was letting his protectiveness over you slip to accommodate his need to please you. As much as you used to beg him to do things he considered too dangerous, he’d never budge. Watching you throw a fit always pained him, but being a father figure meant protecting always superseded placating. 

Had you broken down his ability to refuse you? Or was he a selfish man looking for love in a girl he should be hesitant to pursue?

Monday night came and he knocked on your window in the special pattern the two of you had established many years ago when you were afraid of letting a “bad guy” into your room by accident as a child. Knock – pause – knock, knock – pause – knock.

You immediately knew it was him. He could see in your face that you were ready to run out the door to him, so he held his finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. Thanks to the summer weather, you could step outside without having to make a ruckus by putting on your coat.

Your teenage years weren’t far behind you, and with a former cop for a father, you knew how to sneak out. Under the porch-light, you were barely visible, but Leon could hear your smile when you spoke.

“You came back,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I told you I’d never leave you.”

“Are you gonna come in?”

“I don’t think your father would like that very much.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I love you. And I want you to come out with me, just for a little bit.”

You learned your persuasion from Leon. You’d watched him talk his way in and out of endless situations, from speeding tickets to free food. And those people were strangers. He already had you wrapped around his finger.

“Okay,” you said, “but I should leave a note, so my dad doesn’t think I went missing.”

“Good girl,” Leon said, and when you looked in his eyes you could tell he was trying to get you worked up. And he was succeeding.

“Wait- where are we going?” you asked.

“I was going to let you choose.”

“Can we go to the hill? I’ll get a blanket for us to sit on.”

Leon was ready to blow his salary on you, and all you wanted was to lie down in the grass. His worries about your safety riding on the back of his bike were no longer a problem, since the hill was within walking distance.

“That sounds great to me.”

You returned to him moments later with your hair tied up, cherry-flavored chapstick on, and a picnic blanket under your arm. Leon carried the blanket with one arm, and held out his other, offering you his hand.

Somehow – after sex, after a love confession, after knowing Leon for your entire life up to that very moment – holding his hand made your heart flutter. You hoped your hands weren’t too sweaty. His were warm and calloused with a scar on one palm. You discovered this long ago. His hands were the ones to bandage you when you fell off your bike, the ones that wiped your tears after a nightmare, the ones that rubbed your back when he hugged you. You knew them well.

You walked to the hill where you used to go sledding as a child. It was tucked into a corner behind a thin curtain of trees, a little neighborhood secret. Leon put down the picnic blanket in a secluded spot where the street lamps couldn’t outshine the stars. You laid on your back, unsure of where to put your hands. They remained awkwardly on your stomach. You could feel Leon’s eyes on you. You turned to him and he snaked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“No, not nothing. You’re nervous.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes. Are you worried about your dad finding out? I’ll make sure you don’t get into any trouble with him. You can blame it all on me.”

“No, I’m not worried about him.”

“Then what’s got you all anxious?”

“This is gonna sound so stupid.”

“It might, but that almost makes me wanna hear it more.”

“You’re so smooth, like, you’re giving me butterflies and I don’t know how you do it. I feel so awkward and I wish I was better at this.”

He laughed, really laughed.

“See? I told you it was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, baby.” He put his hand on your arm before you could turn from him. “I was laughing because I am the exact opposite of ‘smooth’. Ask anyone I know and they’ll tell you that I’m awful at flirting.”

“But you’re so good at it right now.”

“This isn’t flirting. I’m just having a good time with you. I’m not trying to get you in bed or whatever. I love you and I wanna spend time with you.”

Leon didn’t know that he felt that way until the words left his mouth. It didn’t miss him that you didn’t say “I love you” in return. He was old enough to accept the fact that sometimes people don’t say it back, or at least, to cover up whatever anxiety he felt when it happened.

“I love you” wasn't sufficient to describe how you felt in that moment. You grasped for words for as long as you could bear the silence. You ended up concluding that in this case, actions could substitute for words. So, you kissed him, letting your lips guide you unrestrained so that soon you were engrossed in a full-blown make-out session, hands in each other’s hair, grasping at each other’s shirts. Every time you pulled away to catch your breath, you thought you’d stop to talk – but you found yourself giving into the desire to kiss him endlessly. At least, until your breath was heaving. All you’d done was kiss.

“I want you,” you said, reaching down past Leon’s hips to find him hard.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, though you could see the intrigue in his upturned lips.

“No one’s around.”

“I’ve taken enough risks for one night. Your dad is going to murder me if he finds out I helped sneak you out of the house, and I think it’d be a lot worse if he found out from the one free phone call you’re allowed when the cops take you in.”

“What if we didn’t have sex? What if we just did a little bit more than kissing?”

“What does ‘more’ look like to you?”

“I wanna touch you. We won’t even have to take our clothes off.”

He sighed, and a bashful grin appeared on his face. He didn’t agree with words, believing he could do much better with his fingertips on your skin. Leon kissed you from your lips to your neck to your collarbone, even daring to place one on one of your breasts. It was risky to pull your top down to do it, but Leon wanted to mark you someplace only he could see it.

As soon as his hand reached the threshold between panties and skin, you unzipped his pants and started touching him. You locked eyes and stayed forehead-to-forehead until he kissed you forcefully, capturing your moans before they left your mouth.

You were left in a daze after your orgasm while Leon was hit with a moment of clarity that was much different this time than the last. He understood the risks clearly, and yet, had no second thoughts. There was nowhere he’d rather be than holding you under the stars.

When you arrived home from your date with Leon, you found your father in the kitchen.

He knew.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Where were you tonight?”

“With a friend.”

“Is your friend’s name “Leon”?”

“Don’t get mad. Please, dad.”

“Why didn’t you ask me before you went out?”

“Because I thought you’d say no.”

“At least you’re honest.” He picked up a can from the table and took a sip of it, and for a second, you thought it was beer, you thought you could turn the tables. You noticed it was a can of soda about a second before you opened your mouth to yell at him.

“I can’t stop you from sleeping with him, but you’re not doing it while you live under my roof.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of us having sex?! It’s not the only thing we do.”

“Sure. You hang out. That doesn’t mean it’s love, nor does it mean that it���ll last.”

“You don’t know anything about love.”

“Maybe so. But Leon is a man in his forties who’s never had a serious relationship. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Maybe he hadn’t found the right person.”

“All I’m saying is that I can’t remember the last time I saw him go on a second date with a woman, let alone have a long-term relationship.”

“And? You ended up being a single father because you fucked up so bad that mom left you!” And if Freud was right, then that’s why I have daddy issues.

“I will not have you talk to me that way.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll ask you to go upstairs and think about your words or you can pack your bags and go.”

The second option was hyperbole. He would never kick you out. But you took it as truth and grabbed your purse. You called Leon from the driveway.

Your father’s disapproval became the least of your worries once you began staying with Leon. What was eating at you was the comment your father made about Leon’s love life. Over dinner one night, you confronted him.

“You said you’ve been in love before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” He was sure of it. He liked Ada, liked having sex with her, but he’d fallen out of love with her a long time ago. That ship had sailed.

“How did it end?”

“What?”

“The relationship with whoever you were in love with.”

“There wasn’t really a relationship. There was nothing to end.”

You hummed in contemplation.

“Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want you to fall out of love with me.”

“I don’t plan to, and that situation was entirely different than what we have. This, what’s between us, is much stronger.”

He looked you in the eyes, and said much softer, “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I can’t fall out of love with you. I tried to, multiple times. It didn’t work and that’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean you ‘tried to fall out of love’ with me?”

“I slept with other people… as you know,” he said, nearly wincing at the awful memory of you catching him with another woman in your living room. “And, the night I came to your house, I had just left a date.”

“So, you slept with someone before you came over and-”

“No, I went out to dinner, and she offered me… the opportunity to go back to her place, but I said no.”

“Was she ugly? Unfuckable by your standards?”

“No, wait- what?” He shook his head and tried to explain it the best he could. “I was thinking about that night in the hotel room when you said that thing about Celine and Jesse and I actually brought it up to the girl.”

“You told her about that night?”

“No, I just mentioned how I liked the movie.”

“And?”

“And she said she didn’t like it.”

“And that’s the reason you decided I was a better choice? Because she didn’t like your favorite 90s romance movie?”

“No, well, sort of, but no… I just started thinking about how you love that movie and how she’s nothing like you, and how I love you. And then I saw your picture in my wallet and… I just knew what I had to do.”

For a moment, you wondered if he was just trying to get in your pants. If he was, it was working. You gave in, telling yourself that his intentions shouldn’t matter because he wasn’t manipulating you, you were hoping he’d ask you to sleep with him anyway. You weren’t going to let your dad’s assumptions get to your head.

Leon scavenged the house but couldn’t find any condoms. “I think I’m all out,” he said, sounding very apologetic. “The drug store’s still open, though, so just gimme like 15 minutes, and I’ll be back.”

You beckoned him closer. “What if we just didn’t use one?” you asked, putting on your cutest face.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “and before you try to talk me into it, I’m serious.”

“But Leon…”

“No, that’s my final answer. I can go to the store or we can do this another time.”

“Or you could just pull out.”

“You went to health class, right?”

You nodded.

“Then, you know that the pull-out method isn’t 100% effective. Or did you convince me to pick you up the day they taught that?”

You actually had convinced him to pick you up that day, but you were still aware of the pregnancy risk if you didn’t use protection.

“What if I wanted to get pregnant?”

“You’re joking, right? This is a hypothetical.”

“Sort of, but you’re getting older – no offense – and if we wanna have kids, then maybe we should start before your sperm count decreases.”

“My sperm count is fine, and no, we are not ready for a baby.”

“You might not be.”

“Sorry, I meant you are not ready for a baby. I could take care of a child, but you’re 21.” Suddenly, your age-gap seemed to widen in Leon’s mind. He felt like he’d already raised a kid and you weren’t close to being ready to have one.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “But you wanna have kids someday, right…?” It was wishful thinking, and though you had no reason to believe Leon had the same idea in mind, you believed he did. In all your daydreams you were parents.

He was completely taken aback. “Uh…” The last time he’d been asked if he wanted to have kids it was a theoretical question, from Claire, decades ago. Back when they thought it might still be a possibility in this lifetime. “I don’t know…” He decided not to say any more, fearing he’d disappoint you.

“But, I do, and I think I’d be a good mom.” After the words left your mouth, it hit you, the horrible realization. No, you might not be a good mother, and in fact, if you had to put money on it, you wouldn’t bet on your success. If you were anything like your parents, you’d be terrible at it. It must’ve shown on your face because Leon’s expression shifted from stern to sympathetic.

“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I think you could be a great mom one day, but let’s not talk about it tonight.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and wiped them away with the back of your hand before they could fall. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. You tried to awkwardly laugh your way out of the discussion and Leon must’ve felt bad enough for you not to call you out.

Sex was no longer on the table – that conversation had gone stale. The idea was wholly unpalatable that night, for both of you.

“Sorry,” you said, stopping yourself before you could start your own pity party.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. If you were apologizing for being obstinate and trying to manipulate your way into unprotected sex, he’d take the apology, but he knew what you meant: I’m sorry for killing your boner and crushing my own dreams. It wasn’t your fault for hoping Leon could be more than the man he was.

You fell asleep quickly, as one does after crying. Leon’s arms around you eased your pain. Some things never changed.

When you were younger, like many little girls, you liked to play with baby dolls – you bottle-fed them, pushed them in a stroller, rocked them to sleep, but it was all pretend. You believed motherhood would be easy back then, and it wasn’t like Leon was going to crush a little girl’s dreams by telling her the harsh realities of being a parent.

When you were very little – little enough that this memory is one only Leon bore the burden of keeping – Leon mentioned something about you pretending to be a mommy, to which you remarked, “I don’t know how to play mommy.”

Sure, kids talk nonsense, but regardless of your intent, you didn’t have a mother figure, and you never would. Leon didn’t have the same delusional optimism that your father had in the beginning. He was convinced your mom would come back to him. Leon knew better than to get his hopes up, not that he had much at stake.

Ironically, the father you grew up with, the morbid, ever-pessimistic father, was a direct result of his prior optimism. He decided being a cynic would protect him from being disappointed. He never perfected the art of acting happy in front of the kid quite like Leon did. Then again, Leon knew depression, even suicidality, but he’d never been heartbroken to the extent that your dad had because he’d never given himself over to someone entirely. After watching your dad fall headfirst into alcoholism, Leon was being reasonable by keeping himself guarded. Or so he thought at the time. Now, he began to consider the fact that he may not have been as brave as he’d always thought he was. He was a hero, risking his life to eradicate the threats of bioterrorism worldwide. But, he didn’t choose that life, he fell into his position as an agent due to his own cowardice – at least, that’s how he felt when he couldn’t pull the trigger when he held his own gun to his temple.

In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t gone through with his plan to off himself. Classify it how you want – cowardice for backing down or bravery for deciding to stay alive – Leon was still alive decades later. And before him stood another one of life’s toughest decisions, though the answer was much clearer this time. Would he let himself fall in love with you, knowing you could break his heart? Yes, though, he didn’t have much say in the matter by the time he realized what was happening. He didn’t choose to set his soul on the table in front of a starving woman. You pulled it out of him with every kiss, every laugh, every steady breath you took while you lay next to him in bed.

When Leon walked in the door, you were there to greet him like a pet who’d been left alone for hours, desperate for affection. Unlike a puppy, you didn’t pounce on him immediately. With his arms behind his back, he said, “I got you a present — pick a hand.”

As skeptical as you were, your intrigue was stronger. You tapped his right arm and he held out a box of condoms. “Surprise,” he said.

“I think this ‘present’ might be for you,” you said.

“You caught me,” he said, already leaning in for the kiss that would lead to the night’s escapades.

Leon planned to take you to the bedroom like a gentleman would, but you dragged him over to the couch, shoved him into a seated position, and stripped in front of him. He had to resist the urge to speak, knowing he’d say something stupid since the image of you in your current state had taken over his mind entirely, turning everything else to mush. The only organ still at work was the one in his pants, and that one was working overtime.

You straddled his lap once you were down to your underwear – a matching lace set. Since you and Leon had become official, you made sure you were always prepared. Not that he expected you to dress up for him. Maybe it was the nagging voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that he’d been with other women. You had others to compete with for the top spot in his mind. He didn’t. He was your best and your only.

You had no idea how many women Leon had been with – romantically or sexually, and you were afraid to ask, worried that the amount would be high enough that he wouldn’t recall the exact number. He told you that you were the best he’d ever had, but people lie. All the time.

You tore off Leon’s dress shirt, haphazardly popping one of the buttons off. “I liked this shirt,” Leon mumbled, momentarily disappointed.

When you sank to your knees, all was forgiven. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that told him this was wrong. He should be taking care of you, right? You’re his baby girl, you can’t do this – not that he’s naive enough to believe that you’re the innocent little girl you used to be, he knew for a fact that you’d left that girl in the past for a woman who was looking at him bright-eyed, kneeling at his feet – but you could get hurt doing this, you could choke if you overexerted yourself.

You were teary-eyed and gagging before he could think of a way to protect your poor throat. An overachiever. Part of Leon’s mind was enraptured by the sight and begging him to let you continue. If you were any other girl, maybe he would give over all control to you. But the reasonable man he became the day he met you, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, remained stronger than the sex-crazed idiot he was before.

He pulled you off of him gently. Maybe it was just an illusion from your watery eyes, but you looked hurt.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, soft and sweet, “but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You are.”

“But I wanna do more, I wanna please you.”

“You wanna please me, huh?” You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, but you hadn’t figured out its source yet.

“Yes, please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He pretended to be astonished by your offer. You were being hyperbolic, he assumed – he hoped. “Okay,” he said, standing up, “c’mon.” He held out his hand for you to take.

You grabbed his hand without hesitation, and he led you to the bedroom. The tables turned the moment you entered the room when he pushed you down on the bed. He climbed atop you and kissed you forcefully, undoing your bra with his deft fingers.

With open-mouthed kisses he made his way down your stomach stopping only to remove your panties, only a thin layer of lace between his mouth and your core. He was more careful when he undressed you than you were when you did the same for him. He wanted to see you in this again.

His lips teased your inner thighs first. He placed soft kisses everywhere except the place you wanted to feel his mouth most. He only gave in when you started to squirm. The sound you made when his tongue touched your clit told him how much you longed for this.

“You taste so good, baby,” he said, words muffled as his mouth was occupied.

“Leon, wait-”

He looked up at you, with kiss-dark lips and a dazed expression, clearly having been somewhere else mentally.

“I said I wanted to please you, so-”

“Trust me, I am more than pleased with what I’m doing right now.”

You were conflicted. Maybe he was a rare breed of man who truly got off on going down on women, or maybe he was lying. But if he were, he would be doing it because he wanted to make you happy. Because he wanted you.

And who were you to deny him?

You were multiple orgasms in when you finally got Leon to come up for air. His hair was a mess all thanks to your hands tugging at the strands. You were surprised he came up looking relatively unscathed when you’d worried you’d suffocated him with your thighs, maybe twisted his neck too. But, no, he met you face-to-face with a grin, only superseded in prominence by his hard-on.

You ran your thumb over his tip, through the fabric of his underwear which now had a small wet spot, and he groaned.

“My offer still stands,” you said.

His eyes flickered to your smile, which was wider than his and even his ever-bleeding heart couldn’t protest. His dick wasn’t the only part of him that wanted you.

Leon always had an acute awareness of his own mortality. From the moment his parents were ripped away from him as a child, he realized the harsh reality that death can never be fully anticipated and all too often it happens far too early in one’s life. He was aware of that fact, but hadn’t watched anyone die in front of him until the Raccoon City incident. It takes seeing to believe. And even after believing the truth, it took him years to accept it.

It took him until he was 40 to get to that point. Even then, every ill-fated day that Hunnigan called him while he was with you, he was confronted with the same unsettling feeling, the fear of death that he thought he’d gotten over.

If he had to leave unexpectedly, he’d wake you up before he did, give you a hug goodbye. Sometimes, you were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t remember him saying goodbye at all. You’d later accuse him of leaving without telling you, and from then on, he’d leave a note by your bedside to confirm that he’d been there.

You kept them in a box in your closet. They were the sad reminders of the fact that he was gone, but they smelled like him. You always wondered how it was possible for paper to absorb the scent of someone’s cologne so easily. As it turned out, it wasn’t magic or an obscure fact of science, but rather, Leon spraying cologne directly onto the paper because he knew you liked the smell of it.

In the beginning, you watched Leon get dressed in the morning just as you’d imagined back in the hotel room months ago.

Leon got up early while you stayed in bed, but he never left without kissing you goodbye. It was a bit of tradition and a bit of superstition. When he cupped your cheek, you felt the cold metal from the watch on his wrist against your skin.

Eventually, you became accustomed to the sound of Leon’s 6:30 AM alarm and the feeling of his weight being lifted from the bed. You could sleep through his morning routine until the goodbye kiss he always gave you on the forehead. Loving, but so sadly superstitious on his end.

You realized that part later.

You were awoken bright and early by Leon, which was generally a beautiful thing – though, that morning you could hear the apprehension in his voice. You were acutely aware that something was wrong. Sometimes it seemed his hyper-vigilance was wearing off on you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He held himself back from asking you how you knew. “Nothing major,” he sighed, picking his words carefully. “I have to leave this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?” Based on his tone, you could guess that it wasn’t a tropical island vacation. He had business to take care of, and you certainly weren’t going with him. It didn’t really matter what city or country he was leaving for; it was all equally dangerous.

“Romania. I might be gone for a few weeks.” So, I woke you up early to spend as many hours with you as possible before I leave.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, though your voice gave way to something you wouldn’t say until hours later, when you were naked in the sheets together, having one last bout of intimacy before his flight: “I’m scared of you dying”.

Often, in the post-orgasmic bliss, you tell him how much you love him, how good the sex was, and infinite praises. That morning, you told him you were scared he was going to die, and the minutes before that meant something entirely different. While he was away, memories of you beneath him would permeate his mind. It wasn’t the first time you had affected his ability to focus in the field, but now, he was overcome with not only longing, but also sadness and an unprecedented wave of guilt. How could he leave you like this? You must be worried sick. Hopefully, you’ve patched things over with your dad.

While Leon was gone, you moved back in with your dad. You rung his doorbell, ready to beg for his forgiveness, something you never thought you’d have to do.

To your surprise, he opened the front door with a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said when he pulled you into a hug. “I missed my little girl.”

You had convinced yourself that you’d made yourself immune to your father’s actions, that he couldn’t make you cry anymore. But, you broke down in tears. You were so used to apologies, excuses, and bargains. He rarely said he missed you, and never with such conviction.

“I missed you too, dad,” you said, refusing to let go of him. You had the shared knowledge that you didn’t mean that you’d missed him for the small period of time you spent at Leon’s, you missed the person he was when he was sober, the person who was standing in front of you. There was a significant period of your childhood during which he was sober, or at least rarely drunk, but you’d accepted that the man he was then had abandoned you. He was home.

He noticed your suitcase, and asked, “Are you planning on staying awhile?” He was trying not to get his hopes up. That was something you had in common.

“Can I?” you asked.

“Of course. I haven’t changed your room into a man cave just yet.”

He carried your suitcase upstairs, he helped you put the fitted sheet on your bed, he cooked dinner and sat across the table from you. It didn’t feel like a transaction or a placation either.

The topic was inevitably brought up.

“So, Leon…” he said, hoping you could fill in the blanks.

“I still love him, and I want to be with him,” you said.

His pointed gaze asked, why are you here?

“He had to leave for work,” you answered.

He nodded, accepting the situation. “I’ve been thinking a lot while you were gone.”

You braced yourself for impact.

“I think I was being too hard on Leon… and on you. I’ll admit, I still think it’s a little weird to see you two like that.” He looked up from his plate and made eye contact finally. “And I don’t want to find you two getting it on in my living room.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But, as long as he’s good to you, I’ll learn to be supportive. I don’t want to lose either of you in my life, especially my daughter.”

“Me neither. I want to be with Leon, but I need my dad too.”

“I know.” He paused before saying, “Plus, I thought about it, and if you insist on dating a middle-aged man, there are much worse ones you could pick.”

Leon came home with a bloody nose, broken fingers and too many bruises to count. His clothes were torn and dirty, his eyes were tired, but his smile was warm as ever.

You wanted so badly to run into his embrace but you approached him slowly. Much like when he fell from the pedestal you kept him on the day you found him with another woman in the living room, his facade crumbled in front of you. His injuries were proof that he was breakable. He was made of skin and bone, powered by blood pumping through his veins just like you, not stardust or whatever angels are made of.

“I missed you,” you said, holding back tears.

“I missed you, too,” he said. He looked oddly well-adjusted to the situation. You wondered how many times he’d come home beaten up like this. Moreover, how many times there was a woman waiting for him.

This was the first time he'd tell you if you’d asked.

He headed towards the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby. I promise I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll get it. You should sit.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said, backing towards the couch. He was too exhausted to argue. It was emasculating to have you take care of him, but he’d have to get used to it. He realized, then, that you’d do this for him – you’d have to – if you stayed with him through his old age. If he made it that far.

You brought him some water and sat down on the couch next to him. You surveyed his injuries. You tried not to stare, but failed. Even if he wasn’t covered in blood, you’d stare – he was the love of your life, how could you not?

“What?” he said, turning to you.

“Just looking at you,” you said, trying to remain cheery, though your tone gave way to something sad.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve been through way worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

He shrugged. “You told me to come back alive, not to come back unscathed,” he said.

You frowned. He grabbed your chin and moved closer to you, going in for the kiss. “If you don’t want me like this, then-” he started.

You cut him off with a kiss. You were lucky his lips weren’t injured. You could kiss him as hard as you wanted. And you did. When you pulled back, you said, “I want you like this. I’ve wanted you for weeks.”

He tried to speak, but you put your finger to his lips, shushing him. “But first,” you said, “I want to get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry. I planned on taking a shower before getting into bed.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He took it and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way. When he noticed you were following him, he asked, “Are you coming with?”

“Yeah,” you said as if it should have been obvious. “Who else is going to help wash you?”

He sighed, and you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.

“You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Let me take care of you for once,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t get used to it. When I’m all healed, I’ll be taking care of you.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watched him strip and all of your thoughts faded – aside from one, which you spoke aloud. “You’re so hot. Your dick better not be injured.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I kept it safe just for you.”

He turned on the water and tried to adjust it to the optimal temperature, but he got distracted when your clothes came off. He whistled.

“Leon!” You covered up instinctively, feeling flustered by his whistling.

“Oh come on,” he said, “You’re gorgeous. I couldn’t help myself.”

His shower was not made for two – and it was further complicated by the fact that Leon had to bend over for you to be able to reach his head. But, you made it work. It felt emasculating, borderline humiliating, on his end to be so incapable of something simple, and to have to rely on his girlfriend to do it for him. But your soft hands washing his skin and your fingertips massaging his scalp, the way you made sure not to miss a single spot on his body, the way you cared – all he had was gratitude. And a whole lot of love for you.