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rafey-baby · 2 months

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sweet treat 2

In which sexy construction worker!Rafe who spends his days lifting heavy stuff and building shit (his words) and driving shy!reader home shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

Hi! this is a part two to this (also this whole story was originally supposed to be just a small blurb consisting of a few silly sentences but then I got a bit carried away :D) anyways hope you enjoy xx

part 3 part 4 part 5

cw: construction worker!Rafe being a tease, slight somnophilia, smut (dry humping, dirty talk, p-in-v, unprotected sex)

wc: 2.7k

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It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her.

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) and she finally opens the door, albeit gingerly, mentally preparing to face a serial killer. However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her.

”Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” A surprised look paints over her visage.

”You forgot this in my car, thought you might need it back,” he’s grinning, holding out a phone to her, pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.

”Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.

”Yeah, couldn’t exactly call you,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke.

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance.

A worn out t shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it. She’s not wearing anything else. He’s trying not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair, swallowing nervously under his attention.

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never actually ended up fucking her when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for a week after the particularly long shift she’d just had.

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder, thumb smoothing over the material of her shirt, letting her rest in tranquility. Telling himself he could be patient with her, not wanting to rush anything.

However, she’s not making it very easy for him right now when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her. She looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms and slump down on her bed, crawling under crisp sheets and feel how her lungs expand against his chest.

”Sorry, did I wake you?” He carefully asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.

”No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer, not wanting him to go yet; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.

”Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” She clumsily offers.

His brows raise, surprised at her proposition. She’s being uncharacteristically bold; his mouth twists into an amused simper.

”Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and just wanna go home, sorry, I don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown familiar with.

”Don’t be stupid, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold, taking a look around her cozy home. Leafy plants adding greenery to the small space and picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls. It’s cute, he thinks.

She sets a steaming mug in front of him on her kitchen table and sits down next to him on a wooden chair. He’s definitely not staring at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up the tops of her thighs, allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out. He clears his throat.

“You often have trouble sleeping?” He tries to focus on something else, anything else, taking a slow sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.

”Yeah, sometimes. It’s just sometimes it’s hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. I try to fall asleep but the loud noises of the customers talking and the clinking of plates and spoons keep replaying in my head and suddenly I’m wide awake, you know?” She explains.

”I’m sorry, is there anything that helps?” He prods.

”I don’t know, I guess just trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out.

”Oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re just using me in order to fall asleep?” He teases, grinning when he manages to drag out yet another giggle from her mouth.

”Yeah, I suppose I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she looks at him.

”Should I feel offended right now?” He jokingly scoffs.

”No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.”

And he thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy, she’s a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self would be, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape the gaps of his teeth.

”You into cuddling?” He asks, profound aquamarine locking with her rounded eyes.

”Uh— I mean, I probably would be if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond.

”Wanna cuddle with me?” He says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent to this whole situation while she feels dizzy, dazed mind reeling and vivid heart tingling in her ribcage.

”Really? You want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?” She seems taken aback by his proposal.

”Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” His brows crease.

”Yes, of course we are, I just-”

”Look, all I’m saying, is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having something else to focus on and shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this; he’s simply trying to help. ”You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees and swiftly gets up on wobbly feet, almost falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, grounding her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at his sudden proximity.

”Easy there, Sweetheart,” he chuckles against her hair, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him amusing.

”Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle, caging her in with gentle fingertips toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter closed.

He’s so warm and big making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.

”You good?” He murmurs next to her ear.

”Mhm,” she blissfully croons, letting out a content exhale.

Her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy and the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.

”Sweet dreams,” is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a crepuscular dormancy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She’s lethargic in her movements when she rouses from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in. Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his and it’s murky in her unlit bedroom; the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots in her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what has woken her up.

Then she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass. There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization.

He’s hard. Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more.

She swallows.

What is she supposed to do?

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low groan, rumbling deep from his firm chest; grip tightening around her smaller form.

”Rafe?” She calls out.

No response.

”Rafe? Wake up.”

Still nothing.

She can feel him breathing heavily against her hair; pawing at her hips every now and then, trying to pull her even closer, even if they’re already effectively glued together and there’s absolutely no means for her to move.

She’s starting to become sticky between her thighs as he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in a stupor.

She mewls when her clit throbs, pestering for some sort of friction. And that’s when he finally stirs, the weight of his arms loosening like a tight knot unfurling and her lungs are finally able to greedily suck in brisk air.

”Shit, sorry, my bad” his tone is gravelly and at that, some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides.

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects; her face heats up.

”It’s uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries,” she rambles because what the fuck is she supposed to say?

”No, it’s fully my fault, just had quite a nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse.

”Oh. What was it about?” She inquires, yawning, perhaps too curious for her own good.

”You wanna know?” His brows raise, surprised.

She hums.

”Well, there was this really pretty girl, and she had me in her mouth and was letting me do whatever I wanted to her,” he murmurs with a heady tone overlaying his response.

”Oh,” she tries to appear indifferent, although there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom from the damp soil in the pit of her stomach at his words.

He chuckles at how oblivious she is. ”You’re silly sometimes, you know?” He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here with him?

”What do you mean?”

”Nothing,” he shakes his head, smiling to himself.

”So, what else happened?” ”What else? Okay, then she let me do this,” he says at the same time as he grabs her hips again, pushing against her, earning a faint whimper from her when she can feel how big he is through the thin fabric of her underwear.

”Rafe…what are you doing?” She manages to ask through a whine; his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.

”Got no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” He mutters, shallow.

”I— what are you— what are you talking about?” Her brain is foggy and she’s not able to think straight when he’s so close.

He doesn’t answer, instead continuing the retelling of his dream. ”Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper. Her inhale gets stuck somewhere along the way when he paws at her hips, shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock and he lets out a heartfelt grunt when she moves her achy cunt over him.

”You like this? Such a needy little thing, yeah?” He helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips; dragging her against his cock, filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.

”Rafe, can you…”

”Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” He says as he slips a hand in her panties, fingers petting at her puffy clit and a loud moan leaves her when she lifts the fabric of her shirt up in order to have a better view.

”Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Getting real fucking wet from me just being close to you, yeah?” His thumb rubs lazy circles on her sensitive button, making her cry out his name as she presses down harder against his cock.

”Shit, gonna come in my fucking pants if you keep doing that. You wanna know what else was in my dream?”

She nods, frantic.

”I pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. ”And then, I did this,” he mutters as he takes himself out from the confines and her eyes round out as she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head of his cock on her clit, one, two, three times, and then smears it on her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.

”Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean, pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out, turning her into a whimpering mess. The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked down to where they connect, fascinated.

”Fuck, Sweetheart, does that feel nice?” He asks, swiping a thumb over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper, forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.

”Feels so good, Rafe, I think I’m gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.

”You’re gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his face, nudging his dick about halfway in and out, never fully plunging it inside of her though.

”You feel so good, I can’t— can’t hold it,” water droplets are gathering in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as teary eyes look into larimar and she rolls her hips against him, chasing after some sort of release.

”Shit, go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” He encourages her and she doesn’t need to be told twice; crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him.

”There you go, just fucking give it to me,” he grunts and all of a sudden he feels his own orgasm approaching; rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he stuffs his cock profoundly into her, to the hilt.

He stills inside her and then he’s groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim; making her feel so full. She thinks she could die happy right now.

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him, burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.

”Did so good for me, shit, we should do this more often, yeah?” He says with a sleepy tinge.

And she’s completely out of it, head as empty as ever, merely managing an amorphous hum in agreement; tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber.

#rafe cameron #construction worker!Rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #obx smut

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halfvalid · 1 year

Text

pretty in that

ABOUT

rating: general audiences

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!monkey d. luffy | live action!nami

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: you have a hard time picking a dress for dinner whilst in kaya's mansion. zoro (sort of) helps!

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, confessions, no use of "y/n", special straw hat appearances (nami & luffy), soft zoro

author's note: i'm a sucker for dress-up scenes so i KNEW i was gonna write smth like this once that ep3 scene started playing. reader chooses a dress at the end; dress is non-described so you can imagine your ideal dress!

You were on Nami and Zoro’s side when it came to whatever was going on in Syrup Village. Kaya’s mansion made you feel vaguely unsettled, and stepping into the building made your heart pound quicker than you would like to admit. But if there was one thing that piqued your interest, it was the order of changing clothes for dinner. You’d been stuck in the same few outfits for weeks now, and the promise of something new—and formal—was nearly exciting, although you’d never admit it in front of Nami and her disapproving gaze.

Kaya’s kindness combined with the private guest room and bath you were treated to helped soothe your nerves. Soon you found yourself being led to the giant closet the rest of the Straw Hats were already in—Nami was trying on various different pieces, and Zoro seemed to have something in hand too.

“Ah, there you are!” Luffy said, swiveling on his heel and giving you a big grin as you entered the room. You stared in disbelief at all of the racks around you. Hell, there were even clothes hanging from the ceiling.

“Well, we certainly have a lot of options,” you said, skimming a hand over a nearby rack. There were a variety of different fabrics, but they all felt expensive: silk and velvet, damasks and brocades. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’m just trying on anything,” Nami called from where she was, before stepping out from the room divider she’d been changing behind. She wore an emerald dress with a plunging neckline, the patterned silk clinging to her curves, and did a little spin. “What do you think?”

Luffy shrugged. Zoro wrinkled his nose, barely glancing up from the armchair he was lounging on. “I think it looks nice,” you offered, but Nami still seemed dissuaded.

“Ugh, these two are impossible. What are you going to wear?”

“Uh, I’m getting there,” you said with a little laugh. “It’s a bit overwhelming; I’d rather help you guys pick first. Luffy, have you found something yet?” You turned towards the man in the center of the room, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I found this!” He raised up a black waistcoat. You frowned at it.

“Um, Luffy, waistcoats are supposed to be worn with a suit,” you said, then paused, seeing his blank look. “...Never mind.”

“And I’m wearing black,” Zoro added, despite the piece of clothing slung along his lap definitely not being black. You exchanged a glance with Nami, who just rolled her eyes. They’re stupid, she mouthed, then returned to the rack she was glancing through. She worked quickly, pulling out various numbers that she scrutinized before either setting on the couch beside her or putting back.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Need me to find you some pants with that, Cap?” Nami and Zoro let out identical groans as you spoke the pet name, both turning to give you exasperated looks. You suppressed your laugh.

“Stop calling him that,” Zoro said with a tired sigh. “You’re encouraging him.”

“Kind of the point, yeah,” you said cheerfully. While Zoro and Nami were both still largely unconvinced about the whole pirate crew thing, you’d joined the bandwagon rather quickly. Zoro rolled his eyes, and you turned towards the racks to find Luffy some slacks. “Assumedly you need something other than that shirt too?”

“I’ll look later,” Zoro said passively. You watched him out of your peripheral vision. He was outfitted in a patterned kimono, his three swords slung along his lap. He didn’t seem too interested in his surroundings, though what he was doing, you weren’t sure. You let him be, turning to page through the racks of clothes again. Finally you found a pair of slacks that seemed like they’d fit Luffy.

“Here,” you said, passing them over to him. “And find some shoes while you’re at it.”

“Why does she even have clothes that don’t fit her?” Zoro murmured, sounding as baffled as he could get. “What, she just casually has clothes in all four of our sizes hanging around?”

“Rich people own things just to own them,” Nami called. She’d changed again; this dress had a halter neckline and was blush pink. Zoro motioned with a hand at it, and Nami frowned, glancing down at the dress. “You don’t like it?”

“Eh,” Zoro said. Nami made a face.

“At this point I think you’re hating just to hate.” She pulled up a few more options, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed them. Luffy was seemingly satisfied with what you’d given him, because he took the pieces off of their hangers and slung them over his shoulder.

“I’m off,” he announced. “Gonna go change in my room and do some exploring before dinner. Have fun!” With that, he left, and Nami sighed, turning towards you. She held up her final two options—a red cheongsam with delicate gold embroidery and a pastel blue dress with an a-line skirt. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you studied the two.

“I think the blue one might wash you out a bit,” you said eventually; it’d clash with her hair no doubt, and make her skin look even paler. The shade wasn’t a right match with her eyes, either. “I like the cheongsam; I think you should go with that one. It contrasts nicely with your hair.”

Nami raised up the dress again, inspecting it. “You’re right,” she said, ducking back behind the room divider to change. You started pursuing the racks again; Nami stepped out a few moments later, successfully outfitted in her new dress. “Okay, I’m going to go do my hair in my guest room. Good luck.”

“Bye,” you called, watching as she left the room. You clicked your tongue, almost alone now and with absolutely zero options of clothing. As much as you liked the idea of new clothes, the abundance of options was starting to seem a little daunting. “Okay, now that Nami’s done, it’s my turn to play dress-up.”

Zoro laughed from where he sat, and you startled, almost having forgotten he was there. He was watching you attentively, his attention having diverted from whatever it was he’d been thinking about earlier. “You like this kind of thing?”

“Well, I mean.” You shrugged, peering at a few of the pieces on the rack in front of you. You pulled out a deep green dress, eyeing the lace by the neckline before setting it back. “It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”

“Not really what I’m into.”

“You wear jewelry, so clearly you have some fashionable instinct,” you pointed out, bending over to glance at the clothes hiding by your knees. These were all skirts or unreasonably short dresses, with so little fabric you were uncertain they would cover anything at all. “Unless the earrings are for another reason…?”

“Three swords, three earrings.”

“Makes sense. What are you wearing with your shirt?” You glanced back to see Zoro’s answer, but he merely shrugged. “Do you want me to find you some trousers? A suit?”

“You don’t need to find clothes for me. I can do that myself.” Still, Zoro made absolutely no move to do so. You rolled your eyes, but turned your attention back on what you’d be wearing for the dinner. Vaguely you wondered how Zoro would look wearing a suit. You flushed almost as soon as the thought popped into your head, shoving it into the very back of your skull and banishing it from seeing the light of day.

“If you say so,” you said instead, mostly to distract yourself from the beyond inappropriate thoughts starting to run through your head. Honestly, you barely knew your crew mates—the four of you were close to tearing each other’s throats out before you ran into Buggy, after all. And the fact that Zoro was, well, conventionally attractive—and you tried to keep your thoughts on that and that alone, anything emotional was strictly out of the question—shouldn’t be something your mind lingered on.

You picked out the first dress that looked to be your size. It was dark purple, backless with a tight trumpet skirt. Ducking behind the room divider Nami had used, you stripped off your clothes, donning the dress. There was a mirror along the other side of the divider, and you turned, trying to appraise the dress on your figure. The color didn’t look entirely right, and you were uneasy about the lack of mobility the skirt might have—Kaya’s staff were still extremely suspicious, after all, and you’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Let me see,” Zoro called from outside. You tugged at the dress, suddenly nervous, but stepped out after you couldn’t find a good enough excuse not to. Zoro’s eyes ran up and down your figure, and you did a slow circle, showing off the dress. The bare skin of your back prickled.

“You’re not going to be able to move in it,” he eventually said.

You huffed out a breath, the nervous energy that had accumulated in your chest leaving with the action. Something in your belly stirred; disappointment, maybe, that Zoro had only commented on the practicality of the dress, not how you looked in it. But you pushed those thoughts away with an angry shove. Not the time, and definitely not the person to be thinking those sorts of things about. “Yeah, that’s what I was worried about. Let me find something else.”

Zoro’s gaze didn’t flicker from your body as you started across the room, ducking between more racks to find something. “You dead-set on a dress?”

“I haven’t worn a dress in a while,” you answered, picking out a red one before remembering Nami’s choice and setting it back. “Might as well take the opportunity.” The next one you pulled was blue, all shiny and soft. The material looked like some kind of tender silk. You set it aside to try on. “Why?”

“Haven’t seen either you or Nami in a dress before.”

“Actually, you have. I’m wearing one right now and Nami tried like five on earlier,” you said, glancing over your shoulder to shoot Zoro an unimpressed look. He scoffed, though there was a smile at the edges of his mouth as he turned his head away. Your next choice was soft pink, and made of tulle that vaguely resembled a puff pastry. You pulled it up. “Think I should try it?”

“I mean, pick whatever,” Zoro said, though he seemed mildly disgusted by the amount of fabric the skirt had, all bunched up with layers like something a ballerina might wear. “What are you trying to achieve with the dress?”

“What am I—I’m trying to look nice, Zoro,” you said, stifling your laughter. You set the pink dress back, replacing it with a sage green number instead. “Not everything has ulterior motives.”

“You always look nice.”

You froze, a soft chill curling around the back of your neck. Carefully, you straightened up from where’d you been bent over yet another rack of clothes, turning to look Zoro in the eye. His eyes hadn’t moved. “Oh,” you managed out, throat all dry and tongue like sandpaper in your mouth. “Well, thank you.”

Zoro cleared his throat, a dull noise he made in the hollow of his throat without even parting his lips. His gaze flickered away. “Yeah. Go try those on.”

Wordlessly, you stepped back behind the room divider and slipped on the blue dress. It had a texture like water—it was some kind of high-end silk, flexible enough that it was near liquid in movement. The dress itself fell to your ankles, and had a simple square neckline. You stepped outside, doing another slow twirl. “Better,” Zoro said.

“Better how?”

“You can probably run in it.”

You twisted your lips, trying to suppress the urge to turn them down into a frown. “Okay. It’s not doing it for me.” You ducked back behind the divider to change yet again; the sage green one was satin, with long sleeves and a neckline you hadn’t anticipated would be that deep.

Still, upon exiting the divider and turning for Zoro again, he didn’t have any worthwhile feedback. “It’s kind of plain,” he said eventually, not meeting your eyes.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest; you had to almost resist stomping over to the racks to find something more, and spent another few minutes gathering dresses and trying them on.

To your immense disappointment, each one garnered little to no reaction from Zoro. You even shoved on one of the tiny, too-little fabric dresses you’d disapproved of earlier, but all Zoro did was scan you from head to toe and say, rather flatly, “you’d get stabbed pretty easily in that.”

Frustration bled into your nerves as you hid behind the divider again. You glared at yourself in the mirror—your skin had started flushing with how annoyed you were getting, which might’ve been funny had you not been so ticked off. Men, you thought, irritated. Was it really so hard to tell you that you looked pretty?

He’s a bounty hunter, you had to remind yourself. He doesn’t care about this kind of thing. Besides, he was the last person you should be setting your sights on anyway. You tugged at the short dress, the hem just barely grazing the tops of your thighs.

You heard footsteps approaching from outside the divider, suddenly too close as you snapped yourself out of the reverie of thoughts you’d been lost in. Zoro turned the corner, arm propped up against the divider edge as he peered in, brows furrowed. “You stopped coming out,” he said. He was still in his kimono, swords tossed over one shoulder. The shirt he had was, assumedly, left on the couch he’d finally stood up from.

“I’m frustrated,” you told him blandly. His frown deepened.

“Because of… clothing?”

You suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape your lungs. “Never mind. I’m fresh out of ideas.” You pushed past Zoro, opting to stand in the center of the room as if analyzing it from a different view would magically give you more options. Zoro turned to stare, still looking perplexed. “With so many options, it’s hard to make up my mind, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Zoro was still studying you. “Did I do something?”

“What? No,” you said hastily. Too hastily. The words had ripped out of your throat like a hiccup, and you seriously needed to learn how to lie a bit better because now Zoro’s expression was even more confused. “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, turning away from Zoro to stare at some of the clothes hanging on the wall above his head. These were too high up to properly look at, and as you stepped back, you glanced through the dresses hanging off the arch of the ceiling. You perused them without too much interest, eyes glancing over the various colors and fabrics until—

Zoro stepped next to you. “Hey,” he said, and you jolted, head snapping down to look at him. You let out a noise of irritation, then turned your focus back on the ceiling.

Your gaze flickered through the racks until finally falling on one particular dress hanging by the mouth of the room. It was somewhat hidden, tucked in a little corner beside a few other pieces, but from your vantage point it seemed about your size.

You took a step closer to it, surveying it with your neck craned. The material looked soft and comfortable but it still retained shape, and the color—even in the dim lighting of the closet—was one of your favorites. The undertone would suit your skin perfectly. And, well, you didn’t want to put all your bets on one dress you hadn’t even touched, but it was certainly promising.

Zoro stepped past you, barely exerting any effort to reach up and bring the dress down from where it hung up high. “This one, right?” he asked, and you swallowed, some of the annoyances you had towards him dissolving as he extended the dress hanger towards you. You nodded wordlessly, taking it. You stood there for a second before Zoro gestured with his head towards the divider. “Go try it on.”

You did so, retreating safely behind your wall and stepping out of the little dress. You surveyed the one Zoro had grabbed for you again, heart lodged in your throat. It really was beautiful, and exactly your style; now that you saw it up close, you could safely affirm it was your size too, but nervousness still pulsed through your veins at it.

Carefully, you slipped it on, adjusting the fabric around your hips and fixing up the neckline to rest evenly on your skin.

Zoro spoke out from the rest of the room. “So why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not—” you sighed, dropping your arms before returning to fiddle with the dress. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Is it because I wasn’t being helpful with the clothes? Because I already said that’s not exactly my area of expertise—”

“It’s not because of the clothes, Zoro,” you said sharply, cutting him off. Zoro clicked his tongue, the sound reverberating around the room and thudding in time with your heartbeat. You turned your attention back onto your reflection. “It’s just me being silly. Don’t worry about it.”

‘I’m worrying about it,” Zoro deadpanned. You sighed, adjusting the dress one final time before arranging your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror. It fit you perfectly, emphasizing all the right places and hiding all the parts of your body you were more insecure about. “Changed yet?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice limp.

“Let me see.”

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous about how he’d react. Knowing him, it’d be something like it’s okay or the color’s fine; perhaps can you even walk in that? or weird shape if he was feeling a little more critical. Still, you stepped out anyway, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you spun for him, letting him look at the dress from all angles. When you’d finished posing you glanced up, eyes meeting him tentatively.

“It’s…” Zoro cleared his throat, ripping his gaze away from the dress on your figure to flicker up to your face. His gaze dropped again nearly as fast, like he couldn’t bear to keep eye contact. “Uh.”

“It’s what?” you prompted, turning to face the nearest mirror. Your lips twisted into a worried frown, turning to glance at the dress again. Was it really not as perfect as you’d thought originally? “Do you like it? It’s my favorite so far, I think, but if you don’t like it—”

“You look pretty in that,” Zoro blurted, cutting your rambles off with the strident, too-loud sentence. You froze, eyes flickering to meet him in the mirror. Carefully, he glanced up at you, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Oh.”

Zoro coughed, averting his gaze as you slowly turned around to face him. You couldn’t see properly with the less-than-ideal lighting of the room, but his face seemed to have taken on a ruddier complexion. “I like it,” he said, words softer than they’d been before. “It’s the one.”

There was a little rush of something through your veins, and you felt vaguely lightheaded. “Okay,” you barely managed to squeak out. “Thanks.” You stumbled back behind the divider, sucking in a deep breath and trying to regulate your breathing. God, this was actually shameful at this point.

You composed yourself quickly, gathering all the dresses you’d tried on and abandoned to return to their proper places. Zoro was still watching you attentively, and you glanced over your shoulder at him. Sparks prickled along your skin as your eyes met. “What?” you asked.

“You’re acting weird.”

“Am not.”

Zoro stood up, rolling back his shoulders and stretching his head from side to side. He glanced through the racks and, without even a minute’s hesitation, plucked a suit jacket and matching pants out from beside him. “Yeah, you are. What’s up?”

“You’re just grabbing those without thinking about it?” you demanded, eager to change the subject. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“I picked them like fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “Just didn’t grab them until you were done your whole… thing. Now spill it. You’re all red again.”

You swiveled towards the closest mirror, unable to suppress your gape as you saw that your skin had indeed turned a distinctive shade of scarlet, flushed undertones creeping their way up your skin. It was entirely recognizable even in the terrible lighting. Even your skin was treacherous, now. “Nothing,” you muttered, unable to meet Zoro’s eyes as you spit it out. “I was annoyed because you weren’t telling me what you thought of the dresses.”

“I… did, though?” Zoro said, perplexed. You let out a grating sigh, cheeks flaring even hotter now that he was forcing you to confess the entire extent of your sins.

“Yeah, like, practically,” you said, wrapping your arms defensively over your chest. “You’ll get stabbed in that so easily. You won’t be able to walk. I just wanted you to tell me that—” you cut yourself off with another groan. “Don’t make me say it.”

Zoro blinked. “I have no idea what you’re edging towards, so you’re going to have to say it.”

“I just wanted you to tell me I looked nice!” you finally burst out, turning so you wouldn’t have to look at Zoro’s face. God, you were going to have to quit the Straw Hats after this. It was so entirely stupid.

“But—” There was a laugh in Zoro’s voice, and you glared down at the floor, all of your dignity having left you by this point. You had no shame left to feel anymore. “I said ‘you always look nice’. Doesn’t that insinuate—”

“That’s not the point,” you said hotly, tone almost argumentative now. “I wanted you to think I looked pretty in a dress, Zoro.”

Zoro didn’t respond for a moment, brows creasing and face taking on a baffled expression. “But why—” Zoro cut himself off, and you turned even redder, holding your breath as he finally connected the dots. A single word fell from his lips, like a soft breath of air as he spoke. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, unable to stop the almost whining tone your voice took on. Zoro stepped closer to you, a hand wrapping around your wrist and forcing you to look up at him.

“I said you looked pretty in this one.”

“I know,” you insisted, still all red, “which is why I’m not totally mad at you, but—”

“You looked pretty in all of them,” Zoro said. He didn’t look bashful, per se—you didn’t think Zoro could get shy—but his voice was low, all hoarse in a more tentative way rather than one of his grating remarks this time. “For the record.”

Your breath caught.

“This one’s my favorite, though,” Zoro muttered. And then he was leaning down to kiss you, the ghost of his lips just on the corner of your mouth. You gaped up at him in shock as he averted his gaze, staring at some spot about your head. “Was that—” he started, before clearing his throat and trying again with a little more of his dignity this time. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” you blurted fervently, and before you could fix up the moment with something more, well, suitable, your big mouth ruined it for you. “But I think we’re holding up dinner. You should get changed, and I still need to find shoes.”

You bit your tongue immediately after the words had been said, but it was too late—Zoro coughed, turning away from you. You panicked, and now it was your turn to grab his arm and tug you towards him. “Wait!”

Zoro glanced down at you, perplexed, and then you leaned up to kiss him square on the mouth. He stumbled back, surprised, but adjusted quickly, hand going to cradle the back of your neck and pressing you right to him before you finally broke apart.

“You should steal it,” he started. You stared up at him in question. “The dress, I mean. You should steal it.”

“When am I ever going to need to wear this again?” you asked, perplexed. Zoro shrugged, fingers tugging at the edge of the dress's neckline.

“Dunno. Just take it. She probably won’t even notice.”

“You’re adorable,” you teased; Zoro wrinkled his nose but didn’t complain, opting instead to move away and pick up the clothes he still hadn’t changed into. “Go change. See you at dinner.”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, his eyes not straying from your figure as you ducked out of the room. Before you could fully leave, though, Zoro grabbed your wrist, spinning you around towards him.

You didn’t have enough time to ask what he was doing when he leaned around to kiss you one final time, his hands cradling your face as your lips moved against each other. It was only a moment later that he stepped away, looking rather sheepish but not very apologetic as he finally let you go.

“You look more than pretty,” he murmured, eyes sinking into yours, and your throat dried, any words you might’ve formed dying away within seconds. “You always look more than pretty. You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, and then he ducked back inside the closet to change.

#opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #reader insert #x reader #opla #one piece live action #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #opla fanfiction #opla fanfic #one piece live action x reader #opla x reader #kiki writes!

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 2 months

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when the fratboy falls

fratboy!Jaehyun x tutor!reader

summary: Jaehyun is a fratboy with a notorious reputation for being a playboy, you have never heard of him. surely, he can use tutoring as an excuse to get close to you, right?

word count: 8.9k

warnings: swearing, fuckboy behavior, mentions of alcohol and weed, characters consuming alcohol, based on ages in this fic- underage drinking, mentions of sexual acts, a very brief scenario where a non-nct-fratboy verbally harasses/drunkenly flirts, confusing ages/age changes between members (just don't think about it :)), Americanized college described (I'm American), pet names (sweetie, sweets, sweeteart) in order to avoid using y/n, uhhh I think that's it, lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: oh my god this feels like it's been a long time coming, I hope you all enjoy the origins of Jaehyun and Sweetheart and grow to love them even more! Feedback is appreciated!

This fic is a part of my fratboy!jaehyun universe but can be read as a stand alone fic! (it’s the origin story)

dividers from plutism <3

taglist! @luv4jeno @vvx3 @mmjhh1998 @bluedbliss @soheendo

@lovesuhng @i4kt @johnjaesblog @sunghoonsgfreal @leemoonna

@cbgisland @yowmaman @cryingforjae @nanaissour @kongjjen

You should be in a club right now, you and all your friends should be getting drinks bought for you in the flashing neon lights of a crowded room. You should be dancing like the girls in all the college movies with your hands up, tangled in your own hair, and dancing to the beat of the music pulsing through the room.

But you weren’t there! You were stuck in the godforsaken library being proactive by studying for your staggered midterms starting in two weeks. You hated your professors for giving horribly detailed study guides that actually required you to work on them this early on. It was as if they had all conspired to make them as detailed and long as possible and to make them span two weeks.

Your eyes were burning from staring at the screen in front of you, the books laid out around you had barely been touched since you found the information you needed, and your pencil was lost somewhere in the pages of your notebook where you had been taking notes. Right now, your fingers were itching to grab your phone and scroll through some sort of entertainment, but you knew you couldn’t.

You’d been doing so well studying for a good- wow, almost 3 hours, until the rowdiest group of guys came in and started making this experience even worse for you. They’d come in about half an hour ago and had been the worst examples of library goers since they took their seats two tables away from you.

“Those guys are such a pain in the ass,” your roommate, Ari, mumbled under her breath.

Your friend, Kira, shot a look in their direction and immediately rolled her eyes, “Frat guys, Nu Chi. I’m not surprised.”

You peeked over at the group of guys catching the Greek letters on various pieces of clothing worn within the group. The ‘ΝΧΤ’ was was patched onto some hats, hoodies, and t-shirts- the bright green of the letters made it easier to see. You trailed your eyes over the guys in the group. Some look like they’d just woken up, one was asleep, another two were actually studying, and one was looking right at you.

Your eyes widened in surprise, you hadn’t meant to get caught staring. His handsome face fell into a smirk as you saw his eyes trail you up and down. Your face got hot and you snapped your head back to the half undone study guide on your screen. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How embarrassing!

Jaehyun smirked at your embarrassed state, biting his lip as he stared at your panicked return to your studying. Thank you Taeyong for getting this table. You were cute, messy hair, comfy looking sweater, and tired eyes. He liked cute.

You tried as hard as you could to focus on the study guide in front of you but the heat of this guy’s gaze was distracting you. You peeked up again, catching his eye and feeling your face get warm once again when his right eye dropped in a wink.

You looked away quickly, facing your friends and covering your mouth from his view, “don’t be obvious, but one of those frat guys has been staring at me for the past 10 minutes.”

Both their heads turned at the same time, catching sight of the guy. Ari’s eyes widened as her head snapped back to you, “that’s Jung Jaehyun, bitch!”

You stared at her like she’d grown another head, “does he play sports or something? Am I supposed to know who he is?”

“He’s just one of the hottest guys at this university. My roommate knows like four girls who have slept with him and not a single one of them complained. Apparently, he’s pretty good in bed. You should get on it,” Kira explains in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Don’t be gross, I don't want to be another notch in his bedpost or name on his roster. I’m not like that,” you sigh as you begin closing up the books spread around you on the table.

“I know, I’m just saying it could be fun for you. Don’t let him use you, you use him,” Kira offers with a smug smile.

You chuckle, gathering your things, “whatever, I’m going back to the dorm. If I read another word my brain will melt into mush. I’ll see you guys later.”

You stood from the table, your arms full of the books you’d borrowed so you could take them back to the front desk. You heard a chair scrape against the floor as you left your area and passed by tables of scattered peers also studying or at least attempting to study.

“Here, let me help you with those,” a deep voice came from behind you.

You stopped, turning your head to see that it was Jaehyun, the guy from the table. “Oh, it’s alright. Thank you though,” you smiled politely while continuing your journey to the librarian’s desk.

“Hey, child development books. Now that I think about it your pretty face did look familiar. Do you you take it with Professor G on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 2? I’m Jung Jaehyun,” He explained as he walked with you. Clearly, he wasn't at all put off by you dismissing him.

“That class has like 200 people, how would you recognize me?” You asked Jaehyun, sending the librarian a kind smile in thanks before telling him your own name as you walked toward the doors of the library.

Jaehyun walked with you, holding the door open for you, “I never forget a pretty face. But hey, listen, I gotta say I’ve been struggling quite a bit with all the materials we need to know for the midterm. You always answer questions and Professor G compliments your work, would you be down to help me study? Like a tutor?”

You came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs outside the library. You bit the inside of your lip, contemplating whether or not you should help him. On one hand, you really understood the material and you would be more than capable enough to help him, and you had some time. On the other hand, did he really need help studying or was this one of his methods for getting you alone so he could work his charm to get you in his bed? “You don’t even know me, I’m sure there’s someone you know in the class that can help you.”

Jaehyun’s mouth opens quickly, “But I know you know the materials. Come on, please.”

You shook your head, he was cute, you had the time to help him, but your pride was getting in your way.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Any other girl would have jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him, time alone with him. You were different, making him work for it. And he knew you wanted him. He saw the way you’d been checking him out. He looked at the trees, his eyes brightening as an idea hit him, “how about this. If you help tutor me, I’ll let you and your friends in to every Nu Chi party for free for the rest of the semester.”

You hummed, that was a pretty good offer, “but I’ve never even been to any of your parties. We’re not usually the party type.”

Geez you were making this almost impossible for him, “fine. You and your friends can still get into the rest of the parties for free and I’ll connect you with some of my older frat brothers who can help you with any other class you need help with.”

You hummed, that was a pretty good offer, “Do you have a math guy? I really need help in stats.”

Jaehyun, let out a quiet breath of relief, “Yeah, Doyoung is a computer science major or something. Even if he’s not, he’s a genius and there’s about 4 other guys who could help you. We’re not all idiots, you know?”

“Just you?” You smile at him teasingly.

He chuckles deeply, “yeah, just me. So yes? You’ll help me.”

“Fine,” you drag out playfully, “I can find you on instagram to set up the meeting?”

He nods handing his phone to you so you can follow yourself. You hand his phone back to him, “I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”

The next time you see Jaehyun is at 9:48 on the following Saturday. You’ve been sitting in a study room nervously adjusting and readjusting the position of your laptop, then your notebook, then your pencil. Your coffee sits untouched beside your phone, face up to see if, and really when, Jaehyun will decide to message you and cancel. The session was supposed to start at 9:30, but there had been very few people walking through the door. None of which were Jaehyun.

You’d decided you would give him 10 more minutes and then you’d leave. You had better ways to be spending a Saturday than waiting in a study room alone like a mega loser for some guy you barely knew. A guy that was just trying to get in your pants no doubt.

With 2 minutes left you began to pack up your things. You knew it was too good to be true. Why had you even begun to think he was actually interested in studying? With the way he’d been undressing you with his eyes, there was no way he wanted to actually study with you. You were such an idiot! He was probably fast asleep, hung over, in his bed with a poor girl he’d managed to trick into sleeping with him. If you could even calling it tricking her- he was actually a good looking guy, charming, likable, and persuasive. Ugh! Why were you thinking about him like that?!

You closed your laptop and slid your chair out, reaching for your bag when finally the door to the study room opened.

There stood Jung Jaehyun, red cheeked, tired looking, and out of breath, “I slept through my alarm. I’m hungover as a motherfucker right now, but I’m here. Did you just get here?”

You were frozen, “I’ve been waiting for almost 20 minutes. I was packing up to leave.”

“How are you not hungover? Last night was a major rager.”

“I didn’t go to the party,” You told him quietly, almost shyly. You pulled your laptop out again and pulled up the necessary tabs for the material for today.

Jaehyun stared at you confused, a slight hint of wonder, and another hint of admiration. “But I gave you free entry for the rest of the semester. You and your friends. I can think of something else to make this more worth your while.”

You deadpanned, “I’m not sleeping with you Jung Jaehyun, have some respect. I’m doing you a favor.”

Jaehyun flushed, his mouth falling open silently. He shook his head quickly, almost in worry, “that’s not what I meant. God, I’m sorry. I just meant that since you are doing me a favor and you haven’t exactly used any of what I offered to your advantage, maybe you’d want something else more your style. You can still have access to my smart bros, but maybe you want some food instead of the parties? A couple of the ladies in the dining hall love me and they give me food for free. I can pass that along if you want.”

You bit your lip, contemplating your answer, “It’s fine, the parties seem cool. I mean- I’ve never been to one, but I didn’t want to leave the wrong impression showing up hungover.”

Jaehyun flushed, suddenly very interested in the screen in front of him, he was embarrassed. Of course he made a bad second impression. He was the idiot that showed up hungover! “Should we get started?” he asked. It was clear you cared about school or at least doing well and wanted to make a good impression even when he was obviously thinking with his dick. Now, he felt like a total dick.

You nodded and began explaining what you had planned for this session. You had planned for the two of you would complete part 1 of the study guide, only a handful of questions and you’d review the slides used by the professor to help Jaehyun with anything he had trouble with.

Jaehyun began to zone out after the third level of the hierarchy of needs. His eyes were zeroed in on the plastic cup on the opposite side of the table. The writing was mess but he could make out the order, a chai latte, oatmilk, a double shot of espresso, and 3 pumps of caramel syrup over ice. He’d never had a chai latte but it sounded really good. He wondered if the ice had melted own and ruined the coffee from making you wait so long. He did feel bad about that. He really didn’t mean to oversleep. He was proactive, he’d set an alarm for 9 o’clock, just enough time to shower, throw up, and walk to campus to meet you in the library. But at some point in the party last night someone had offered him a shot and as Social Chair, he couldn’t refuse. Well, he could, but he wasn’t known to unless it was his weekend to be sober and it wasn’t. Nu Chi Tau had a reputation to uphold, a reputation he upheld with pride.

“So in the final level of the pyramid we have self-actualization, what this means is…” he heard you say, then he got distracted again. This time by you. The way your mouth moved to form the words, your lips looked soft, he wondered what kind of lip balm you used, what flavor it was, did they taste like that chai latte- WHAT?! Who was this voice invading his head?! What was this about unity and understanding you were saying?

He tuned into what you were saying, again, hoping his brain would allow him to stay focused, “since this is the highest level, not a whole lot of people ever get here. On the study guide make sure you add a note about only 2% of people ever reaching this level. I wouldn’t put it past Professor G to ask a question like that on the midterm.”

Jaehyun’s pencil scratched against a loose sheet of paper you’d let him have. “This is probably a really bad time to tell you I also forgot my laptop. Do you mind if I use yours, next time I’ll bring it. I promise.”

You sighed deeply, sending him a light-hearted glare, “Here. Let me know if you need help answering any of the questions. Let’s try to have part 1 done before we meet next time, some time during the week, if that works for you?”

“Yeah, maybe we can do Thursday before class and then we’ll see each other on Friday at the party?” Jaehyun asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could.

You bit your lip, mulling over his offer. His stare was intense, he was mentally crossing his fingers that you’d say yes. And god, why did you look so cute biting your lip?!

“Hey, I’ll be your personal host for the night. You obviously won’t have to drink if you don’t want to, I know all the areas that have more free space if you get overwhelmed, and I will see to it that you get back to your room safely. I promise you’ll have a safe and good night. That’s a Nu Chi Social Chair guarantee,” he pledged, complete with a hand over his heart.

You rolled your eyes, he was such a dork. “Fine, but don’t show up late to the next study session or else I'm dropping you. You can fail for all I care.”

Jaehyun feels his heart skip a beat, not only would he fail the class without your help, he’d also fail you and for some reason that sounded worse. He was definitely going to show up on time.

True to his word he’d even gone as far as showing up early on Thursday. He had completed part 1 of the study guide, and even flagged some areas he needed help with. You had been thoroughly impressed, even a little surprised. So to keep your part of the bargain you were standing outside the Nu Chi frat house with Ari and Kira. The party was already in full swing. The music was so loud that you felt the bass beneath your feet on the road across the street.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for this since our first semester to come to one of these parties!” Ari clapped excitedly.

You turned to stare at her with a look of pure confusion, “you did. Literally the first weekend here at school. You came to the dorm that night and told me you had no interest in men after a man gave you the ‘amateur DJ special,’ but you kissed a girl after and claimed to have fallen in love.”

“So I came out to you twice? Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked in shock.

Kira groaned, “both of you shut up. Let’s go.” She grabbed your arm and led you and Ari into the chaos.

Upon entering, a wave of musky funk hit your nostrils. A nasty concoction of weed, alcohol, sweat, beer, and BO. There were people cheering in the center of the hallway playing beer pong, a crowd of people grinding in the living room to r&b music, the sliding door to the back yard was open and showed people doing keg stands before flipping into the pool. This was just above and beyond. Every other frat party in town had crowded living rooms with beer being sloshed around in plastic cups, but this was a full on experience. It was as if they had seen every college movie with parties and brought them to life. You might never admit it, but you were even a little impressed.

You all moved through the bodies to the kitchen to get yourself some drinks and you looked around to observe those around you. The kitchen was strangely more empty than you thought it would be, but the party had been going on for almost 2 hours so maybe people were already too drunk to care about getting more alcohol. There was a couple making out in one corner, a group of girls sipping on seltzers all gathered around a phone, and a few drunk people snacking on some chips.

You sipped on your drink, not even noticing that someone new had taken stance beside you, “hey, I’ve never seen you around here before. You a freshman?”

Your face turned into one of poorly-concealed judgement while you studied him. He looked like a freshman himself, probably fresh out of the womb. He had cute chubby cheeks, wide eyes, and a shaggy hairstyle that made him look younger than he likely was. You laughed as you thought about his tacky line and turned to him with raised brows, “I’m in the middle of my fourth semester here. Are you a freshman? You look like you just left 8th grade, little guy.”

He scoffed, huffed, and rolled his eyes, “I’m in my second semester, I’m not some first semester loser. I’m not some kid. I’m actually almost 19. In 3 weeks.”

“Congrats,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your drink, “what’s your name?”

He flips his hair back with some weird swagger taking over him, “I’m Haechan, I hold the Nu Chi record for longest bender. Six whole days.”

Your eyes widen in shock and you almost choke on your drink, “that can’t have been healthy.”

Another guy stands beside Haechan with a can of beer in his hand, “it wasn’t. He also spent ‘six whole days’ in the hospital right after. You can’t keep bragging about it without providing more context. Normal people get concerned, not impressed, bro.”

“God! Mark! You kill the vibe every time I try to make my move!” Haechan yells before turning to you and speaking softly, “you should come to my birthday party.”

The two continue bickering and you make your way back to your friends to refill your cup. An unfamiliar arm slings around your and Ari’s shoulders. You had expected it to be Haechan, a harmless kid, or Jaehyun who you knew and had promised to be your guide, but instead it was another guy completely. He smelled awful, a sick mix of weed, sweat, and Axe body spray.

His words were slurred and he was clearly using you and Ari to stay upright, “Ladies, what brings you beauties to this shitty party? You know, Alpha Sig throws better parties, we got one goin’ on tomorrow night. You ladies should come by. You’ll get front of the line access, especially you.” He tugs Ari closer to him.

Ari cringes and tries to pull away from his hold, “you have no idea how much that turned me off. Go away, you smell like a preteen boy.”

“I can be your boy,” he slurs, his hot breath hitting her face. She wretches and dry heaves with the scent of his breath.

“Tyler, what the fuck are you doing here? You know you’re fucking banned. Get your ass out of here, and take any of your brothers that snuck in with you,” you hear Jaehyun’s voice. It’s surprisingly loud and stern. He speaks with confidence and command and you hate that it makes you question how you see him. He was just hot before but now he’s even more attractive, protective, and strong. Shit, what was in this drink?

You feel a sense of relief at the sound of the familiar voice. Tyler turns and begins arguing, his words barely comprehensible before a taller guy in a Nu Chi Theta shirt drags him out of the house.

Once he’s out of sight Jaehyun turns to your small group with a much more relaxed voice, “I’ve been looking for you girls all night. Come out back, it’s way more chill. I had a pledge in charge of keeping an eye out for you, sorry he sucks.”

You all follow him out of the crowded house to the backyard and past the keg stands and to a small circle of benches where it is way calmer. These must be the older members of the frat hang out. Jaehyun smiles and introduces his brothers and they all apologize for Tyler’s behavior.

Taeyong the frat president and Jaehyun’s Big, Johnny the Vice President, Doyoung the secretary, and Yuta the treasurer, which he was quickly explained he was forced to take up the role.

“I swear, the pledges get more and more useless every semester. The last good set was Mark and Haechan,” the one who had been introduced as Taeyong sighed.

Jaehyun goes to argue after rolling his eyes, but your snort interrupts him. Jaehyun turns to you as if to ask what was up. You shake your head, “Haechan tried to hit on me in the kitchen. Then Mark came in and they started arguing,” you explain.

Jaehyun laughs with a nod, taking a sip from his drink, “sounds like them.”

You all make conversation for a couple hours, laughing and getting to know each other. They share crazy party stories, embarrass each other with the occasional scolding to party-goers who are getting too rowdy out back or inside. They complain about their classes and upcoming finals, and in turn you and your friends complain about your own. You’re even able to make some connections for help with stats like you needed or the opportunity to look at some other member’s notes from similar classes.

Yuta turns to you with a look of realization on his face, “hey, were you in the library about a week ago?” You nod and he continues with a smug smile, “you know, you’re like a living legend around here. You really knocked Jaehyun down a peg, first girl to ever not fall for his charm. Now, he’s actually studying. It’s amazing!”

You don’t see it because Ari suddenly falls from the bench, but Jaehyun punches Yuta’s shoulder with bright red cheeks. You and Kira help Ari up and begin saying your goodbyes, promising Yuta that you want to continue the conversation.

Jaehyun follows you guys out. He opens up the side gate and takes the brunt of Ari’s weight while you all walk back to your dorm building, which thankfully isn’t far.

Ari nearly stumbles into a bush outside your building and plays it off with a, “I was getting you your favorite flowers, sweetie!” She pushes a crumpled pink azalea flower into you palm and you thank her while getting her upright and steady.

You and Jaehyun walk her into the lobby and from there Kira leads Ari into the elevator and she sends you a tipsy wink which is impossible to ignore.

You flush with embarrassment, shes’s so obvious. “Thanks for walking us home, but you didn’t have to do that. You have a party to return to, Mister Social Chair. There’s probably some girl you had your eye on tonight, you could have missed your chance.”

“It was my sober weekend anyway and I promised to be your guide. No one else but you held my attention tonight,” he shrugs, “I just hope Tyler didn’t discourage you from coming to any future parties. Or even Yuta.”

“I got a personal invite to Haechan’s nasty 19. Plus, I think the brothers of Nu Chi would love to have a living legend in attendance, I’ll be there,” you smile while tucking the crumpled up flower behind your ear to distract yourself from his offhand admission of you holding his attention

Jaehyun feels his heart beat a little faster. It had to be the single beer he had earlier, or were crumpled up flowers always this pretty on girls who teased him? Was it the flower or could it be your teasing? He blinked a few times, forcing his brain to work for one of its intended purposes- speaking. “That one will be smaller. I’m not sure about calmer, but smaller for sure. Before that though, we have a couple more study sessions right?” He asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah, we need to finish off parts 2 and 3 of the study guide. The midterm is two Thursdays away, so let’s try to meet this Tuesday after class.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have notes and everything.” He salutes you like a dork.

You snort out a laugh, which he automatically files stores as a sound he likes hearing and wants to hear again. “I’ll see you in class.”

He leaves with a wave and his hands shoved in his pockets. He walked back with a nice pep in his step. The stars looked brighter, he felt a giddiness he hadn’t felt in years. It was weird, but he liked it. He wanted to feel it more often. When he got to the party, he went right back to his room, alone, ready to bask in his new, light feeling. He liked this feeling, he wanted to feel it all the time.

You enter your room to find Ari passed out on the floor under a blanket from your bed and Kira happily cuddled up in her bed. You send Kira a raised brow, “your room isn’t even that far away.”

“Hey, I worked hard to get her here. I deserve this,” she huffs, setting her phone aside before she sends you a mischievous grin, “you and Jaehyun, huh?”

“Kira, I’m tutoring him. That’s all,” you sass back while changing into your pajamas.

She huffs out a humorless laugh, “sure, because Jung Jaehyun walks girls back to their dorms all the time.”

“He’s a frat boy but he’s not an asshole. We don’t even know he’s never done that before. You’re starting shit, Drunk Kira.”

“All I’m saying is, everyone else has gotten an Uber home or a pledge to walk them home. He didn’t even sleep with you and you got a personal escort while a party was still going on.”

You pull the sheets over your head, hating how you’re already over thinking an action that should be the bare minimum. She laughs drunkenly and you’re glad she can’t see the blush she’s put on your cheeks.

On Tuesday, you get to class before Jaehyun, like usual. You won’t admit you’re now keeping an eye out for him… but you are. You place your phone on the desk and pull your notebook out of you backpack and open to where your notes left off.

Someone takes the seat right beside you as your brows furrow, watching a dried azalea flutter out onto the floor from your notebook.

“Wow, another one. Ari wasn’t kidding when she said there were your favorites,” you head Jaehyun’s voice as he places the flower back on your desk.

Your face still shows confusion, reading the pink glittery note from Ari in your notebook. ‘Sorry for making you drag my drunk ass back home :( forgive me sweetie’. You chuckle, “Ari’s version of an apology. Sorry, hi. Do you always sit in this row?”

“Hell no, I usually slip in about 30 minutes late and find a spot in the back. Today, I’m hoping that your smartness radiates off you and I absorb it. In other words, whenever you copy notes, I’m going to copy notes,” he ultimately simplifies.

“Geez, no wonder you need tutoring for this class. Do you have a paper? Pencil? Laptop? Something to take notes?”

“I’m not dumb,” he states, pulling out a singular sheet of paper and a pen with no cap. God, he probably has nothing but those 2 things and a protein bar with his laptop in his backpack right now. He’s like a kindergartner. All you can do is sigh before Professor G starts going through the slides of the day and lecturing. You can see him from the corner of your eye writing when you writing and fiddling with his pen, twirling it through his fingers. You try to suppress a smile, you’re a little proud of him right now. Just a little bit.

After class finishes you both make your way to the library and you force yourself to ignore the looks being thrown your way. In reality no one is really looking at you, more like looking at the infamous campus celebrity following you to the elevators.

Getting to the study room is easy enough with nearly every girl’s eyes on your study buddy making you feel anxious and self-conscious. Jaehyun doesn't seem to notice though, and goes about getting out his laptop as normal. For the first few minutes of your session you both input new material into the study guides. Then you get into his confusion on the questions.

You begin to explain some ecological something he had flagged and all Jaehyun can think is, “why does child development have so many shapes?”

Your eyes widen in shock, your mouth opening to respond before you burst into a fit of laughter, using your hands to muffle the sound. Jaehyun smiles at the sound, something about you is growing on him, making him feel things he hasn’t felt since his high school girlfriend. Fuck.

You smile, simplifying this theory for him before you calm down. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, “of course.” He finishes up typing his notes, writing them in the way you explained because you made it so much easier for him to understand.

“Why are you taking a child development class? This doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

“It fulfills one of my general requirements. My first and second choice were filled up, and Taeyong is an education major. He convinced me to take it, so here I am.”

“So you do have someone else to help you study…” you trail off, “why ask me? Taeyong is probably more knowledgeable about this than I am.”

He clears his throat, looking away from you, “he’s really busy. Making lesson plans and making us act like students.” He doesn’t want to tell you that it was because you were cuter and prettier. That when he first met you he wanted to sleep with you, but now you make him feel feelings he’d buried deep, deep down. Plus, Taeyong was actually very strict when he tutored Jaehyun. He didn’t let Jaehyun get distracted, snapped in his face, corrected all his work too closely. He scared Jaehyun when he was in teacher mode.

“Okay, one more question. So you told us on Friday that you had a pledge keep an eye out for me, Ari, and Kira. How would a pledge know what I looked like?”

Jaehyun blushes, his cheeks feel hot, he starts mumbling, “gave him a general description of you or whatever.”

You lean in, poking his cheek, it’s soft, “you’re lying. Did you make him stalk me or something? Did he stand outside one of my classes? This has been haunting me.”

He laughs at your exaggeration, “haunting you? No, he didn’t stalk you or follow you. I uh, I sent him a screenshot of one of your Instagram posts.”

You tried and failed to suppress a smile, your own face getting hot now, “so you have a picture of me saved on your phone? Which picture did you pick? I have some pictures of me at the beach-”

Jaehyun perks up, “really? I haven’t seen those yet. Are they recent?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram.

You snatch his phone from his hand, “don’t make it weird, pervert. I was just starting to like you. Seriously though, which picture was it?”

He shakes his head with a smile, “it was a picture of you with Ari and Kira, so he knew what all of you looked like. Is that a good enough answer? Give me my phone back.” He’s choosing to save you the embarrassment by ignoring the fact that you had just admitted you liked him.

You slide the phone back with your eyes narrowed, assessing him. “Fine. Let’s finish part two, we only have a few questions left.”

When you see him next, it’s one week before the midterm. You’re sitting in your usual seat in the auditorium with your notebook out waiting for Professor G to come in. Ari is texting you about some cute guy she saw. Kira is sending you memes about dogs. Your phone has all your attention.

Jaehyun comes in, five minutes early, making his way down the aisle to the empty seat beside you. He smiles awkwardly and apologetically as people move their backpacks out of the way and send him enamored smiles.

He plops into the seat beside you unceremoniously and loudly. You send him a look that shows him you are far beyond unimpressed by his lack of decorum. Then he sets something on your desk.

“What is this for?” You ask with your brows raised.

He shrugs, keeping himself busy by pulling out whatever he needs to take notes. “It’s a flower, sweetheart. Isn’t it obvious?”

“I know what it is, asshole. Why is it on my desk?” You ask bluntly. From anyone else ‘sweetheart’ would be condescending, but you like hearing his voice say it. Ew.

“I was walking to class and it flew in front of my face. I stomped all over it, danced on it, spit on it, and then I thought it would be nice to give to you.” He answers with a casual shrug of his shoulders, his eyes locked on the huge projector screen while everyone waits for the professor to set up the slides.

You push his shoulder playfully, preparing to reply but class starts. He lied again. The flowers don’t fly off anything because the bushes they grow on are too low to the ground. He didn’t stomp on it because it was perfectly in tact. It was round and the color was vibrant with no wilted petals. He had picked it just for you.

You study him in your peripheral, a soft look on your face which you’re glad he can’t see since he’s busy taking notes. You force yourself to pay attention, tucking the flower behind your ear before catching up on the slides you’d missed.

Jaehyun catches a blur of pink, out of the corner of his eye he can see you tucking the flower behind your ear. He feels himself blush, and suddenly isn’t so mad that he took the long way to class just to find you that flower. They might be his favorite flower now too.

It’s the Tuesday before your child development midterm and Jaehyun is waiting for you in the study room he’s booked. Class was cancelled today, it was the least Professor G could do after giving you all so much material to cover. It was 10:16 and Jaehyun was feeling weird. You were always early or at the very least on time, and you weren’t here yet. He scrolled through your DMs to be sure you had both agreed to meet at ten, and there it was, ‘See you at 10 :)’

He was busy typing out a message to you when you came into the room. You were panting, hair a mess, and an oversized, comfy looking sweater, and tired eyes. You looked just like you did the first time Jaehyun saw you and felt his breath hitch in his throat.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. My 9 o’clock class ran over, because there was a surprise essay addition to the midterm. I didn’t think I was going to take all the time the professor gave us because I studied all night for this midterm and I knew what I was doing, but the essay threw me for a loop. I’m an anxious test take as is so the essay ruined all the calmness I had built up and-” your ramble is cut short.

Jaehyun places his hands on your shoulders. He squeezes them lightly, “Breathe, sweetheart.” He makes a show of breathing in and out until you nod, showing him you’re fine.

“Sorry, I feel bad for running late. Are you good? Have you been waiting long?” You ask in a much more relaxed voice.

Jaehyun waves you off with a nonchalant wave of his hand, “I’m good. I only have a few questions for part three so this won’t take up much of your time and you can get back to your place and relax. But now I’m wondering if I should give you this…” He holds up a familiar plastic cup, the contents looking like the perfect shade of brown you hadn’t consumed this morning. Your mouth waters and you reach for the cup, but Jaehyun pulls it out of your reach. “Promise me, the caffeine isn’t going to make you more anxious. I don’t want to be held responsible if you have a panic attack later.”

“Please, Jaehyun,” you whine, “I need coffee.”

He smirks, handing you the cup and watching as you take a drink from the straw eagerly. Your brows furrow in confusion. You expected some vanilla latte, or a caramel coffee of some kind. Instead, you taste your usual order. You taste your iced chai latte with oatmilk, double shot of espresso, and 3 pumps of caramel syrup.

“Did Ari tell you my order?” You ask with pure curiosity.

“I remember your order from our first study session. It’s actually really good.” He tells you casually, taking a long drink from his own straw.

“You remember my order from our first study session almost two weeks ago?” You can feel your heartbeat getting faster, and it’s not the caffeine.

“I was tired and hungover, and you were talking about the pyramid thing and my brain couldn’t focus. So I focused on your cup instead. Are we studying or what?”

“Alright, yeah. Thank you, for waiting and for the coffee,” you reply.

He smiles at you, a soft smile that some part of your brain interprets as an affectionate smile for some reason, “no problem.”

You both get through the study guide, flipping through notes and making it easier to understand.

Before you know it, the study session is over and the midterm comes even faster.

Jaehyun sends you a wink, holding his knuckles out for a fist bump. His voice is a quiet whisper as the rest of the class gets the test and gets started, “you got this, sweetheart.”

You feel your heart soar, you want to get up and do a happy dance. There’s just too much giddiness in our body right now. Instead you settle for, “you too.”

This was supposed to be a smaller party? The music is louder, you can hear people shouting, cheering, and the sound of people jumping in the pool. Now the card you brought feels dumb. You barely know Haechan anyway. Why did you come?

“I can hear your thoughts, sweets. We’re already here, we’re going to have a good time. Let’s go,” Ari tells you. She knows you too well.

You don’t argue and let her and Kira guide you into the house. It is smaller, it’s less crowded than the first Nu Chi party you came to, but still full. There’s more room to move around the party, it smells less like BO and thankfully, no sign of anyone from Alpha Sig.

Ari leads you all back to the kitchen, a familiar routine of starting your night with some alcohol. Jungle juice probably. Some kind of mix of alcohol and juices that will give you an awful hangover if you drink enough of it.

“You came!” A voice screeches before someone embraces you. “I knew, Mark hadn’t ruined my chances. God he’s an idiot, but you came, for me.”

“Get off her, you little weirdo,” you hear Jaehyun before Haechan is pulled off you. Jaehyun holds him by the back of his shirt and Haechan tries to fight it.

You laugh, reaching in to hug Haechan, he’s a cutie. “You invited us, I also,” you grab the card you’d set on the counter and hand it to him, “got you this.”

“For me?!” His eyes light up.

“It’s just a gift card. I wasn’t sure what you liked but I don’t like to show up on people’s birthdays empty handed. So uh, happy birthday,” you smile awkwardly, leaning in to give him another quick hug.

Jaehyun grunts, pulling Haechan back when he snakes his arms around you for too long. Haechan begins to whine and argue but quiets down when Jaehyun sends him a look of warning. Jaehyun loops an arm around your shoulders, “Ari and Kira are already out back, come on.”

You let Jaehyun guide you out of the house again, let his arm fall from your shoulders to your waist. You like him being so close, wrapped around you like this. You like him being protective, a little possessive, and shit- you think you might like him.

The same guys greet you in the same spot as last time. This time, Yuta and Johnny are drunker than the last party. “It’s Sweets!” Johnny cheers and you shoot your friends a blank look. That was a nickname from them, so he’d obviously gotten it from them. A nickname you felt neutral about in your small group since it was kind of cute. You were unsure of its origins but you were almost certain it came from a late night snack run you all made during your first hang out. Everyone got their own snacks that night, but you were the only one to leave with an armload of sweet snacks.

“It’s nice to see you again. With Jaehyun,” Yuta smiles mischievously.

Jaehyun’s arm drops from your waist and you miss the warmth it provided, the feeling of security, safety. You take a drink of the cup in your hand, hoping that the alcohol will help distract from the weird empty feeling you suddenly have. You sit beside Kira and join the conversation, letting the stress of midterms leave you while you vent and listen to everyone else rant about the tests, projects, and professors.

You eventually come to the bottom of your cup and get up, offering to get anyone else a drink too. Taeyong joins you on your way back to the kitchen. You reach for the ladle in the giant bowl of jungle juice, already feeling a slight buzz from your first cup. Taeyong stops and chats with some people on the far side of the kitchen. A group of girls come into the kitchen and begin talking while grabbing beers.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of weird to be here and not be hit on by him you know? It’s been pretty consistent at every party. Tonight I was going to finally give in,” one girl sighs.

“Girl, I think that ship has sailed. He’s been seen with the same girl for a few weeks now. I tried to hit on him at the last party and he shut me down completely,” her friends responds.

“You’re lying, bitch. Jung Jaehyun tied down? There’s no way!” A third girl exclaims after choking on her drink.

Suddenly you want to choke too. Your throat tightens up and fuck- you’d been so stupid to think that you could be anything special to him. Why would a guy like Jung Jaehyun go after you when he could have anyone else? It’s not like you had ever shown him you were going to give into his flirting, of course he would be done with you now. He asked you to tutor him, you had tutored him and he got what he wanted. It makes sense that he got what he wanted, not the sex, and had someone else that matched him better than you. Why would he have wanted anything deeper than tutoring and maybe friendship with you?

Your hands start to shake and tears fill your eyes making everything hard to see. You leave your cup on the counter and turn to walk out of the kitchen, out of the house, away from him. You want to go home and forget you ever fell for Jaehyun and forget that you were ever stupid enough to think he could actually like you back. Fuck!

You make your way through the living room and out the front door, feeling only a sliver of relief when the fresh air hits your face again. You feel someone grab your wrist and go to pull away, but it’s Taeyong. He looks concerned as he studies your tear filled eyes. “You’re not going home alone like this, just- wait here, I’m gonna go tell the guys that I’m taking you home,” he instructs. You nod, glad he didn’t ask any questions because your throat feels tight. If he were to ask you anything else you knew you would burst out into tears.

There’s no one out front as you wipe your tears. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you exhale. You were fine. It was all going to be fine. You were fine before you even knew who he was, and you were going to continue being fine now, after him.

You can hear the side gate of the house open and shut, it must be Taeyong. You walk down the front steps and make it halfway to the gate before stopping, it’s not Taeyong. It’s Jaehyun and he looks worried.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” He asks, looking the slightest bit distressed.

You roll your eyes and turn on your heels, not even gracing him with a response. You can make it home alone. Ari and Kira have your location, you’ll text them when you get home. It’s not even that far. It’s fine.

“Hey, sweetheart. Just- talk to me. What’s wrong?” Jaehyun asks, his hand wrapping around your forearm and turning you to face him.

You wanted to make this a clean break. You just wanted to leave and forget you ever met him. Leave and forget you ever fell for him, but since he’s asking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Huh?”

Jaehyun’s brows pinch together trying to figure out what you’re talking about, had one of the guys told you that he liked you. Those fuckers, fine, he could confess now, “Look, I’m sorry they told you. I was trying to gather the courage and make sure my feelings were genuine before I told you. They are, of course, but I don’t know- it’s been a while since I’ve felt this way for anyone and I was nervous.”

You can feel the tears coming back, “And she knows how you treat other girls? She knows that you walk them home, get the flowers, memorize their coffee orders, and introduce them to your friends. You could have at least been honest with me! I told you from the beginning! I told you from the very beginning I wasn’t going to sleep with you. All I asked for was your respect, but I won’t be the girl you cheat on your girlfriend with. I deserve more than that. I don’t even know the poor girl, but she deserves more too.” You hadn’t even realized you’d gotten so close to him. Your finger was touching his chest and you breathed heavily, a few tears escaping your eyes.

His hand came up to hold yours, pulling your hand away from his chest while keeping your hand in his own, “At the risk of sounding like a dick, who is she?”

You pull your hand out of his hold, before throwing them up in frustration, “your girlfriend! Jaehyun, you have a girlfriend you didn’t tell me about! I developed real feelings for you and you have a girlfriend!”

“You like me back?”

“You’re not listening! That doesn’t matter! You’re a major fucking asshole and your girlfriend deserves better than you. Fuck you!”

He steps forward, cupping your cheeks which makes you freeze. It was the last thing you expected him to do. You try to move way, wriggle out of his hold, but he keeps his hold, “I don’t have a girlfriend. I like you. sweetheart, I like you.”

Your breathing falters, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit, “but there were girls in the kitchen. They said you were tied down and seen with the same girl all over campus and you turned one of them down when she hit on you.”

“Well, it wouldn’t very well make me look good to the girl I liked if I was sleeping around with random girls, would it? sweetheart, you were the one I was seen with. Didn’t we study together a few times? I sat by you in class, I walked you home, I was with you at parties. Any of this ringing a bell or should we get you to the emergency room?” He asks with a playful smile.

“You like me?”

He laughs, it’s loud, unabashed, and happy, “yes, I like you! I have a crush on you. You make me feel things I haven’t felt since I was in high school with my first, and only, girlfriend. I like hearing your snort, I like seeing your smile, your laugh. I like how kind you are. I like when you wear your comfy sweaters. I really like when you put flowers behind your ears. I like that you make me feel giddy and warm and liked and flirty and playful and I can be myself around you. I want to be smarter for you. I want to be around you more. I think you’re beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. I just- I like you, a lot.”

“I like you too, if that wasn’t obvious. You’re cute and funny-“

“We get it! Kiss!” You hear Ari and Kira yell. You look over Jaehyun’s shoulder and catch them watching you along with the frat officers from the side of the house.

Jaehyun sends you a look as if to ask, if it was ok. You nod minutely and tilt your head up. Your eyes fall shut when his lips meet yours. His lips are soft as he kisses you tenderly. You can feel all the pent up affection you’ve both felt for each other through the kiss. His hands cup your cheeks and yours rest on the back of his neck, holding him close. You lose yourself in the feeling of his lips against your own, fighting back the urge to smile.

He pulls away and your eyes flutter open, staring into his eyes that match your adoration and excitement in the moment. He presses his forehead against your own, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “so, want to make the rumors true?”

Your face furrows into one of confusion, the rumors? He laughs, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips which makes you melt. “Wanna tie me down, sweetheart?”

“Kinky,” you wink, which makes him laugh out loud. A deep happy laugh, which makes you embrace him closely, “of course I do. As if my temper tantrum over you having an imaginary girlfriend didn’t make it obvious.”

“Good,” he smiles. And it is good, great even.

“Simp!” Johnny and Yuta yell, before one of them drunkenly belches.

Jaehyun laughs, hooking his arm over your shoulder to lead you back to the party. So what if he was a simp? Who wouldn’t be for you?

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct fic #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun fic #fratboy!jaehyun #frat!jaehyun #frat!nct

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munivrse · 2 months

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cw: perv!sunghoon. sunghoon does your laundry so: panty sniffing.. and licking, possessiveness, exhibitionism, praise, overstim, hands free orgasm again (?), dry humping but solo (???), sunghoon creams his pants twice lmfaoooo what a loser.

a/n: nastiest thing i've ever written so if it isn't for you, i get it 😭

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

sunghoon knows its wrong. he knows its gross, a little fucked up but he can't help it. especially not when you ask him to wash your laundry with his to save on some money.

he couldnt help but dig through your pile, searching desperately for it and- oh! he's found it.

a worn pair of your panties. they're different than he imagined. he's spent hours thinking about it before. he thought they'd be plain, no lace, no pattern. multiple pairs but not alot of difference in color. mainly ones that match your skin tone. you wear alot of light clothing and he sees nothing when his eyes scan your body, spending more time on your ass than anything else. he knows that you dont wear low rise anything so they must be high cut? maybe hipsters? he's sure its nothing out of vanilla for you.

so why would you own a pair of white, bikini shaped, lace trim panties? this soils the picture he had of you in his head. all of his research- all of this knowledge he had of you.

he inspects the garment in his hand. this can't be yours right? sunghoon brings the thin, thin piece of clothing to his nose. it's definitely yours. he can smell the faint scent of your body wash on them.

now he's upset; nearly distraught. why would you own a pair of panties like this? who would you need to impress-

were you fucking other men? were you- sunghoons stomach drops- were you letting them taint you? a different, even more devastating thought springs forward and sunghoon is nauseous. are you not a virgin?

the sadness fades and is replaced by wild, unadulterated anger. his fist closes around the flimsy cloth. god hes upset, frustrated nearly to tears but never at you. never at you. you could never do wrong, his perfect angel. his pretty princess would never do wrong. he knows this, but he's got to take action. do something to solve this issue, make you clean again.

sunghoon brings the panties up to his nose and lets out a whimper at the scent, its tangy but theres a hint of sweetness. fuck, he's hard now. he palms the outline of his cock through his sweats; you smell so good. he knew it, knew that you'd smell good. he tracks what you eat, when you eat it, how you eat it. he makes sure to prepare good, balanced meals for you. he buys you all of your multi-vitamins, tracks the amount of water you drink to make sure you're never dehydrated. he knew you'd smell good, he made it that way.

he feels his cock leak into his underwear. he knows its wrong, knows its fucked up and dirty, but he does it anyway. his tongue pokes out to lick the center of your panties- oh. oh. his eyes roll to the back of his head. it tastes- no, no. you taste good. he feels precum dribble out of his cock and now he feels his underwear get a little damp.

he presses his palm harder against his crotch and takes another, more confident lick at the spot where your pretty pussy would've laid and now he's whining and humping into his hand like a fucking dog. he stumbles at the sensation and catches himself on a washer and he's reminded that this is a public laundromat on campus. a more secluded one, but public nonetheless. the thought of someone catching him makes his head spin.

everyone knew you were roommates. you were so, so popular amongst your peers. so sweet and kind, a smile that lights up a room, an infectious, contagious giggle. and sunghoon, who was so, so handsome but as much as he was handsome, he was shy. didn't talk much to anyone. except for you. he'd stroll with you as you bounced next to him, talking about your day as you both walked back to your dorm.

what better way to claim you than for someone to walk in and see him fucking himself and holding your panties up to his face. the thought turns him on so much that he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a strangled moan.

god he needs it. he needs to fuck you in front of the whole campus. all of those men that violated your princess parts- he needs them to watch as he stuffs his girthy length into your pussy. he wants them to watch as he stretches you out. he's sure you'd struggle against him as what he had in girth he also had in length, but he knows you'd like it. he knows you'd love being filled up by him. by him.

he's so fucking mad. how could they? he slams the fist holding your panties on the washer as he continues to fuck and grind into his hand.

fuck those men that defiled you. fuck them for touching you that way, putting their filthy hands on your precious body. he'd fix that. cleanse you. cum all over your pretty frame, cover you in it. your face, your tits, cum on and in your tight little cunt. he prays you'd let him fuck your ass too so he could fill that up as well- shit.

he feels it coming. he feels the onslaught of pleasure start to pour into his body. he wants to hold off- wants to hold his cum until he can spill it inside of you but he cant. he's gonna cream his pants like hes a teenager again.

he laps at your panties again and he cant wait to taste your pussy. he can't wait until he can eat you out for hours, have you cum on his tongue over and over and- oh-

his eyes squeeze shut again and he bites his lip to try and conceal his moans. he can't tell if its working though, his ears are ringing and the only thing he can think of is roughly humping his hand to get off.

he whines and whines and whines as he feels himself let go, ropes of cum seeping through his underwear. its spurt after spurt and now his hand is wet and its starting to stain his sweats but he cant stop. his cock has a mind of its own, twitching and jumping and fuck- he's so sensitive.

he stops cumming, stops shooting his load into his underwear. he whimpers and removes his hand from his pants but his hips are still stuttering against nothing.

god he wants to feel it. he wants to know how it'll feel when he slides his cock into your warm, tight, wet cunt. he wants to feel his balls slap against your ass from how hard he's fucking you. he wants to feel your pussy gush around him, cover his cock and balls in your juices. he hopes he can make you squirt so you can drench him in you and- no. no no no-

sunghoons knees knock together as he feels himself cum in his pants again and he might actually pass out this time. its dry, nothings coming out but he feels euphoric. his hips fuck into the air and its so fucking gross, he feels so gross and so dirty but its only for you. only for his pretty princess.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #sunghoon enha #sunghoon enhypen #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months

Text

bodyguard

words: 2.1k

warnings: bodyguard!rafe, pop star!reader, gun mention, attempted kidnapping, brief violence, fluffy

you take a deep breath, clenching the microphone in your first. no matter how many times you perform, you still feel a rush of anxiety.

it all disappears when you step out onto the stage. you give the crowd a wave as the cheers erupt. you look around the packed stadium, reminiscing on what it was like to play smaller venues until your hit single and big break.

your in ear piece begins the countdown to your music as you lean down to reach out to a couple fans in the front row, looking past your personal bodyguard who insists on being in front of the stage despite the venue providing security.

you begin to sing the first song of your set, turning your attention to the entire crowd as your backup dancers come out, flooding the stage.

the show goes by so quickly you almost miss the feeling as you step behind the curtain, despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones.

“here.” your bodyguard hands you a water bottle, a straw already pushed inside, knowing you prefer it over drinking straight from the rim.

“what would i do without you rafe.” you chuckle. he was the first bodyguard you ever hired, having had your ass slapped one night and deciding you needed someone to watch your back.

“probably be kidnapped.” rafe shrugs, making you roll your eyes, used to the playful back and forth banter.

“and if it weren't for me, you'd still be in north carolina.”

“perk of the job.” rafe says, referencing the three continents you've visited with him in tow, soon to announce a world tour that will visit all major cities with enough time in between to actually enjoy the traveling.

“dressing room or straight to the bus?” rafe asks, following you as you begin to walk, stepping past the stagehands rushing to disassemble the set and get it on the move.

“dressing room. left my crocs in there.” it's routine, rafe entering the dressing room and doing a sweep before letting you in, even if it's just to grab your shoes and leave.

“wait, gonna change them before we go to the bus.” you tell rafe, the arches of your feet hurting from dancing in heels. rafe gives you his arm to hold as you bend down to undo the straps before slipping out of the glittery stilletos and into your comfortable, well worn, crocs.

rafe peeks out the back door. “there's some fans by the fence. we going right to the bus or stopping to sign?”

“stopping to sign.” you know it's not possible to show your appreciation to every single fan, but you're certainly going to try your best to greet every person who helped you become the pop sensation you are.

rafe pulls two sharpies out of his pocket, one black and one silver and hands them to you before swinging the door open.

the mini crowd erupts into screams as soon as they see you. you're sure these must be fans who didn't get a chance to attend as there's no way they could have cleared from the venue this quickly.

“hey everyone!” you wave as you walk to the chain link fence, knowing rafe is right at your back, just in case anyone gets handy. it wouldn't be the first time an excited fan reached through an opening and refused to let go of your wrist.

you begin to sign everything offered to you, even seeing a fan who brought your original ep you used to send to record labels.

“can i get a picture?”

“of course!” you smile, taking the phone that is passed through the slot and snapping a selfie with the happy fan.

you continue down the line, about halfway through when you shiver, the adrenaline wearing off and the cold of the night air seeping into your bones, especially since you're still in your stage outfit which doesn't give you much coverage.

you should have known rafes eagle eye would see, because he's soon shrugging off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders, of course the crowd awwing.

rafe has gotten quite a bit of attention as your bodyguard, considering he follows you practically everywhere, he's photographed by fans constantly.

you were worried at first when you continued to skyrocket in fame that rafe would become uncomfortable or overwhelmed and you'd have to find someone new that you felt comfortable with, but hes stuck by your side the whole time.

“okay, sorry guys i gotta go!” you wave to everyone, having signed or taken a picture with everyone who gathered by the back exit fence.

you quickly rush to the tour bus, the corset of your outfit beginning to press in uncomfortably.

you don't have to use your words to tell rafe what you're about to do. as soon as he does a sweep through the bus, having you wait in the front next to the drivers seat so you could run out at any minute, you head to the back and take a shower, washing away your makeup and the pounds of hairspray added to your bangs.

you get changed into pajamas, knowing you're scheduled to hit the road tonight. it probably would be easier to fly private, or even just buy a jet, but you like the tour life of driving around and try to be environmentally conscious where you can.

you head back into the common area, rafe sitting in his usual spot on the couch, his gun that usually remains holstered to his hip now sitting on the counter.

it scared you the first time you saw it. you knew you hired an armed bodyguard, but to have a gun just sitting there was not something you were used to.

“here.” rafe grabs a bag from the counter you didn't even notice.

“you got me fries?” you ask excitedly, taking the bag and quickly pulling a fry out, letting out a low moan when you take a bite and realize it's still hot.

“ill add personal assistant to my resume.” rafe smirks.

“resume? you leaving me?” you laugh, plopping down on the couch next to rafe.

“never.” he vows. when rafe originally began to work in security, it was a way to get away from his dad, to have an excuse to leave at night, and now he can never imagine going back home to the life he once lived.

conversation shifts to upcoming plans as you finish off your fries and let out a yawn.

“alright, bed time.” you stand up and stretch, eyes closing as your back elongates. you completely miss the way rafe has to readjust his pants.

“goodnight.” rafe says as you give him a wave and head back into the bedroom, closing the door for some privacy as you flop onto the bed and delve beneath the covers, falling asleep easily knowing you're protected.

“aw, yes!” you hiss, looking out the window as the bus pulls into the rest stop. “back in the midwest baby, you know what that means.”

“what?” rafe questions, joining you to look out the window. he's dressed casually and not in all black like usual when he's working since today is just travel, and the light blue shirt he's wearing is making your heartbeat a little faster, even if you try to ignore it.

“tim hortons!” you exclaim. “we've got to get their sour cream glazed timbits. they're like crack.”

“and what would you know about crack?” rafe scoffs.

“alright, just because i didn't have a bad boy past like you doesn't mean-” you're cut off by rafe laughing. “okay, okay.” you hold your hands up. “i don't even know what it looks like.”

“that's what i thought.” rafe places a hand on your back as the bus comes to a stop. “now come on, let's get your timbits or whatever you said.”

you head out so happy and in such a rush that rafe doesn't remember to grab his gun, figuring nothing could happen at a rest stop early in the morning with practically no one around.

“hi!” you smile at the worker as you enter the building. she seems to half recognize you but doubt herself. “can we get a 10 pack of sour cream glazed timbits and another 10 pack that's a mix of the other flavors?”

the worker nods and begins putting it in the system as you turn to look at rafe. ��just in case you don't like the same as me.”

“okay.” rafe laughs, stepping a bit closer to you as you pull your card out and pay.

you step to the side to wait, watching with excitement as the timbits are scooped in.

“thank you so much!” you take both of the cardboard containers and follow rafe back outside. the morning sun is shining brightly, causing you both to squint.

rafe turns quickly when a van suddenly squeels to a stop right behind you.

he watches in horror as the door swings open, his long stride causing him to be too far away to immediately grab you as he takes off into a sprint.

you feel the hands around your waist before you even contemplate what is happening. you scream out, looking to rafe and seeing the worry in his face as you're being pulled backwards into the back of the van.

“rafe! rafe!” you squeal, kicking your legs and trying to hit your attacker, throwing the box over your shoulder to try and get him to stop, but you're overpowered.

the man is just about to slam the door shut, trapping you in there with the stranger when rafes hand stops the metal and shoves it back open, his bicep rippling with strength.

“duck.” is all rafe says, but you understand instantly, trying to get as low as possible as his first surges forward, connecting the attackers face before pulling back and continuing to punch until his grip on you loosens.

rafe grabs you instead, and you move quickly, pressing yourself against his body, molding yourself against him as your arms and legs wrap around his torso.

as soon as you're out, the van speeds away, knowing they've lost their one chance to get you. rafe moves quickly, running back towards the tour bus with you gripping onto him tightly.

you manage to hold in your tears until you're shut inside the safety of the bus. when the crying comes, it comes hard in sobs that make rafes chest physically hurt.

“i got you.” rafe sits down on the couch, keeping you in his lap as he tries to comfort you, hand rubbing up and down your back. “i got you baby.”

you cries are so loud rafe isn't sure you can hear him, especially when you start to hyperventilate.

“hey.” rafe takes your face in his hands, seeing the fear in your eyes as you struggle to actually take it any air. “take a breath for me, you're gonna pass out.”

you try, you really do, but you can't control your body as you continue to hyperventilate. rafe doesn't know what to do, he needs some sort of distraction or way to make you stop.

his face surges forward, his body working before his mind does as his lips press against yours, pressing a smashing kiss against your mouth.

you stop instantly, mind settling as your lips move against his, upset when you have to pull away to take in a gulping breath of fresh oxygen.

“it's okay.” rafes thumbs smooth over your cheeks. a mutual understanding comes over you both. this was bound to happen, and you don't need words to talk about what your relationship just became. “i got you. i got you.”

you nod, breathing deeply, finally able to control your body as you inhale and exhale until your lungs are full enough to lean forward and kiss rafe again. he doesn't hesitate for even a second before kissing back, his arms moving to wrap around you, pressing you further into him to deepen the kiss, only pulling away when the door shuts, your driver back in her spot.

“you okay?” rafe asks, his voice soft as he looks at you.

“i think after some more kisses i will be.” you giggle, cheeks blushing.

“and some timbits?”

“oh my god, those fuckers have them!” you gasp, your eyebrows scrunching together, making rafe laugh.

he presses a kiss against your lips, barely able to stop smiling to do so. “are you more mad they tried to take you or more mad they successfully took your donuts?”

you roll your eyes. “the timbits, duh.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

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funnyexel · 5 months

Text

what if your stalker loses the remaining piece of human decency he has left

okay.

he was scaring you, acting extremely scary and out of character in your eyes. even if that's who he's always been under the mask...

"no. stay longer." he demanded said.

"it's getting late, and I've been with you for a few days." you replied back, still trying to be polite and understanding in some way. you kept a comfortable smile on your face as you continued, "remember what I said about having time to miss me?"

he didn't want to hear that shit. you said this so often that it actually made him not want to hear your voice. even with the rampant thoughts of wanting to grab the nearest fabric and shove it in your mouth to shut you up, he brushed his hair back to express mild frustration with your words.

and with all this conversation, you still didn't make a definite move. you didn't get up, you didn't sternly say you were leaving and you definitely didn't get up to automatically pack up your things.

"stay." the shorter his phrases got, the shorter his temper got as well and your patience was getting worn too. you try to be a patient person but when he acts so entitled and childish, you can't help the awkward yet strained laugh that comes from your chest.

"I can't do it. I need to go back to my house." you were stern and here comes the attempt the remove yourself from the premises.

you got up from your laying position on the bed and closed up your already packed bag, you planned this, you planned to leave today and you were executing it.

you could feel the adamant stare on your back coming from him. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. you have a minuscule understanding of what's going on in his head, quite minuscule compared to what is actually going on.

"I won't say it again." you look over to him and tilt your head, you were perplexed by his word choice.

"oh, don't be so dramatic." you utter as you put on sweatpants and you thought he was simply trying to intimidate you with his harsh tone and odd wording. but you were naïve to the obvious signs.

he considered letting you go but the way you looked in those sweats, his sweats. he couldn't. not this time.

he grabbed you by the neck, his thumb on one side of your jaw while his four fingers are on the other side. with his chest pressed up against your back, he pushed the bedroom door closed. he was breathing heavily.

like breathing uncomfortably down your ear.

you mistakenly utter his name and his thumb that was fitted on your jaw, pressed your lips together firmly.

he was clicking his tongue as you felt his head shake next to yours. as your chest was raising and falling noticeably, his icy hand slithered up your shirt and you felt a chilling sensation from your sternum to the top of your esophagus.

you felt your resolve shattering under him as he ripped the bag from your hands and spun you around. he couldn't even began to forge together any words as he brought your face close to his. your scent intoxicating him once more and he feels that certain emotion snap inside of him.

something that held him back from taking in all of you.

pushing you down onto the bed, it didn't feel like how it usually did, soft and welcoming, it felt hard and stringent. he grabs your wrist harshly and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. but his actions were still full of intent as you felt your wrist binded to the bed.

you don't know how to feel. one moment you are protesting loudly and kicking at him and the next you are moaning when he so much as squeezes and twists your nipple through your shirt.

he refused to prep you and give you that sense of pleasure, like this was supposed to be pleasureful, it wasn't. as he had you on your back—right wrist tightly tied onto the bedframe—he made you put your feet on his chest. sadistically, wanting to feel you push away from him as he pushed into you raw. it hurt. like hell.

your free hand pushed your hair harshly out your face as you threw your head back on the bed and in this specific moment he felt your resistance the most. but at the same time he felt the way you were desperately pulling him in and in. like you were just begging him to touch your cervix.

he was pushing in slowly, slow and shallow thrusts into you and rubbing your clit ever-so-often even if you obviously didn't deserve it. he wants to hear those sweet moans, even if those whiny pleads are ruining the experience.

he can't focus on your walls suffocating his dick when all you're doing is crying your heart out. with a clear irritation he pushes down on your stomach as he leans over to get a piece of tightly woven rope. you didn't get a moment to slap him away as he was already looming over you, forcefully putting the rope over your mouth and around your head. tying it tight enough so it won't come off and it will effectively muffle those loud and annoying cries.

"I don't want to hear you speak."

you were expecting a quaint 'understand?' from him but the question would've been a waste of breath because of the way your body forced itself to relax under him.

at this moment he straightened your bent legs and put them on his shoulders, folding your body in half as he stayed at an acute angle. the tears and snot running down your face shouldn't have egged him on into ramming into you harder, faster, and dry especially.

but by the time he was leg up and full on pounding into you, you were wet enough for it. you were turned on by this, by him and his authority.

at least.

that's what he was getting from this.

you bite down on the rope as you whine through yet another orgasm and you sniffle up the snot as your free hand claws into the bed. its like you were scared to touch him. and that did hurt him a bit when he realized but the warmth. the look of vulnerability in your eyes as he does nothing but bully your gummy walls, is as addicting as drugs to him.

panting like a dog above you, he completely stops for a moment. clearly getting lightheaded as he puts one hand next to your head for stability. your eyes shoot open at the suddenness of his movements and as your eyes lock, he gives you such a conceited smirk.

pleased with his actions.

even when he's clearly overexerting himself from how pussy drunk he is.

he takes a huge breath, sitting upright and running his fingers through his hair. yanking your lifeless legs to his chest, he shifts his technique to quick and shallow thrusts. your body jolting violently against your will. but this is what he wants.

against your will.

this is his will.

this is what he wants from you.

he wants you to cum, over and over and over again until you get it into your thick head.

you have no will.

and because you have no will to control your bodily functions, your bound hand clenched in a tight fist as you cum again.

you had a wicked imprint across your face and your wrist was blood red. you couldn't didn't leave. not until he said so. and he didn't say so.

not yet.

leaning down to your ear, his hand squeezes your arm tightly as you sat in his suffocating embrace. stiff in his arms as you didn't want to engage in any touch with him. it angered him.

"do I need to use the rope again."

the dead tone he used in combination to his slow pace of words sent a sharp shiver down your spine.

with a soft exhale of a shaky breath, you hesitantly shake your head and his draped arm tugs you impossibly closer to his side.

"good." he gave you a small belittling pat on your forearm as he kissed your forehead and he's quite proud to call himself

your boyfriend.

a/n: someone pls take this trope away from me. anyway thats all for now, literally can't stop thinking about the possibilities for this. thanks to the anons that were asking for more! honestly made me more incline to post.

more writing

#fanfiction #black fanfiction #smut #yandere #male yandere #yandere scenerio #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere stalker #yandere male #yandere boyfriend #yandere x darling #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere thoughts #yandere blog #yandere smut

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bayjaruchel · 11 months

Text

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces.

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie.

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically.

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined.

However— needing and wanting are two very different things.

And you want. So, so much.

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch.

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel.

World News Now?

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences.

Yeah, no.

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way.

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway.

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips.

It couldn't be anyone else.

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly.

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest.

"Hey," you offer.

"Hi," he obliges.

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?"

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes.

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest."

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls."

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously."

"And yet … "

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

You don't want to let the silence set in.

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay."

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you."

"Asshole."

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?"

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too."

"Oh, really?"

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor."

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later."

He's almost cheeky when he speaks.

"It's life-changing."

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict."

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—"

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—"

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder."

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh.

"It's getting really late."

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?"

"Are you gonna head home?"

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like—

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you.

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—"

"It's not."

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city.

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual."

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring.

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual."

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before:

"Why don't you stay?"

Your own breath stutters in your chest.

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself.

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't."

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—"

"Why are you here, anyway?"

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—"

"It's not!" You exclaim.

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice.

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—"

You stop yourself.

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently.

Might as well, huh?

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead.

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes.

Then:

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense.

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters.

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less.

"Yeah?" You dare to ask.

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes.

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him.

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor.

You reach out.

He lets you lace your fingers through his.

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should.

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely.

"... Can I?"

His reply is almost instantaneous.

"Please."

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead.

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit!

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere.

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you.

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise.

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips.

He moans.

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part.

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—"

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay."

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more.

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his.

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone.

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans.

"Should I—"

"Yeah—"

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least.

All you want to do is keep going.

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt.

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—"

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?"

"Yes —"

"You want me to take 'em off?"

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure.

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down.

"Go on," you encourage.

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur.

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you.

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you.

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—"

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs.

"Mike —"

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position.

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—"

"Oh —"

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied.

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you.

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down.

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand—

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist.

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you.

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now.

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck.

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity.

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck."

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut—

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts— you swear you hear him whimper . His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth.

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him.

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum."

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him.

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down.

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face.

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on."

"Yeah, okay."

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail.

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head.

"Thank you," he mumbles.

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet.

"For what?"

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess."

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile.

"You're welcome."

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut

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ozzgin · 4 months

Note

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere serial killer #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere art #doodle #my art #horror #obsessive love

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jayswhorex · 4 months

Text

"men suck," you say plopping down on the couch and putting your legs on jason's lap. you leaned back into the plush seating, trying to find some form of comfort in your mind. you had another bad date? that's only the 3rd one this week. this one had spent the whole evening talking about just himself, and god was he boring.

jason's eyes didn't bother looking at you and instead, he helped you peel off those wrenched heels you had worn. "we don't all suck" jason with a snicker, you could just feel the smirk on his face. he never liked any of the guys you went on dates with and he always told you, you had a better option right in front of you but he. he said placing your heels on the floor next to the couch.

"your feet are going to hurt like hell in the morning, let me help you make em less sore princess" softly he grabbed the base of your foot and gently kneaded it into your heel, massaging at the red, bruised skin. at first, you felt the need to pull away from his touch but you slowly began to relax into it.

jason's calloused hands moved from your feet up towards your ankle and then towards your lower thigh, you saw no harm in this.

"jay are you sure-"

"shhh, i've got you, sweetheart, just relax m'kay?" he was only helping you and you didn't want him to stop, at least not now. was it crime to want a bit more, to yearn for more of his touch.

you couldn't help but gasp at the warm feeling of his hands so gentle on your bare skin, under your skirt. "mmm, jay again please…" the two of you had never crossed a line like this and by now you knew you should have told him to stop but you couldn't.

not when your breaths were heavy and you couldn't help but let out estranged moans from just his touch. "fuck, more jay, more!" and with just those words your skirt was bunched up against your stomach and your panties had his full attention. you know what you wanted and he knew too.

he changed his position and began to massage your upper thighs. he leaned against his forearm beside your head while his other hand parted your thighs. he leaned and whispered into your ear, "where is it you want me to touch you, baby?"

without a second to waste you guide his hand to your panties, gently pushing them aside. "here please" you whined and he caved. he didn't hesitate to remove his pants not did he hesitate and sink his thick cock into you. "too much jay, wait wait" allowing you a moment to take in his length and near cum from just the feeling.

his thrusts were slow but we were rough and deep like he had been. waiting for this and he couldn't wait any longer. your legs folded around his waist, bringing his body even closer to yours. this was pure sex and it was exactly what you needed, jason knew that. he could tell you were pent up and tired and he didn't mind doing all the work, he just need you to let him fuck you till, he's the only man you'll ask for.

you won't spend your nights on useless dates but instead spend them on his cock, taking in every inch and piece of him possible. he couldn't help but kiss yours while his hips stuttered against yours, his thrusts becoming softer. you bit at the lip, thinking more when he tried to pull away.

your hands dug into their back, still, you managed to yearn for more. "jay, god I think i'm-" you said, digging into his back once before reaching your release and falling back into the couch. you closed your eyes and then you heard him ask, "what are you thinking about sweetheart?"

there you were on the couch, legs on jason's lap while he massaged the bottom of your foot. nothing had happened, well nothing that you wanted had happened. you could fantasize about what those hands could do for you.

"just how great a full body massage would be…"

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serpentandlily · 6 months

Text

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Reader

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny V - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: angst, attempted SA, misogynistic language/beliefs, drugging (if you'd like more in depth warnings, feel free to dm me)

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

Part V

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

“One of the stableboys told me he spotted Lady Genevieve and Lord Vaughn sneaking out of the party together last week,” Willow said in a whisper as Ivy gasped in disbelief.

You glanced up at them from where you were sitting at the table in Eris’s common room, sewing a hole shut on the skirt you had worn out to the woods with him yesterday. Your kiss had gotten…heated and your skirt had caught on a piece of bark on the tree Eris had you pressed against and ripped. Just thinking of it made your cheeks turn pink.

“And that’s scandalous, why?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at your handmaidens. They had insisted they repair your skirt for you but sewing was one of the skills you had actually acquired during your family’s time in poverty. Who else would’ve made sure Feyre’s hunting clothes stayed intact?

“Well because Lady Genevieve is engaged to his brother, of course!” Ivy exclaimed.

You opened your mouth to reply but a knock on the door made you pause. The three of you glanced at each other. Eris had mentioned he would be traveling to a nearby town for some business and wouldn’t return until morning. He advised you to stay inside with your handmaidens and take dinner in your room until his return.

Ivy rose and made her way to the door, pulling it open to reveal one of Eris’s brothers. He placed a pale hand on the doorframe and gave her a charming, but unsettling, grin. His hair was longer than Eris’s, his stature a bit shorter and far bulkier than the refined quality your mate had.

Ivy curtsied. “Lord Reid, how may I assist you?”

“I’m here to escort my brother’s mate to dinner,” he purred. “Since he is unable to do so himself.”

You stood, placing the skirt on the table as you glanced at Willow with uncertainty. Ivy’s pretty face paled.

“B-but Lord Eris requested that Lady Archeron have dinner in his quarters tonight,” she stuttered out.

The grin slipped from Reid’s face, a more threatening look taking over. “Are you denying me my request, nymph?”

He spat out the last word like a curse, making you flinch on your friend’s behalf. You had to bite your tongue from saying anything back knowing you’d likely just anger him further.

Ivy bowed her head. “Of course not, my Lord.”

You crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and nudging her back. “Thank you, Ivy, I’ll take it from here.”

That charming grin was back on Reid’s face as he looked down at you, but the look in his eyes made your legs shake. He held out his elbow like a proper escort and you had no choice but to take it, letting him pull you out of Eris’s chambers.

“Talk back to me again and I’ll have you whipped in the courtyard in front of everyone else,” Reid spat at Ivy. You gave her an alarmed look, but she shook her head at you discreetly—a warning to stay quiet. You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

Reid finally began to guide you down the corridor and you tried to keep your breathing under control, not wanting him to know how scared you were. Finnegan had been nothing like this, had not had that cruelty lingering in his eyes.

“Has Eris returned?” You asked, swallowing harshly. “Is that why my presence is needed at dinner tonight?”

Reid looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, as if daring you to say more. You glanced away, not wanting him to see it as a challenge. You knew how females were regarded here. But you also wanted to know why you were being dragged down to the main dining area.

“Are you not a part of this family now?” Reid remarked, his tone questioning but the sharpness of his words didn’t escape you.

“Of course, my Lord,” you breathed, still staring at the floor. He hummed in response and continued to lead you down corridor after corridor until you made it to the formal dining room.

You glanced up as you entered, taking note of who was present that you knew amongst the sea of strangers. The High Lord and his Lady, of course, as well as Finnegan and Eris’s other brother, Liam. Finn shot Reid a questioning look that went ignored while Liam sat with his eyes kept straight ahead of him. It was remarkable how alike they all looked, though none could match the beauty that Eris possessed.

The Lady of Autumn, Seraphina, kept her eyes locked on the table—seated next to Beron who sat at the head of the table. Reid escorted you to the seat next to her, pulling out the large wooden chair for you. A feast was laid out on the table before you, empty plates set in front of each seat. A few other Lords and Ladies wandered in, taking seats at the other end of the table. You listened to their idle chit chat, clenching your skirt in your fists.

“Why have you brought her here?” Finn hissed at Reid as the male took the seat next to him. “Eris is still in Pinecrest.”

Reid shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure she felt included in our family. Lighten up, little brother.”

Finn shot him a glare but Beron clanked his fork against his glass, drawing everyone’s attention. You half listened to his small speech, but focused mainly on trying to lessen the pounding of your heart. You felt so out of place, so alone here at this big table. No family. No mate. Just strangers all around you. Strangers with nefarious reputations.

Dinner began once Seraphina plated Beron his food and he took the first bite. It was like a breath of relief was let out amongst the fae at the table, their conversations picking back up. You sipped on your wine, trying not to draw attention to yourself but Reid had other plans, it seemed.

“Have you lot had the pleasure of meeting Eris’s mate yet?” He asked, leaning back in his chair as he spoke to some Lords and Ladies. “This is her. Little thing, isn’t she? She is sister to the cursebreaker.”

You felt the gazes of them on you as your cheeks turned pink. One of the ladies looked you up and down with a haughty look that made her face quite unpleasant to look at.

“Are the rumors true?” She asked, her voice filled with faux innocence. “Were you truly a human before all of this?”

“Indeed, she was,” Reid answered before you could even open your mouth.

“How ghastly,” the female sneered, placing a hand to her chest as if she were clutching her pearls. “The Mother must’ve found it within her heart to give out some charity to those lesser the day she mated you with Lord Eris.”

Your face grew hot at her hateful words. You wished the floor would open up and suck you in whole just to get away from this table. But to your surprise, someone came to your defense.

“Watch how you speak, Genevieve,” Finn spat. “She is soon to take the Vanserra name and if you insult her again, you'll find yourself in the position of all the others who dared to insult our family.”

By the way Genevieve’s face paled, you could only imagine the punishment those people had faced. But hearing the familiar name caused a smile to blossom on your face. You cleared your throat and sat up.

“Genevieve, is it?” You asked, blinking at her with wide, innocent eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Lady, or rather how much you enjoy parties.”

Your eyes darted to the male sitting next to her. The male who looked so similar to the one gripping her hand in his. When you looked back at Genevieve, her face had paled even more. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she focused her gaze on her plate before her.

Reid leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “So the kitten has some claws after all.”

You wanted to roll your eyes but instead, bit your lip again to prevent you from saying something that wouldn’t be taken well. Reid leaned further into your space, causing you to press against the back of your chair with raised eyebrows. He grabbed the dish of potatoes next to you before finally seating himself correctly in his chair.

You frowned when you noticed a second dish of potatoes on his other side, closer to him, but shook it off. He was trying to rattle you—that much was obvious.

You nibbled on your dinner, not having an appetite while seated around these faeries. You sipped on your wine, cringing a bit as the bitter liquid slid down your throat. The wine in the Night Court was far sweeter than the wine here, it seemed.

The longer the dinner went on, the hotter the room seemed to be getting. Was it because so many fire wielding fae sat here or was this room just particularly stuffy? You fanned at your face as discreetly as you could.

Sweat began to dribble down the back of your neck, your skin tingling at the sensation. You clenched your skirt in your fists, shifting uncomfortably in your chair. The Lady of Autumn glanced at you, taking note of your reddening cheeks and behavior.

“Are you alright, dear?” Her voice was soft, quiet, and full of concern. It was the first time you’d heard her speak.

“It’s just a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” You replied, fanning your face again. Gods, you were so hot. It was unbearable.

The Lady of Autumn’s nostrils flared and her eyes went wide. She placed the back of her hand against your forehead, making a noise of displeasure before pulling it away. She waved a hand towards the servants who were milling about. Ivy and Willow darted forward from where they stood against the wall behind you.

“Lady Archeron isn’t feeling well,” she whispered to your handmaidens. “Please escort her back to her chambers for the night.”

Both of your handmaidens sniffed before their faces paled. Ivy held out a hand to you. “Come, my Lady, let us take you to your room.”

You grabbed her hand like it was a lifeline. You nearly groaned at the feeling of her skin against yours. They ushered you out of the dining hall, hurrying you down the corridor.

“Something’s wrong,” you moaned, pitifully. Your skin was on fire now. An ache was forming in the lower part of your stomach. Like an unrelenting itch that needed to be scratched.

“I think someone has slipped you a breeding tonic,” Willow hissed under her breath. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows furrowed.

“A what?!” You exclaimed but Ivy hushed you. You spoke in a whisper, thinking of how they had sniffed you, “How do you know that? Could you smell it in my drink or food?”

“No, my Lady,” Ivy said, hesitantly. “But your scent…it’s…Well, it’s changed.”

“My scent? But…oh.” If your face wasn’t already red, you were sure it’d be now. Gods, they could…smell you—your awakening arousal. You were mortified. “But who would do that?”

“I don’t know.” Willow frowned. “It’s more important we get you to your chambers before any male scents you.”

“Why? What…what does a breeding tonic do?”

Your two handmaidens exchanged a look before Ivy answered, “Well, my Lady, it—well it's supposed to make a female more…willing when she’s in her marriage bed.”

Your skin was itching, flushed red from all the heat you felt. You tugged at the collar of your dress. It was agonizing. “How long is this supposed to last?”

“Just a few hours,” Willow said in a soft, comforting tone. “It’s not like most males need any more than a few minutes”

“Willow,” Ivy scolded. “Now is not the time for those kinds of remarks!”

You could hardly pay attention to their conversation, your mouth drying up as the effects of the tonic worsened—causing a violent need to be touched in places you’d never been. “What will happen if a male scents me now?”

The two girls exchanged another look. “I’m afraid some males in this court have problems with their…restraint, my Lady. And your smell right now is rather enticing, for lack of a better word. It's best not to test them when it comes to these kinds of things.”

All the color left your face.

Willow let out a noise of distress. “Which is why we should move faster—”

“Well, what do we have here?” The three of you froze in your tracks as you nearly ran into a group of three guards coming around the corner—all dressed in armor with Beron’s seal imprinted on the center of their chests. Fuck, it was a group of the High Lord’s personal guards. “Ah, it's the little bitch mated to our High Lord’s son.”

Your face turned bright red.

“Watch your mouth,” Willow snapped.

The guard backhanded her before you could even blink, causing her to crumble to the floor. Ivy gasped and rushed forward, kneeling next to her. Before you could follow her, one of the guards grabbed you by the upper arm, yanking you away from your two handmaidens.

“What are you doing? Let me go! You can’t just hit—”

“Shut up,” the guard growled in your ear. Your eyes shot to Ivy who was helping Willow off the floor, the other girl holding her reddening cheek.

“Talk like that to me again and I’ll do worse,” the head guard snarled at Willow. “Now get lost. You’ve been relieved of your duties, ladies. We can escort the girl back to her room.”

You tried to pull your arm free, your heart pounding in your chest. Willow and Ivy looked inclined to protest, but then they both took a step away, sending you an apologetic look. You knew there was nothing they could do in this situation that didn’t put them in risk but maybe if they left, they could go get help. You tried to convey that message with your eyes and Ivy gave you a small dip of the head, like she understood.

As the guard began to pull you away from them, she mouthed something to you: ‘The bond.’

Understanding her message, you started to tug on the glowing gold thread in your chest, panicking as you were dragged away. The guards were snickering with each other. “Do you smell that? I think the girls in heat, Captain. Maybe we can take her downstairs for some…fun before anything else.”

You desperately tried to yank yourself free but the guard’s grip on your arm only tightened to the point of pain. “Let me go, you sick bastards!”

The guard that had been identified as the Captain chuckled. “Good idea. I think she needs to be taught a lesson on how to properly treat a male, don’t you think?”

The guards laughed with their agreement and you went feral trying to break away. “If you touch me, I swear to the Gods I’ll tell Eris! He’ll kill you!”

The guards only laughed harder. “Lord Eris won’t believe you over us, girl. Keep screaming though. I do love it when they fight back.”

You were pulled down a stone stairwell, into a lower level of the Forest House. You screamed and fought against the guards, but with three of them and only one of you…it was hopeless. You tugged and tugged on the mating bond, not really sure how it worked but hoped you had gotten Eris’s attention and that he was on his way back.

Tears poured down your cheeks and they tossed you in what seemed to be a large storage room. Crates full of goods, barrels of wine, and shelves filled with supplies crowded the room. The Captain slammed the door shut behind him as you were scuttling to stand up. You backed away from them, your eyes darting around for anything you might be able to use as a weapon—not that you had much training.

One of the guards lunged for you and you swiftly kicked him in the groin, sending him to his knees. “You stupid bitch!”

Using the commotion as a distraction, you took off running down the shelves, trying to keep them at a distance. But one of them was much faster, grabbing you by the collar of your dress. You let out a cry as your dress ripped down the back and you fell to your hands and knees, your chin smashing against the floor. You tasted blood in your mouth as the guard grabbed your foot and started to drag you back to him but you quickly flipped onto your back and kicked him right in the nose with your other foot, hearing a satisfying crunch.

He let out a curse, blood pouring from his nose, and you scrambled to start running away again, holding your tattered dress up. You spotted a door at the end of the room and sprinted towards it, throwing it open and darting through it before slamming it shut behind you.

You skidded to a stop once you realized the door had only led to a broom closet. Fuck, you had backed yourself into a corner. You covered your mouth with a hand, stifling your sobs as you heard footsteps pounding your way. With nowhere to go, you backed away to the wall, facing the door. You had no option but to try and fight your way out of this.

The door to the closet slammed open and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of a body against yours. But after a moment of silence passed, you slowly opened your eyes. They widened as they took in the guard standing in the middle of the closet, his eyes darting around the small space, passing over you several times.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled.

“Stop wasting time,” one of the other guards shouted from outside. “Pull her out of there so we can have our fun.”

“She’s not…She’s not in here!”

“What do you mean she’s not in there?” One of the other guards shouldered his way into the closet, pushing the other male out. “What—I saw her run in here! We all did. Where the hell did she go?”

“Does she know how to winnow?”

You stood frozen as the two guards discussed your whereabouts. How could they not see you? You were literally standing right in front of them! You looked down at your body and almost gasped when you didn’t see any part of yourself. What the hell? What….what was happening? You could still feel the ground under your feet, still feel the wall at your back. You tried holding up a hand but nothing—you couldn’t even see your own hand!

“She wouldn’t be able to winnow unless she could break through the wards down here,” the other guard grumbled. “Wards set up by the High Lord, himself. There’s no way a former human could do that.”

You could feel yourself panicking even more now because what was happening to you?

“What the fuck is going on down here?!”

The voice of your mate caused a sob of relief to leave your mouth and it seemed whatever magic you had been using sputtered out, causing the two guards to whip their heads towards you. You sank to the ground, still clutching your tattered dress, kohl marking the tear tracks down your cheeks.

“Lord Eris, it’s not what it looks like—”

The Captain let out a spine-chilling scream before a snap was heard and a thump of a body hitting the ground. You pulled your knees to your chest, crying out for Eris. The two guards in the closet with you whirled around as Eris stalked towards them. They held up their palms, beginning to plead, but the feral rage on your mate’s face shut them up. You’d never seen Eris look so unhinged. His normally styled hair was in disarray, his cuffs rolled up to his elbow.

His heavy boots slammed against the floor until he was right in front of them. Eris’s amber eyes darted to you for a second and flames erupted from the edges of his body. Your eyes widened in shock. His eyes fell back on the guards, his anger causing fire to even dance in his irises.

“Lord Eris, we can explain!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eris snarled before two whips made entirely of fire were summoned in his hands. He lashed them at the guards and they latched around their necks before he pulled them to their knees with it. Both of the guards started choking, trying to pull at the whips now strangling them but only burnt their hands to a crisp.

“Imagine my surprise when I felt my mate’s terror down our bond while in negotiations with the Lords in Pinecrest,” Eris growled, wrapping the whip around his hand and yanking it tighter, forcing the guards’ faces to smash against the floor. “Only to show up and have her two handmaidens tell me three of my father’s guards were dragging her—my mate—down here to force themselves on her. Consider yourselves lucky she’s still sitting here because this death will be a mercy compared to the one I had planned for the three of you.”

The guards started to screech in agonizing pain. Blood began to bubble out of their ears, eyes and mouth and it took you a second to comprehend that Eris was burning them to death from the inside out, boiling their blood. You whimpered, slapping a hand over your mouth and nose as the smell of burning human flesh spread through the small space. You squeezed your eyes shut at the horror happening before you.

When the two guards finally slumped all the way to the ground, their eyes cold with death, Eris stepped over them and gently picked you up off the ground, cradling you to his chest. You clutched his shirt in your hands, crying as the adrenaline you had been fighting through wore off.

“It’s okay, little bunny,” Eris murmured in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

“I tried…I tried—”

You were sobbing with a flood of emotions.

“I know, I know,” he hushed you, “you did good, little bunny. You did good holding them off until I got here.”

You were vaguely aware of him carrying you out of the basement and back up the stairs. The gasps of Ivy and Willow met your ears as he emerged with you in his arms.

“Is she okay?”

“She is now,” Eris replied, his voice still filled with anger. “I’ve got it from here. Thank you, ladies, please retire to your rooms. I’ll make sure you face no repercussions from this.”

“Take care of her, my Lord,” you heard Willow say before two footsteps started fading away.

You kept your face buried in your mate’s chest until you were finally back in his chambers. Eris carried you into the bathroom before seating you on the counter. He took your face in his hand, twisting and turning it, examining you for injuries. He grabbed a small towel and wetted it, before beginning to clean the smears of makeup from your face. You sat still for him, still reeling from your shock.

Eris’s touch was so delicate as he wiped your face, the cold water soothing your hot skin. A few minutes of silence passed as you watched him focus intently on his task, small flames still dancing in his eyes from his anger.

“You came for me,” you whispered as he dabbed your cheek with the cloth.

“Of course I did. I always will,” he murmured back. “I’m so sorry I wasn't here, bunny. I’m so sorry it took me so long to come back.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault.”

His jaw ticked and he set the cloth down before placing a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing your tears away. “It is. It is my fault you are in this situation. I’m so sorry that the Gods have cursed you with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You nuzzled your head into his hand. You stared up into his eyes, now noticing how dilated his pupils were—the amber color almost gone. His hand that wasn’t on your cheek was gripping the counter so hard, cracks were appearing on its surface. You suddenly remembered what started all of this. The damn breeding tonic someone had slipped you during dinner.

The breeding tonic that still had your skin on fire, still had desire pooling between your legs. And now that Eris was here, standing so close to you…His scent of crackling embers and warm cinnamon enveloped you with his own heat. Your arousal spiked, your eyes dipping to his lips. The need to kiss him, to be touched by him, was barrelling its way through you.

You lurched forward and smashed your lips against his. Eris sucked in a breath and kissed you back with the same vigor until he came to his senses and pulled away from you, causing you to whine in displeasure.

“Someone drugged you, bunny,” he grimaced. “I can’t…I won’t take advantage of you while you're still under its effects.”

“Eris, please,” you begged, clenching your thighs together as the need to be touched grew and grew. “It hurts.”

A small whine came from the back of his throat and you watched him fight against himself. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back down to kiss him again. You sighed as your lips made contact with his and he kissed you back with the same hunger. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until his body was pressed against yours.

Eris’s hardening cock nudged at the place between your thighs that was throbbing with desire and you gasped. With your lips parted, he slipped his tongue in your mouth, groaning at the taste of you, deepening the kiss and utterly consuming you.

Eris kissed and kissed you—only letting up to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. You tossed your head back with a moan, granting him more access. You needed every inch of skin to be touched by him. By his fingers. By his lips. You ached, feeling terribly empty inside. His hand slipped under your skirt, gripping your thigh.

But you could tell he was still restraining himself.

Your own hands fell on his shirt, starting to undo his buttons.“Eris,” you groaned as he sucked on the delicate skin on your neck. “Tell me what to do. I’ve…I’ve never—”

You wished you had kept your mouth shut because Eris stopped for a second, his lips hovering over your skin. "What do you mean, you’ve never, bunny? You've never what? Never had sex?”

You nodded your head, biting your lip.

“Fuck,” Eris groaned against your neck before sliding his nose up the column of your throat, inhaling deeply. “I’ll make it so good for you, baby. I promise.”

You whimpered as his words, your fists clenching his shirt. But to your dismay, Eris merely pecked you on the lips before gently taking your hands and slowly ripping them off of him.

“But not like this, bunny,” he murmured. “Not while you're drugged. Not after what happened today.”

“Eris, please.”

Any embarrassment you might’ve felt for begging simply did not exist when you felt so incredibly heated, needing him so much. Eris let out a long breath and took a step away from you, dodging your arms that tried to pull him back in.

“Not like this, bunny,” he repeated. “Take a cold bath, okay? It’ll help you feel better. The tonic should wear off soon. I’ll be waiting for you out there.”

“No, Eris, please—”

But he quickly left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You jumped off the counter and tried to open the door, but he must’ve used magic to lock it from the outside. You let out a whine, trying to tug it open to no avail. Your forehead dropped against the wood and you sighed.

Fine, you’d take a stupid cold bath.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

You sat in the cold water until your skin pruned and the effects of the tunic left your body. You rose from the bath, wrapping yourself in a towel. You noticed a pile of clothes waiting for you on the counter—a night gown and some underwear. You quickly slipped them on before finally leaving the bathroom.

You froze in the doorway at the sight of Eris lounging on his bed, shirtless and twirling a dagger in his hand. He looked at you with a smirk and your cheeks turned bright red. Partly because he looked absolutely ravishing laying there with his toned chest and abs on display and partly because you were mortified by your behavior.

“Don’t look so embarrassed, bunny,” he teased, setting the dagger down on his nightstand and patting the bed next to him. “Come here.”

You shyly slid on the bed next to him, letting him take you in his arms. You let out a small breath, resting your head on his chest. It felt so right being here, in his embrace. Safe and perfect. Like his arms were the home you’d been looking for all your life. The mating bond sang in your chest.

“Do you feel better?”

You nodded, wordlessly. He muttered out a “good” before he started stroking your hair. You closed your eyes and melted into his arms. Tonight had been so scary. You didn’t even want to think about what would have happened to you if Eris hadn’t come in time to stop the guards.

“I’m going to find out who drugged you,” Eris murmured. “And they’re going to pay for it.”

“Eris, something…happened when I was down there with those guards,” you whispered, running your finger in swirling patterns on his chest. “When I was in the broom closet, it was like they couldn’t see me. I couldn’t see myself, either. It was like I had gone invisible.”

Eris hummed in thought. “Your sisters got powers from the cauldron, did they not? Did you get the same?”

“No, I mean, I’ve never been able to do anything other than the basic stuff all High Fae can do,” you answered. “I’ve never shown any other sorts of power. I don’t think the Cauldron gifted me anything like it did with Elain. And I certainly didn’t try to steal from it like Nesta did.”

“Yesterday, in the forest, you said something about me looking right at you and not seeing you,” Eris brought up. “I disregarded it at the time but…bunny, maybe the Cauldron did gift you something.”

“You think it gifted me something? Like what? The power of invisibility? I’ve never even heard of that!”

You hated that it made sense. Hated that, of course, the sister who had felt left behind, felt stuck in the background, unseen, would be gifted the power of invisibility.

“Maybe it’s now finally emerging. Do you remember anything from that day?”

You shook your head. “I remember being tossed into the Cauldron. I remember…I remember how it felt to be torn apart and put back together. But I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t even remember how I got out of the Cauldron or how I got to the Night Court afterwards.”

“And you’ve never asked your sisters about it?”

“I did ask Feyre once she returned. But she told me I was unconscious when the Cauldron tipped me out and that Mor winnowed all three of us out that day.”

“You know, after you left the meeting,” Eris remarked,

“Tamlin mentioned that you never came out of the Cauldron.”

“What? But that makes no sense! Why would he say that?”

“There’s something Rhysand and Feyre are hiding. Wouldn’t be the first time the Night Court kept information from someone—especially Rhysand.”

You placed your chin on his chest, staring up at him with a small glare. “I know you don’t have a great relationship with my family, but my sister would not lie to me.”

Eris raised an eyebrow, not looking convinced. “Maybe even your sister doesn’t know. Maybe Rhysand is lying to her, too. That kind of power…a lot of people would want to have someone like you in their court, bunny.”

“He wouldn’t lie. Not to Feyre.”

You couldn’t help but defend your family. Eris seemed to let it go for now, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ll figure it out, bunny.”

You laid your head back down on his chest with a sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“What really happened with Mor that day in the forest, Eris? I need to know. I need to know before…before this can happen. I need to know why my family hates you so much.”

Eris let out a long breath. “I knew this would come up eventually. I’ll tell you, bunny, but you have to understand something. You got a taste of some of the horrors of this court tonight. Things I’ve been trying to put a stop to and change my whole life. But I can only do so much without my father suspecting me of being a traitor. And he’s not above killing any of his own sons.”

The idea of Beron killing Eris caused both fear and rage to build up inside of you. Your grip on your mate tightened as you frowned. Eris ran his hand up and down your arm in a soothing motion.

“When my father and Mor’s father forced a marriage alliance on the two of us, it was, in part, a test for me on my father’s behalf. I was young and not as careful as I should’ve been and I think he could see the rebellious attitude in me. I think he thought I’d stop at nothing to somehow make them rescind the alliance proposal.”

“You didn’t want to marry Mor?”

“Gods, no,” Eris snorted. “And Keir is just as bad as my father. The thought of those two falling into a partnership…Anyways, my father forced me to make a bargain with him. See, he thought I’d fuck it up by trying to bed her before we were properly married. Which, of course, I wouldn’t have. But I played along, not wanting him to think of other things I might do. And he knew my one weakness at the time. My Mother. He made me bargain that I would not lay a single finger on her before we were wed and if I did, he would out my mother for an affair she had and punish her with death.”

You gasped and sat up to look at him. “Eris, that’s awful!”

“I thought so too,” Eris chuckled, mirthlessly. “So that day Keir dumped Mor in the forest, beaten to near death, I knew if I touched her the bargain would alert my father and though I doubt that would’ve counted in his eyes, he still would’ve taken her and some who knows what. I couldn’t alert anyone about her either because the guards that were with me that day were my father’s personal ones. They watched my every move and reported them back to my father. I had to make a choice, one that haunts me to this day.”

“The choice to keep your mother safe,” you said. “And to not let your father know that Mor was there, in your court?”

He nodded his head. “Yes. I lingered in the area long enough to catch sight of that Illyrian brute’s shadows and knew he’d come sniffing around for her. So I made sure the guards were far away so he could slip in and out without them alerting my father.”

“And all these years,” you said, sadly, “All these years no one knew the truth of why you made that decision. No one except you and your father?”

“The Night Court’s hasn’t always had an outstanding reputation, bunny,” Eris replied. “I didn’t know if I could trust them. And when I realized they already decided I was as much of a monster as my father, I had little interest in convincing them otherwise.”

“But Eris, you deserve better than that—”

“No, bunny, I don’t,” Eris sighed. “I’ve done a lot of bad things. I can only hope that things might change when my father is no longer on the Autumn throne.”

You linked your fingers with his, grasping his hand. “As long as it’s you sitting on it, Eris, I think they will. You are not what people think you are. You are not a monster.”

“I don’t care what everyone thinks. I don’t care if I’m the villain in their stories,” Eris said. “I only care that I’m not the monster in yours.”

You folded your arms on his chest, plopping your chin on the back of your hands to stare up at him.

“You’re no monster to me. You’re my sly fox,” you teased.

Eris gave you his signature fox-like grin that caused butterflies to flutter around in your stomach. Your heart beat to the same rhythm of the mating’s bond soft melody. You could hear his beating too.

“And you are still my dumb, little bunny.”

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

a/n: I don't normally like making characters virgins but I felt like it fit this character in particular. Hope you liked this part!!

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x you #acotar x reader #eris fanfic #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra x reader

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zarameraki · 6 months

Text

˖°🕷️ ࣪𖤐 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽-𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 ˖°🕷️𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 step-father x step-daughter 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 dom daddy and his little girl 𖥔 neck kissing 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 bj 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 daddy issues 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 4.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: ok look, i was ovulating and i had to write this for some reason. i even wrote a nanami one (but he's your step-uncle). my mind was in the gutter and i wanted to challenge myself to something super taboo. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

Here you were, standing on a worn-out welcome mat, staring at the door of your ex-stepfather’s house.

It’s surreal.

A month ago, when your mom dropped the bomb about their divorce, you felt like your world was crumbling. Part of you felt relieved, like you could finally breathe without suffocating under their constant tension. And the other part? Well, it felt like a piece of you was being ripped away.

Last week, when the papers were finalized, making it official that they were done, you locked yourself in your room. The silence was deafening, and you couldn’t shake off that nagging feeling of missing him. Missing Toji. It’s ridiculous, right? He’s not your step dad anymore. He’s just some guy now. Too old, too wrong, too different.

You should just turn around and leave, forget about all this.

But you couldn’t.

Not today.

Not when you’re clutching your hard-earned bachelor’s degree, wearing a stupid graduation gown that felt like a costume. He didn’t bother showing up for your biggest achievement, just like your mother. She was always occupied with her own life to care about you. You were just an accident, a spill on her pile of kitchen table bills.

Toji, though, he was different. He actually paid attention, listened to you, cared about what you had to say. Maybe you’re being stupid for wanting to talk to him, to pour out everything that’s been eating you up for months. But you needed to do this, for yourself, even if it meant facing the reality that he’s not part of your life anymore.

So, you’d driven straight to his residence building, skipping the after parties with your friends. You were twenty-two for fuck’s sake. If you wanted to spend the night celebrating with your step-dad, then that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Enough was enough.

Your trembling finger hovered over the doorbell, each second feeling like an eternity. The sharp pricks of anxiety danced on your palms, and the weight on your shoulders threatened to crush you. But you couldn’t turn back now.

The ache in your chest demanded resolution, an answer to the haunting question that had plagued you since your mother first brought him into your life: Do I want to fuck my step-dad?

Yes. Yes, you very much did.

The clicks of the lock rattled and the door knob twisted clockwise.

Toji stood in the doorway, his presence dominating the space as if he had devoured the entire door frame. His twelve abdomen muscles rippled, stark against his skin. Jet-black hair clung wetly to his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. With sweatpants slung low on his hips, a tantalizing trail of hair led downward, drawing attention to the area you often found yourself fantasizing about.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, realization dawning. “It was today, wasn’t it?”

“You’re such an ass,” you spat out, your body trembling with a mix of emotions—his forgetfulness, his proximity to you, the sheer presence of him. But at this moment, all your focus was on the pain of him abandoning you after promising he’d be there. “I was completely alone, Toji. Do you even understand how embarrassing it was to stand there by myself while everyone else had their families?”

“Sweetheart—”

“No. No, you don’t get to call me that. You don’t—You made me a promise, Toji. You swore you’d be there for me.”

“I know,” he murmured, running his hand down his face. “I’m sorry, kid. Come here.” He grasped your wrist and drew you towards him, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His strong arms wrapped around your body, reminiscent of the times he used to challenge you by having you sit on his back during push-ups to prove you wrong about being too heavy for him. “Better?”

“No,” you grumbled, resting your cheek against his chest. He had the scent of spruce and cigarettes that you found strangely comforting. What you wouldn’t do to sleep on his chest for hours, days and weeks. “Toji, I . . . I want to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” he asked, stepping back.

“Can we sit down first?”

He grinned. “Of course, baby.”

With a shy smile of your own, you took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch as he led you towards the plush couch at the center of the room. Memories of previous visits with your mother flashed briefly in your mind, but they were quickly replaced by the present moment.

The apartment’s decor was simple yet masculine, with red-brick walls lending a rustic charm. A mounted television, a large couch, and a hanging boxing bag added character to the space. The kitchen, though small, was designed in an L-shape, showcasing Toji’s dedication to fitness with his assortment of protein powders and supplements neatly arranged.

As you both settled onto the couch, Toji relaxed back, spreading out his legs and placing his arms on the backrest. His gaze lingered on you as you gracefully removed your graduation gown and placed your degree on his coffee table.

“Your mother allowed you to wear that?” His thumb traced the curve of his lower lip as his gaze roamed shamelessly over you.

The gown you had on was a sleek, satin creation with a daring thigh-high slit. Its fabric was delicate, featuring thin straps and a plunging cleavage that barely contained your breasts. It was no secret that you had chosen it with Toji in mind, especially since your mother had been “too busy” to accompany you on your shopping trip.

“She doesn’t control my wardrobe,” you replied, your voice laced with confidence as you settled beside him. One leg tucked beneath you, the other languidly extended, the slit in your dress showcasing the smoothness of your skin. Toji’s gaze followed the line of exposed flesh before meeting your eyes. “Besides, you shouldn’t be the one to talk.”

His smirk widened when you pointed out his lack of a shirt. “My house, my rules.”

You changed the subject. “Care to explain why you missed my graduation?”

“Work,” he replied shortly.

“Is that so?”

“I got a last-minute call for a match. The prize money was going to cover the next three months’ rent.” Toji was a professional MMA fighter. You had once attended one of his matches for ten minutes before almost passing out from witnessing how brutally he defeated his opponent. His persona in the ring was a juxtaposition to the sarcastic yet caring man he was at home with you.

“Did you win?” you asked, absently twirling the bracelet he had given you for your twenty-first birthday.

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone carrying a hint of pride. “I won.”

“Good.” You lifted your gaze to meet his, only to find his eyes fixed on you. “Do you miss home?”

“I am home.”

“You know what I mean.”

He took a deep breath, gazing at the blank television screen. Tilting his head back towards you, he wore a lopsided grin. “I miss you. Does that count?”

Your insides turned to jelly at his words, but you refused to let yourself falter, refusing to become the shy, sweet girl you once were, despite the depraved and forbidden reel playing in your mind.

You missed watching television with your head on his lap. You missed cooking together. You missed doing the dishes afterward. You missed joining him on walks and runs just to spend a little extra time together. You missed dragging him to malls with you and trying on clothes, posing as sexily as you could, but obviously, he didn’t understand the signals. He never did. Even if you’d spend more time with him than your own mother.

Silence ensued around you, only the subtle sounds of your choppy breaths and his composed ones were heard.

“Why are you here, kid?” Toji’s gruff voice cut through the air.

“To see you.”

“Why are you here?”

You held your breath tightly in your chest. “I wanted to talk.”

“About?” He was quick with the question, as if he knew what you were about to say, but wanted to hear it from your lips. Lips that he couldn’t pull his eyes away from. “Talk to me.”

“I—” You felt a knot form in your throat. “I wanted to check up—”

“Bullshit.”

Yeah, bullshit.

What were you scared of? This was the man who cut up fruits for you when you were mentally deprived from crunching for your exams. This was the man who put a blanket on you if you fell asleep reading, even giving a kiss to your crown. This was the man who treated you like you were his own daughter, when in reality, you never were. And he never outwardly called you his daughter, either. You didn’t know why you never saw him as a father figure, but rather, you called him a friend. A really good friend. A friend you’d fallen stupidly in love with over the course of six months.

Toji snapped his fingers in front of your face. You blinked out of the whirlpool of your thoughts. “Where’d you go?”

“To you.”

He lifted a brow. “To me?”

Now or never, Y/N. Now or fucking never.

You knelt down and moved closer, settling yourself onto his lap. His eyes widened momentarily at your boldness. “Toji, I like you. Hell, I love you. I love every version of the man you’ve been in my life. I know—I know you love me, too. Probably not in the way I want you to, but a girl can hope.” Your words were directed at the dog tag hanging from his neck as you gently placed your hands on his chest. “I did come here to scold you for not attending my graduation, but I also wanted to . . . I wanted to be with you. In more ways than one.”

“You don’t know what you’re talk—”

“I do,” you stated firmly. Your lashes lifted and found his narrowed scrutiny. Unconsciously, his hands rested on your waist, molding to your curves. “I’ve known for a while now. It didn’t click in until you moved out. I swear Toji, it was like I couldn’t breathe without you.”

“Baby . . . ”

“I want you,” you confessed in a hushed tone, your fingers tracing the lines of his broad shoulders, then up to the sturdy column of his neck where his pulsing veins hinted at his emotions. “I know I seem desperate, but I don’t care. You’re not hers anymore. You were never hers.”

“Y/N—”

“Please, Toji. Please, just touch me.” You tilted your head to plant a tender kiss on the sharp angle of his jawline. His faint stubble grazed against your lips as you continued to pepper kisses, stopping just short of his mouth. “Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, they say.”

Toji tightly shut his eyes and took slow breaths through his nose, his inner turmoil evident in the way his head moved back and forth. Your lips traced gentle paths around his face, savoring the closeness and the rush of emotions it brought. Even if he rejected you, you would find solace in knowing you had expressed your love for the man who was once your stepfather. This night might mark the end of your time together, but it also freed you from the burden of hiding your feelings..

“Baby,” Toji whispered, gently caressing your cheek as he drew you closer. “You sure you want this?”

“Yes.”

“You know how risky this is, kid. We can’t just ignore the consequences.”

“I know, Toji.” You leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. “But I can’t ignore how I feel about you either. I want this. I want you. I want all of you. You can do whatever you want to me. I promise I can take it.”

Toji licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck. Okay. Your mom—”

“She won’t know. I’m planning on moving out soon.” You dragged your hand up and down his soft, bare chest. “I should’ve moved out with you.”

Toji took your hand in his and pressed a tender kiss to the center of your palm. “I don’t think I have any condoms on me.”

“I’m on the pill.”

His eyes narrowed on you. “You’ve been fucking around? Does your mom know?”

“Hey, I had to have a little fun. Gain a little experience for this inevitable night.” Your infectious smile rubbed off on him and he enveloped you in his arms.

“I fuck hard.”

“Good.”

“Last chance.”

“Nope.”

Toji rose on his feet, supporting your bottom with his hands as he took you to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, the soft mattress absorbing the weight with a slight bounce. “Fucking knew you had a little crush on me.” He clambered onto your body and held your jaw with his hand. “Tell me, sweetheart, did you touch yourself thinking of me?”

“Every single night. Whether it’s in the shower or my bedroom,” you replied, feigning a pout and raising your hand. “I’m starting to think I’ve developed carpal tunnel from all of it.”

Toji laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face with his calloused fingers. But as his laughter faded into a knowing smirk, his next words sent a jolt through you, leaving your legs weak and your heart racing. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“Really?”

He answered by colliding his lips against yours. It was a brutal kiss. Pain and pleasure mingled together in a heated embrace. His tongue shoved deep into your mouth, exploring the source of your daring words.

Pulling away momentarily, he squeezed your cheeks and sucked on your tongue like it was a delicious treat. “Gonna spit in your mouth.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Toji’s cheeks sucked in as he gathered his spit and spat it right onto your tongue. “Swallow.”

You did, moaning as his warm saliva traveled down your throat. “You taste minty.”

“I was just about to crash before your demanding ass showed up,” he teased.

“Well, you should thank me then.” You planted a quick kiss on his nose.

Toji leaned in and kissed you deeply, tugging on your bottom lip and trailing his moist lips down to your neck. “You smell so good, baby.”

“I’m wearing the perfume you bought me.”

“You better fucking be. Do you know how much I get off on spoiling you?” His teeth bit your delicate flesh and pulled, making you whimper from the stinging pain. He sucked and bit on different areas of your neck, marking you with his love bites. He then helped you out of the dress and pressed you back on the mattress. “Knew you weren’t wearing a bra.”

“No,” you said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” he said, missing the teasing in your voice, “your nipples were in my face when we were talking.” He rounded his tongue around your areola. Gathering your breasts in both hands, Toji switched between suckling at your nipples, biting the sensitive bud that sent jerks in your body, and licking the burning pain. “I saw you undressing once. You know that?”

You lifted a brow. “Uh, when?” And why didn't he do anything about it?

“You left your bedroom a bit open. I came to call you for dinner and instead feasted on the sight of your perky ass and these sexy tits.” He left your nipples numb and discolored from his teeth’s abuse. “You think you’re the only one who got off in that house? No, baby. Not at all. I was in the room right next to you, jerking off to your voice, or your smell.” This time, he kissed you gently and then each of your shoulders. “I had it worse. I had it so much worse.”

“Toji . . . ”

“But you’re here now, and so am I. I’m not fucking leaving. You got that? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

“Yours,” you whispered. “God, Toji, I’m yours. I’m yours.”

Toji removed his sweatpants and boxers, giving you a glorious display of his long, thick cock, corded with veins, sprouted up and proud. You had him like that, and so you gave yourself a mental pat on the back. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” you said, chuckling in disbelief at the anatomy of him. A surge of confidence washed over you. You slipped off your panties and spread out your legs, shaking your hair back from your face. “Like what you see?”

Toji gleamed at the wetness pooled between your legs, soaking his sheets underneath, sticky and hot. Something feral rattled inside him. He gripped your knees and pried them farther apart, sinking in between.

“Oh, fuck, fuck! Toji—ah!” Your back arched in ecstasy, fingers gripping his scalp as he ruthlessly ate you out. His large palm held your hips in place, nibbling and sucking at your quivering, swollen clit. “Toji, yes, yes, fuck. Right there. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You grinded against him with full power, pushing your pussy closer to his mouth. He drank your leaking juices, drove his skilled tongue into your tight entrance, and discovered the sweet, cry-worthy spots inside you.

Soon, he replaced his tongue with three fingers, plunging them deep inside you with a rough and unrelenting pace that sent shivers down your spine. His deep growls were the icing on top.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the bed creaked beneath you. He was exorcising your damn soul out of your body with his holy tongue and his blessed fingers.

“Ah!” You came down like a fucking waterfall and Toji stood with an open mouth, drinking in your essence, lapping at your cunt like a starved dog, cleaning you as best as he could.

You gasped for air, clutching your chest as you coughed or laughed or wheezed—hard to tell which. You felt weightless, incredibly sore, teetering on the edge of passing out.

“Toji . . . am I dead?”

His laughter echoed nearby, then drew nearer until his face came into focus through your haze. “Your pussy tastes just as delicious as your mouth, baby.”

He kissed you and gave you a hint of your release. Toji was a moaner—a loud one—as he sucked on your tongue, pulling it into his mouth. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he spit onto your tongue again, and ran his own coarse one over your palette.

You closed your mouth and pushed him back by his shoulders. “Let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want to suck me off, too?”

“Yes, fuck. Please, Toji. Please let me suck your cock.” Your begging made him grunt as he got up on his knees. He moved closer, placing them firmly beside your hips. You sat up against the headboard, gripping his warm, aroused cock, while he entwined your hair around his hand, gaining control over your movements.

You looked up at his smirk and kissed his moist tip, savoring the salty taste. Goosebumps formed on your skin at the idea of taking him deeper into your mouth. It would definitely challenge your gag reflex, but if this was going to be a regular thing, you needed to practice.

“Part your lips for me, kid. Nice and wide. That’s it.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You winked at Toji’s alarmed expression. Oh, how you loved catching him off-guard by acting out of character. “You got a daddy kink, Toji?” You brushed your lips from the base to the head, swirling your tongue around the rim. “Since you love calling me kid, maybe I should start calling you daddy. Isn’t that what you were?”

“You got a dirty mouth on you, kid.”

“Learned it from my daddy.”

Toji hissed through his teeth as you nibbled his tip. “Not dirty enough.” He gripped his length and forced it past your lips. Your nails plunged into his hips, gagging and shaking as he sunk past your uvula. “About time I fucked your smartass mouth with my cock, baby. Be a good girl and don’t tap out until I’ve come down your throat.”

You closed your eyes briefly, gathering your resolve before meeting his gaze again with a playful glint. You weren’t entirely sure where this was going, but you were determined not to back down now. So, with a mischievous wink, you silently accepted the challenge.

Toji thrusted his hips back and forth, shoving his girth in and out without giving you space to breathe.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it. Fuck, you’re so good at sucking your daddy’s cock,” he groaned, his hands gently gripping your hair or caressing your cheek in a way that contrasted sharply with his dominant actions.

“My pretty whore.”

Thrust.

“My gorgeous girl.”

Thrust.

“You belong to me, baby.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

He was a complete monster with you.

Your face pressed against his pelvis, the brush of his happy trail tickling your nose. You knew from experience that most men came quicker if you fondled their balls. You squeezed his heavy, swollen sacs, making him hiss and violate your throat.

Toji couldn’t hold back. His release came with a roar, numbing your scalp from how tightly he was pulling on it. The thin ropes of his release and your saliva formed as he pulled out. You swallowed whatever was left around your mouth. To please him further, as if assaulting your throat wasn’t enough, you lapped at his tip like a devoted kitten. “You’re so good to me, baby.”

That’s all you wanted to hear.

“Turn around,” he commanded, and without hesitation, you dropped to your knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. “What a sight.” His hand glided over your left ass cheek tenderly before delivering a firm smack that made you jolt forward. Toji mirrored the action on your right cheek, preparing you while coating the tip of his cock with slickness from your own arousal. “Gonna put it in now, sweetheart.”

“Finally, Jesus.”

Toji spanked your ass which only elicited a giggle out of you. “Let’s see if you’ll be laughing soon, baby.”

He pushed into you in one-quick go.

You cried out and grabbed the top of the headboard with your sweaty palms. He pulled out just to the hilt then drove back in. The air smelled like your sweat and perfume and sex. Every nerve in your body was alive, your heart pounding fiercely as if trying to escape your chest. Your face flushed with heat, your blood singing with desire.

You moaned and cried and screamed his name, driving him to complete madness with the word “Daddy.” You begged him to go faster, push harder, to have you sore for weeks so you didn’t have to get out of his bed, out of his arms, out of his home. You wanted this to be your home.

Toji spanked your ass repeatedly, skin slapping against skin, palming the back of your head so that your face was crushed on his pillow. It smelled like firewood. Smelled like him. You wanted to steal it, take it home, sleep with it, ride it while whispering his name.

You both came together.

Toji’s hot seed filled your stretched hole. He withdrew slowly, a teasing sensation that left you craving more. With deft fingers, he ensured not a drop was wasted.

You collapsed onto your stomach, catching your breath before summoning the strength to turn and face him.

He exhaled heavily, laying beside you “Fuck, that was . . .”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Best yeah.” You draped yourself onto his chest and kissed his chin. He massaged his fingers through your throbbing scalp, the other hand caressing your numb, bruised ass.

Toji twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “Does this make-up for missing your graduation?”

You flicked his forehead. “I haven’t forgiven you for that.”

“Maybe I should miss more of your events if this is the reward I’m gonna get.”

You scowled. “I dare you to repeat that again.”

Toji ironed out your scowl with his thumb. You kissed the pad of his rough finger, twice. “My cards are on the table for you, sweetheart.”

Your lips met his, whispering, “I folded a while ago, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he breathed out. With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Round two, kid.”

2K notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 6 months

Text

V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat -

One, then two;

Slow, then fast;

Tender, then frantic -

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds.

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him.

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less.

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines.

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes.

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds.

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts.

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours.

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls.

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs.

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind.

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear.

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head.

When I make you mine.

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #seams v #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

1K notes · View notes

seafarersdream · 1 month

Note

Thinking about Reader who has the ability to sleep everywhere and the cast always bothers her for that and they put things on her to see how long it takes her to wake up. But on one occasion she falls asleep on Ewan/Tom's shoulder and he's just a mess?? 😭

I don't know if it makes sense but the idea is there!! I love your work by the way

Out Of It (Ewan Mitchell x Y/N)

Y/N had always considered herself pretty grounded. Sure, she got to hang out with the cast, swapping jokes and stories like they were all old friends. But there was one little secret she kept tucked away, like a guilty pleasure—a huge, and she meant huge, crush on Ewan Mitchell. But, she reminded herself on the regular, it was just a celebrity crush. Nothing serious. A harmless little fantasy she kept to herself, because let’s be real—she was just the makeup girl, and he was, well, him. Then, one day, the universe decided to have a laugh at her expense.

TW // Strong language and profanities.

PS: I decided to take a different approach to the plot, hope it’s okay!

The sun was barely rising over the horizon when the makeup department bustled with activity, its team members moved with choreographed precision. The trailer was alive with the scent of coffee mingling with the chemical tang of latex and adhesive, the lifeblood of the team that assembled at ungodly hours to work their magic.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool air, along with the unmistakable presence of Ewan Mitchell. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, taking in the scene with a wry smile. Dressed casually in a worn leather jacket, another one of his band t-shirt, and dark jeans.

“Morning, sunshine,” Y/N greeted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up from the prosthetic jaw she was carefully painting.

“Morning, Y/N. You look absolutely thrilled to be here,” Ewan replied dryly, his mouth curling into a smirk. He perched himself on a nearby chair, his lean frame relaxed but his gaze keen as it flicked over the team’s work.

Tom Glynn-Carney was already in the chair, his eyes closed as he tried to find some inner peace amidst the whirlwind around him. His usual charismatic energy was subdued, replaced with a resigned patience that only came from enduring this process multiple times. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he muttered, peeking out from under his lashes. “Are we sure we need all this crap? It's just a flesh wound, right?”

Y/N laughed, a bright sound that cut through the tension like a knife. “Just a flesh wound? Sure, if you call half your face melting off just a flesh wound.”

He groaned slightly as one of the other makeup artists adjusted a piece of latex on his forehead. “Maybe just light me on fire for real next time.”

“I swear to God, Tom,” Y/N said, her voice cutting through the soft murmur of the trailer. She leaned in, squinting at the edges of the prosthetic around his left eye. “If you move your face one more time, I’m going to staple it in place.”

Tom’s laugh was muffled, careful not to disrupt the delicate work being done on his cheeks. “Sorry, boss. Just trying to keep the old face from going numb. Can’t feel my arse either, for that matter.”

“Is he behaving, or do I need to step in?” Ewan said from behind them.

“Barely,” Y/N replied without looking up, her hands steady as she pressed down the edge of the prosthetic along Tom’s jawline. “You can take him if you want, though. Maybe scare him into sitting still.”

“Fuck off,” Tom muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. “Last thing I need is Ewan glaring at me while I’m trying to get through this torture.”

Ewan chuckled as he stands up and walked further into the trailer, his boots making soft thuds against the floor. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m just here for moral support.” He glanced at Y/N, his eyes lingering a bit longer on her than the others might have noticed. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” Y/N said, her tone matter-of-fact. She finally glanced up, meeting Ewan’s gaze briefly before returning to her work. “This is a fucking beast of a job, though. Five hours minimum, and that’s if Tom doesn’t fidget.”

Ewan nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter beside Tom. “You’re a miracle worker, Y/N. Don’t let this tosser tell you otherwise.”

“Hey, I’m the victim here!” Tom protested, though his grin betrayed the seriousness of his words.

“Victim, my ass,” Y/N shot back, a playful edge returning to her voice.

Tom chuckled, though the movement caused Y/N to pause and glare at him. He immediately stilled, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good.”

Ewan watched the process with interest, his eyes following Y/N’s every move. He was always impressed by her skill, the way she could take something so gruesome and make it look so real. It was an art form, one that required patience, precision, and a bit of madness. And Y/N had all three in spades.

As Y/N worked, she could feel Ewan’s gaze on her, a constant presence that was both comforting and distracting. She ignored it as best as she could, focusing on blending the colors to create the perfect shade of burnt skin. But it was hard to ignore the way her pulse quickened whenever he was around, the way his voice seemed to vibrate in her chest whenever he spoke.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally leaned back, surveying her work with a critical eye. The prosthetics were in place, the scarring realistic and horrifying, just as it needed to be. She let out a small sigh of relief, wiping her hands on a cloth before tossing it aside.

“So, Ewan,” Y/N said, breaking the silence, “what do we think? Does our dear Tom look like he’s had a close encounter with dragonfire?”

Ewan stood, walking over to examine Tom up close. His face was thoughtful, eyes narrowing as he took in the horrifying sight. “You know, I think we could go a bit heavier on the singed eyebrows. Aegon doesn’t exactly seem the type to worry about grooming after this.”

Tom let out a groan. “Fucking hell, you two. I’m gonna look like I went through a meat grinder.”

Y/N laughed again. “Relax, Tom. You’ll be the prettiest corpse on set.”

Ewan smirked, stepping back to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “Gorgeous, really. You’ll be the talk of King’s Landing.”

Tom rolled his eyes, clearly fed up but too deep into the process to protest further. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”

As the final touches were completed, Y/N stepped back, her eyes scanning over her work with a critical eye. “Okay, you’re done. How does it feel?”

Tom slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Y/N’s in the mirror. “Like I’ve been fucking roasted alive, which, I guess, is the point.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, satisfaction in her voice as she began cleaning up her tools. “Alright, Glynn-Carney,” she continues, with a wave of her hand. “You’re done. Get out of my trailer before I change my mind and add a few more scars for good measure.”

Tom stood, stretching his arms and rolling his neck. “God, I can’t wait to see the reactions on set. Thanks, Y/N. You’re a fucking genius.”

“Don’t I know it,” Y/N replied with a grin. She watched as Tom exited the trailer. A spring in his steps.

Ewan stayed where he was, watching Y/N as she cleaned up her station. “You really are something, you know that?”

Y/N glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Just doing my job, Mitchell.”

“No,” Ewan said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s more than that. You’ve got a talent, Y/N. And a way of keeping us all in line.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. “Somebody’s got to keep you lot in check.”

Ewan’s smile was slow, genuine, and it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Lucky for us, we’ve got you.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching out between them, thick with possibilities. Finally, Y/N broke the gaze, clearing her throat.

“Well,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “Off you go then.”

Ewan nodded, still watching her as she moved around the trailer, his eyes never leaving her. “Yeah… I’ll see you on set.”

“See you,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper as he turned to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to tidy up.

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A hush falling over the room as the cameras rolled. The bedchamber set was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains drawn to block out the sunlight, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the stone walls.

Y/N stood on the sidelines, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched the actors take their places. Andrij Parekh, the director for this episode, was seated in his chair just a few feet away, his sharp eyes focused intently on the monitors in front of him.

On the bed, Tom, fully transformed into the broken and battered Aegon II, looked like a man who had been to hell and back. The prosthetics had turned his face into a grotesque mask of burns and scars, his once vibrant features now hidden beneath layers of latex and makeup. His eyes, however, remained sharp, flickering with a mix of pain and defiance as he prepared for the scene.

Ewan, in full costume as Aemond Targaryen, stood near the foot of the bed, his posture rigid, every inch the cold, calculating Prince Regent. His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, the eyepatch over his left eye adding to the menacing aura that surrounded him. There was something chilling about the way he carried himself, a quiet intensity that made even the most seasoned crew members uneasy.

“Action,” Andrij’s voice cut through the silence, a single word that set everything into motion.

Ewan stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound on the stone floor. “Brother,” he began, his voice low and smooth, almost soothing, though the underlying threat was unmistakable. “How fortunate that you are awake. I was beginning to think you might sleep through the entire war.”

Tom shifted slightly on the bed, his movements slow, labored, as if even the act of breathing was painful. “Aemond,” he croaked, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “What… what do you want?”

Ewan’s lips curved into a thin smile, the kind that never reached his eye. “Only to ensure your comfort, Aegon. You’ve been through a lot, after all. It’s a wonder you even survived.”

Tom’s gaze flickered, a mix of confusion and fear crossing his features. “I don’t remember,” he muttered, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece together fragments of a nightmare. “I don’t remember what happened.”

Y/N watched intently, her eyes following every subtle shift in their expressions, every carefully chosen word. This was the kind of scene that could make or break an episode—the tension between the brothers, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air.

Ewan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet each word was laced with ice. “Good. Best you don’t remember. There’s nothing to be gained from dwelling on the past, after all. The future, however… that’s what matters now.”

Tom’s eyes darted to Ewan’s face, searching for something, anything, in the cold, indifferent mask that stared back at him. “I don’t… I wouldn’t…”

Ewan cut him off, his tone sharp, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You wouldn’t what, Aegon? Speak of things best left unsaid? Confess to some… imagined slight? No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He straightened, the threat clear in the deliberate casualness of his movements. “We’re brothers, after all. Blood of my blood. We wouldn’t want anything to come between us. Not now, not ever.”

Tom swallowed hard, his throat working as he tried to form words, but nothing came. The fear in his eyes was real, a reflection of the strained relationship that had been growing between the two of them, now laid bare in this moment of vulnerability.

“Good,” Ewan said softly, almost tenderly. He reached out, his hand hovering over Tom’s burned face, but he didn’t touch him, didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. “Rest now, Aegon. Leave the burdens of the realm to me. You’ve earned your peace.”

With that, Ewan turned and walked away, the scene coming to a close as Andrij called out, “And.. cut!”

The tension in the room broke, the spell lifted as the crew sprang into action, adjusting lights, resetting props, preparing for the next take. Ewan relaxed his shoulders, the hard edge of Aemond’s persona slipping away as he returned to his usual self. Tom let out a long breath, his body sinking deeper into the bed, clearly relieved that the intense scene was over.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, impressed by the depth they’d brought to the scene. Ewan caught her eye as he walked over, his expression softening as he approached. “So, what do you think, Y/N?” he asked, his voice warm, a stark contrast to the cold menace he’d displayed just moments before.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk playful. “Not bad, Mitchell. You almost made me believe you’re the cruel bastard you play on screen.”

Ewan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Almost?”

“Hey, I know you too well,” she teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against a nearby prop table. “But seriously, you guys nailed it. That was intense.”

“Thanks,” he replied, his smile genuine, a hint of pride in his eyes. “It helps when you’ve got a good team watching your back.”

Y/N spied Tom’s hand moving from the corner of her eyes. “Fucking hell,” Tom muttered, reaching up to touch his prosthetic-covered face.

“Don’t even think about it,” she scolded, her voice carrying a mix of playful sarcasm and genuine concern. “You start messing with that, and we’ll be here for another few hours fixing it.”

Andrij approached them, nodding in approval. “Great work, everyone. We’ll take a short break before moving on to the next scene.”

As the crew began to disperse, Y/N caught Ewan’s eye again, her heart doing a little flip at the intensity of his gaze. There was something in the way he looked at her, something that made her pulse quicken, but before she could dwell on it, he was already turning away, slipping back into the role of Aemond, preparing for the next bit.

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The set was finally quiet, the last echoes of the day's filming fading into the background as Y/N, Ewan, Tom, Fabien, and Phia settled themselves near the steps of the Iron Throne. The towering seat of power loomed above them, but for now, it was just a backdrop to their impromptu snack break.

“God, I’m starving,” Tom groaned as he unwrapped a sandwich, his voice muffled as he took a massive bite. “You’d think they were trying to kill us with these hours.”

Phia laughed, shaking her head as she reached into a bag of crisps. “You’re such a drama queen, Tom. It’s only been, what? Twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours of torture,” Tom countered, wagging the half-eaten sandwich at her before taking another bite. “I deserve a medal, not just a bloody sandwich.”

Fabien grinned as he popped open a can of soda. “Maybe we’ll get you one shaped like the Iron Throne. Then you can lord it over everyone else even more.”

Y/N, perched comfortably beside Ewan, raised an eyebrow as she munched on a kebab. “Speaking of the Iron Throne, did you know that Emma and Matt tried to recruit me to Team Black today?”

That got their attention. Ewan, who had been quietly eating beside her, looked over with a curious glint in his eye. “Oh yeah? How’d they manage that?”

Y/N leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “They promised me a seat on the Iron Throne, no questions asked. Said it’s about time someone else gets a chance, since someone” she shot a pointed look at Tom, “—has been hogging it all season.”

Tom feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “I’m just fulfilling my royal duties, Y/N. It’s not my fault you lot don’t have the je ne sais quoi to claim the throne.”

“Je ne sais quoi? Really? You’re so full of crap.” Phia repeated, barely containing her laughter.

“Exactly,” Y/N chimed in, leaning back on her hands as she eyed the throne. “But seriously, Tom, I need that selfie, okay? You’ve been banning everyone else from even getting close, and I’m not above switching sides to get my shot.”

Fabien smirked, leaning back against the stairs. “It’s true. You’re a tyrant, Glynn-Carney.”

Tom shook his head, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You all talk a lot of shit, but the throne belongs to me. You want a selfie? You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged,” Ewan deadpanned, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

As the conversation continued, the weariness of the day began to catch up with them. The energy slowly ebbed away, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. Y/N, who had been unusually animated, started to feel her eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the room and the low murmur of voices lulled her into a drowsy state, and before she realized it, her head began to droop.

Without warning, she leaned over, her head coming to rest on Ewan’s shoulder. The sudden contact made Ewan go rigid, his eyes wide with shock. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Should he move? Say something? Wake her up? But the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her, especially since he had been harboring a massive crush on Y/N for what felt like forever.

Tom, who noticed the situation first, nearly choked on his sandwich, desperately trying to stifle his laughter. He nudged Fabien, who quickly caught on and shot Ewan a wicked grin. “Looks like someone’s got a new pillow,” Fabien teased in a singsong voice, causing Phia to glance over and giggle.

Ewan’s face turned an impressive shade of red, his usual cool composure completely shattered. “Shut up,” he hissed, his voice low and tense as he tried to keep still, not wanting to wake Y/N. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, her hair tickling his neck, and despite his best efforts, his heart raced.

Y/N, oblivious to the chaos she’d unintentionally caused, snuggled a little closer, her breathing soft and steady. Ewan’s mind was in overdrive. Okay, don’t freak out. She’s just tired. She doesn’t even know she’s leaning on you. Just… act natural.

Tom, unable to resist, leaned over and whispered, “Careful there, Mitchell. Wouldn’t want her to wake up and realize she’s been cuddling with you.”

“Tom, I swear to God—” Ewan began, his voice a strained whisper, but he was cut off by Y/N shifting slightly in her sleep, making him freeze once more.

Phia, trying to be the voice of reason but failing miserably, leaned in with a grin. “Maybe she just knows you’re a softy, Ewan. Perfect for napping.”

Ewan shot her a death glare, his embarrassment only growing. “You’re all assholes, you know that?”

Fabien chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but let’s be real, mate—this is adorable.”

Ewan groaned inwardly, knowing there was no escaping the teasing he’d endure from this moment. But as much as he wanted to retort, a part of him couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of Y/N resting against him, even if it was just because she was exhausted. His hand twitched slightly, tempted to brush a strand of hair from her face, but he resisted, not wanting to push his luck.

The ribbing continued around him, but Ewan barely heard it, his focus entirely on Y/N. For now, he’d let her sleep. And if it meant enduring the endless teasing from his friends, well… it was a small price to pay.

“Just wait until she sees the photos,” Tom whispered to Phia, pulling out his phone to capture the moment. Ewan’s eyes widened in horror, but it was too late.

“Don’t you dare!” Ewan hissed, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t wake Y/N, but Tom just smirked, already snapping a few shots.

“This one’s going in the group chat,” Tom said smugly, causing Fabien and Phia to dissolve into laughter.

Ewan could only sigh, resigned to his fate. But despite the teasing and the inevitable jokes that would follow, a small, secretive smile tugged at his lips.

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Y/N had barely made it through the door of her flat before she collapsed onto the couch, her body finally catching up with the exhaustion of the day. She kicked off her shoes, letting them land haphazardly across the room, and leaned back with a groan, rubbing her temples as she tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment from the day’s events.

The picture of her sleeping on Ewan’s shoulder had exploded in the group chat, with the cast and crew having an absolute field day over it. The jokes had ranged from harmless teasing to outright accusations of a backstreet romance, leaving Y/N feeling mortified beyond belief.

God, I can't believe I fell asleep on him, she thought, covering her face with her hands for a moment before letting out a frustrated groan. She knew she had to address it, to apologize for the awkwardness, but the thought of actually texting Ewan made her stomach churn with nerves.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she steeled herself and typed out a message.

Hey, Ewan. Just wanted to say sorry for crashing on you earlier. I was so embarrassed when I saw that picture in the group chat. I hope I didn’t make things weird or uncomfortable for you.

She hit send and then dropped her phone on her lap, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside her window, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the stillness, trying not to overthink the situation.

When her phone buzzed a few minutes later, she opened one eye and glanced at the screen. Seeing Ewan’s name made her stomach flip, and she quickly unlocked her phone to read his reply.

Hey, sleepy head. Honestly, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. You looked like you really needed the rest, and it was no trouble at all. Seriously, it’s no big deal.

Y/N felt a small wave of relief wash over her, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message came through.

Fuck it, this is me shooting my shot—are you free this weekend?

She froze, staring at the screen as her brain tried to process what she was seeing. Was Ewan really asking her out? She reread the message a few times, half-convinced she was imagining things, but it was still there, plain as day.

A mix of shock and excitement surged through her, making her heart race. She sat up straighter, her mind spinning with possibilities. After what felt like an eternity, she finally mustered the courage to respond.

Wait, are you serious? Because if you are, then yes, I’m free. But if this is some kind of joke, I swear to God, Mitchell…

She held her breath, waiting for his reply, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh. When her phone buzzed again, she almost dropped it in her haste to read the message.

Not a joke, I promise. I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while, just never found the right moment. And, well, maybe now’s the time.

Y/N felt a giddy warmth spread through her, the earlier embarrassment completely forgotten. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she tried to come up with something clever to say, but in the end, she opted for honesty.

I’d love to, Ewan. I guess I’ll see you this weekend then?

His reply came swiftly.

Definitely. And hey, if you need a nap while we’re out, I’ve got a shoulder for you anytime.

She couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest finally releasing as she typed out her response.

You better be careful with offers like that, or I might just take you up on it.

Another ping.

Looking forward to it, Y/N.

As she put her phone down, Y/N found herself grinning like an idiot. She curled up on the couch, the weight of exhaustion lifting slightly as she thought about the weekend ahead. It seemed like this little nap incident might have been the best thing that happened after all.

#hotd #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell x y/n #ewan mitchell x you #aemond targaryen

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 24 days

Text

Champagne Problems | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oh, hi! Truly, sometimes you just don't know the answer till someone's on their knees and asks you, you know? Also I hope my taglist works this time but who the fuck knows.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: engagement / wedding talk, mentions of alcohol

Nat flipped through your list of invitees, crossing off a few names as she scanned the page. She took it upon herself to help you stuff, address, and mail the invitations for your engagement party, because in her words, you were “dragging your feet”. There were only five or so weeks left until the event, and you just hadn’t found the time to sit down and sort out the invitations. At least, that’s the excuse you told Nat- and yourself.

“Okay, we’re finally making some progress, we’re about halfway done,” Nat called from the dining table. “Shit. Without me, no one would even show up to this fucking party.” She didn’t mean for you to hear that second part- but her voice echoed through your nearly empty apartment.

Almost everything you owned was gone; either sold, or stored, or moved into the house you were to share with your fiancé, Cole. All that remained was your clothes, your bed, and a few odds and ends. It would’ve been far easier, far more convenient, to stay in your new house instead of living out of cardboard boxes. And far more aesthetically pleasing. The house was a nice- nicer than you’d ever be able to afford yourself. And it was beautiful. There was a lush garden in the backyard. A swing on the front porch. Even a white picket fence. You described it to everyone as “picturesque.”

But the lease on your apartment wasn’t up quite yet. You still had a few weeks until your move-out date, and you wanted to soak in as much time at the old place as you could. You loved it here. Loved the worn wooden floors and the doors that didn’t hang straight. The dent in the wall where Bucky bonked his metal elbow when you popped out of the hall closet and scared him. The corner in your bedroom where you and Bucky made a blanket fort during last winter’s blizzard. Memories papered the walls and covered the floors of this place- and most of them involved Bucky.

This was home. And while the new house was great- and fully paid for by your fiancé’s wealthy parents- it didn’t feel like you belonged there. It didn’t welcome you in or fill you with warmth. Cole’s mom said it just needed the right décor. Your friends told you it needed time. But deep down, you knew that no amount of beautiful area rugs, no amount of time, could turn your house with Cole into a home. There would always be one thing missing, one glaring and flagrant void.

Bucky.

“You’re inviting Bucky?” Nat looked up from the list and found you coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Her incredulous expression nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You gave her a strange look, “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be invited?”

“Okay, first of all,” Nat scoffed, “He’s your best friend- present company excluded. And second, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

You threw a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you settled into your chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nat rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t think it’s smart to invite the guy you’re actually in love with to a party celebrating your engagement to another man.” She threw you a shrug, “but hey, that’s just me.”

“Woah-” you almost choked on your popcorn. “I’m not in love with Bucky.”

It was the most absurd thing Nat had ever heard. “I’m not in love with Bucky!” she jeered, imitating your voice. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay, jesus,” you raised your hands, miming a surrender. “I did- at one point- have romantic feelings for him,” you conceded, “but that was a while ago.”

“Oh, at one point?” Nat crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that like you had a small crush on him for a week, when we both know your ‘romantic feelings’ have been a constant ever since you became friends with the guy.”

Her accusations weren’t necessarily wrong. But they were loud. And pointed. And rubbed salt in your many wounds. “It was …” you gave a small shake of your head. “We never got the timing right, you know? It just didn’t work in our favor.” The heartache with which you’d grown familiar reared its ugly head. “But it’s fine,” you told her. “I’m engaged, now. So.”

Ever since you boyfriend, Cole, became your fiancé, you’d done your best to kill and bury your longing for Bucky. But your feelings for him weren’t so easily vanquished. They were strong and boisterous and loud. At least a few times a day, they launched themselves at you out of nowhere. At work. At the grocery store. At dinner with Cole and his parents. Nowhere was safe. Everywhere you went, things reminded you of Bucky. Of your favorite person. Of the person to whom you were not engaged.

The desperate pining for him tore your still-healing wounds wide open. Every time your gaze landed on your engagement ring, every time a friend mentioned your impending wedding, a sharp pain sliced through your chest. And each time, you were forced to acknowledge the fact that you were not, in fact, getting married to Bucky.

“Um, anyway…” you cleared your throat, “Of course, I’m inviting Bucky. And the subject isn’t open for debate, by the way. It’s my party and I’ll invite who I want to.”

You grabbed an invitation and a blank envelope from the stacks in front of Nat and positioned them in front of you. If Nat didn’t want you inviting Bucky, there was a more than significant chance that she’d conveniently “forget” to address an invite for him. And so, you scrawled his name and address onto an envelope and affixed a stamp in the corner. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his invitation. Even if he didn’t want to come.

The night of the party arrived sooner than you expected. Sooner than you’d hoped.

The house was abuzz with people running in and out, carrying food and linens and liquor; you knew you’d be requiring the latter in order to survive the night. Florists arrived to cover the house in perfect, beautiful blooms. A team of caterers brought with them enough fine food to feed an army. And a flawless, two-tiered cake with delicate lacy piping sat on the dining room table, complete with yours and Cole’s initials. All of it was perfect. Picturesque, really. It was exactly what you wanted- but Cole wasn’t who you wanted it with.

Every few minutes, you checked your phone in search of a text from Bucky. The deadline to RSVP had come and gone almost two weeks ago, and he never gave you an answer one way or another. He ignored your “hey, are you coming to my party?” texts, and your “just wanted to know if you plan on coming to the party” voicemails. He ignored almost all of your correspondence, actually.

Lately, he’d only been answering about a third of your texts and a quarter of your calls. It was unlike him. It was unheard of, really. On multiple occasions in the past, he answered your calls while taking heavy fire; you could actually hear the bullets whizzing by on his end of the line. But now, things were quiet. And you forced yourself to accept that fact that he was not coming to your party.

The festivities kicked off around seven-thirty, and you found your house full to the brim with party goers. All of Cole’s friends showed up. His childhood friends, his college buddies, his old soccer team- they all arrived with bells on. And your friends were well represented, too. High school pals, your book club, a close coworker or two. They were all so excited to see you, so happy that you found someone.

Even Bucky’s teammates made an appearance. They were his friends first, of course, but growing close with him meant growing close to them. And you’d build unbreakable bonds with Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Maria. They were thrilled for you and more than happy to attend your party- even if Bucky wouldn’t be there.

With your house so full, so jam-packed with friends, you thought you wouldn’t notice the pain of Bucky’s absence. But you did. Of course, you did. And you found yourself feeling painfully alone in a sea of people.

Without Bucky there, the night seemed to fall flat. The flowers lost their vibrance. The food was bland. And the music sounded disjointed and off-tempo. Things just weren’t the same.

People swarmed you every few seconds, hollering their congratulations and asking to see the ring again. They asked you about venues and dresses, bridesmaids and center pieces. Everyone meant well- you knew they did. But as the throngs of people refused to relent with their questions about table linens, your chest began to tighten. A hard, concrete cast wrapped itself around your lungs, preventing them from expanding. A suffocating lack of oxygen rendered your dizzy. It was all too much. The people and the music and the impending nuptials. Even the sensation Cole’s hand on your waist was too much, too tight, too smothering.

With a whispered “be right back”, you moved swiftly through the crowd and escaped out the front door. If you could just get some space, some quiet, some oxygen, you’d be fine.

The door provided you with much needed support as you tilted and teetered on unsteady feet. The panic, the alcohol, the high heels- it all combined to form a dizzying, possibly lethal combination. But at least you were outside. As least you were free. The cool night air prickled at your skin, and finally, your lungs filled to capacity. A few deep inhales cleared the fog from your mind. With closed eyes, you tipped your head back against the door and let yourself enjoy the quiet. Sure, the music from your playlist leaked into the night air, but this was the closest thing to silence you’d experienced all night. And you were not going to complain.

As your heartbeat slowed, you told yourself it would be okay. That everything was going to be fine. That you’d figure out how to handle the situation. And, if only for a moment, you actually believed your fabrications. A sense of peace wrapped around you like a blanket, and a welcome calm settled into your bones.

But the creak of a porch step yanked your eyes open.

And there you found Bucky, frozen on the second to last stair, with giftbox in hand. He eyed you as though he were a prey animal, wondering if you’d seen him, waiting for his chance to escape. But it was too late; he’d been caught.

“Buck?”

He forced a smile, “Hey.”

“Hi!” you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with an intensity that would’ve injured a mere mortal. He reeled back a few paces as your momentum knocked into him. “I’m so glad you’re here! didn’t think you were coming!”

His arms draped loosely- weakly- behind your back. It wasn’t much- but it was better than no Bucky at all. And after he failed to respond to your messages, didn’t answer your calls, and made himself scarce over the last few months, you’d take whatever you could get.

“Right. Yeah. Well, technically, I’m not-” He untangled himself from your arms and pointed at the perfectly wrapped giftbox. “I just wanted to drop off your present.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s-” Dismay dripped from your words, “Wait, you’re not staying?”

Bucky gave a shake of his head. He avoided your eyeline and chose, instead, to look at anything other than you. The grass. The porch light. His own shoes. “I can’t, sorry.”

It crushed you. Having him stop by for only a moment was far worse than him not showing up at all. Because now, you had to deal with the loss. The pain of his departure. For him to grant you the warmth of his presence, only to snatch it away moments later was almost cruel. How could he leave when you were finally seeing the world in color? How could he go when the music finally made sense with him by your side?

You didn’t want to beg. Didn’t want to make him feel bad. Didn’t want to seem pathetic. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You can’t stay for even a little while?”

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart. And he had half a mind to forget his plan and allow you to escort him inside. But he stood firm. “I would,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I have to go pick up a friend from the airport.”

The words hit you in a strange place. A pin-prick pain nipped at your chest- you’d caught him in a lie. “Buck, no offense, but all your friends are inside.” You gestured toward the house with a nod of your head. It was true- all of Bucky’s closest friends were dancing the night away in your living room. And he was caught red handed.

“Right…” His teeth dug into the smooth flesh of his cheek; his eyes roamed the yard. He should’ve known better than to use such a lame excuse- he did know better. He couldn’t casually lie around you; you knew him too well. But the pressure got to him, and forced cracks into his cool, marble surface. He hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, let alone talk to you. The painful awkwardness of the moment ate through him like acid.

“So… you can stay?” Your words came out too desperate, too expectant. But you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to get him to hang around- even if he didn’t seem excited about it. Hell, you’d beg him on your knees if that’s what it took. Anything to get him to stay.

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess I can.”

Finally, he let his eyes land on you. After choosing to avert his gaze for so long, he wasn’t strong enough to do so any longer. He had to look at you, to take in every detail of your face. But as he drank you in slowly, inch by inch, in the light of the full moon, a strange solemnity sunk its teeth into him. Perfectly imperfect curls framed your face. A flawless diamond sat at the hollow of your throat. You were even wearing his favorite lipstick of yours- the one he said made you look like a vintage Hollywood star. He eyed your delicate, lacy white dress. Your white strappy heels with bows on the ties. Your white nails. And the perfect, glistening diamond adorning the ring finger of your left hand.

Everything about you was so beautiful. So bridal. It made his chest tight.

“You look really nice,” he said, almost bashful. “Beautiful.”

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.”

This stupid white dress. With its stupid lace and its stupid pearls and its stupid bridal flare. You hated it. Resented it. Wanted to take scissors to its seams. But if you were to play the role of Cole’s blushing bride, you had to dress the part, didn’t you? You had to don your fiancée costume and take part in the production.

But, regardless of your feelings about the outfit, your heart still flared at Bucky’s compliment. One simple word of praise from him had such a startling, intense effect on you. And suddenly, you were in high school again. He filled you with a sense of giddy adoration that you hadn’t experienced since the tenth grade. This was the stuff of love notes stuffed into lockers. Of first kisses under the bleachers. But your feelings for him could never be as fleeting or as shallow as those of your youth. No, this was the stuff of forever.

“Hello?” Bucky gave you a wave. “You okay?”

An awkward laugh escaped your chest, “Yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Did you say something?”

“I said, what are you doing outside?” He eyed the packed house. Twinkling lights shone through the windows. Crowds of people danced and drank champagne. Music wafted through the air. “Shouldn’t you be in there? At the party? Cause, you know, it’s for you.”

Just the thought of going back to the party made your stomach turn. Part of you wondered if you might be able to hide outside all night; just stay in the yard until the festivities came to a close. Hell, maybe you could even run away. You could get pretty far if you started walking and didn’t look back. By the time the party ended, you could be deep in the heart of Brooklyn- you could be at Bucky’s.

“Yeah, no, I probably- I should be inside. But, I’m just…” you took in a sharp breath. It hitched in your windpipe and got stuck for a moment. “I got a little overwhelmed, you know? With the noise, and the people and the… everything. So, I came out here to-” To hide. To escape. To flee. “To get some air.”

Bucky could’ve sworn he sensed something lurking beneath your calm surface. It was the slightest change in your voice, the smallest twitch of your brow. He clocked the way your hands never stilled. The way your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek. Something was off.

He sat in the long silence, waiting for you to open the vault and show him your secrets. But the lock remained secure. You didn’t say anything else, didn’t hint at the source of your discontent. He eyed your manufactured smile, but couldn’t seem to crack it.

Things never used to be this way. He didn’t keep secrets from you, and you wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from him- there was no reason to. Neither of you had to fear judgement or ridicule from the other. Your most embarrassing stories, Bucky’s darkest thoughts- they were all safe with the other.

But an unfamiliar disconnect had pulled the two of you apart. And Bucky could no longer read your soul like a book.

“Everything’s okay, though. Right?” He eyed you with suspicion. With concern.

You nodded- maybe too fervently. “Yeah. For sure,” a fake smile stretched across your face, “Just stressed, I guess.”

“And he treats you right?” It was one of the things Bucky worried about most. Sure, the house was nice. And the ring was huge. But did Cole speak to you with kindness? Did he show you empathy and understanding? Did he make you feel safe?

“Yes.”

Bucky breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that Cole handled you with care brought a sliver of ease to his worried mind. “So, you’re happy then?”

It was all Bucky ever wanted for you. A safe life, a happy life. But the answer wasn’t yes or no. This was the farthest thing from a black and white situation. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to just be happy. You thought that if you willed it, if you said it with conviction- then it would be true. And the happiness you were supposed to feel around your fiancé would magically spring up around you. But it didn’t. Every day, you waited. Every day, you told yourself to just be fucking happy. Cole gave you everything. He was nice and agreeable and provided you with the resources to do anything you’d ever wanted. But the happiness never came. At one point, you decided you’d settle for contentment. But that too evaded you.

“Um, do you wanna sit?” It was the best subject change you could come up with on such short notice. “The porch is free. Come on.”

Before Bucky could respond, he found your fingers linked with his. Chills traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his scalp. Even the most innocent of your touches sent his dopamine levels through the roof. He’d never experienced ecstasy like this ever before- and knew he never would again. Especially not after your wedding.

He knew it was selfish to feel anything less than happy for you. You were engaged, you were getting married- this was what you wanted. You wanted marriage. A lifelong partner. A “till death do us part” kind of relationship. And now, you finally had it. So, who was Bucky to ruin it for you? Who was he to hope that you’d leave Cole at the altar? He forbade himself from ever being that selfish. If he was truly your closest friend, he had to be happy for you- even if it meant that he could never be anything more than your friend.

With his hand in yours, you led Bucky to the porch. And regardless of the brand-new patio furniture Cole’s parents gifted you, you and Bucky opted to sit on the steps. Crickets chirped every now and again. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, rattling the leaves. Voices and music and the clatter of dishes seeped through the windows. You didn’t notice any of it.

Because, finally, you had what you wanted- if only for a moment.

It was the simplest, most innocent desire you’d ever had. To sit on the front steps with Bucky. To share a home with him. To drink coffee next to him on the porch each morning. To watch the rain from safety of your porch swing with Bucky’s head in your lap.

If you ignored the white dress and the engagement ring and the pop of champagne bottles, you could almost believe that this was Bucky’s house, too. That the two of you could go inside and retire to bed. That you could wake up in the morning, wrapped in his arms. You could almost believe it. Almost.

The two of you sat in silence, planning your words carefully. Conversation felt like a mine field, and one misstep could send either of you to your death. But the warmth radiating off Bucky’s his body wrapped you in a familiar comfort. The narrow steps didn’t provide much in the way of sitting room, forcing Bucky to sit almost shoulder to shoulder with you- not that he’d ever complain.

With every gust of wind, he caught a whiff of your perfume- the perfume he loved so much. The scent that often clung to his hair and weaved itself into the fabric of his clothes. It mixed with the smell of early spring- crisp air and new blooms. And he felt himself losing his resolve. He did his best to put distance between the two of you, to protect his heart and yours. But as you leaned your body against his and rested your head on his shoulder. He wondered why the fuck he’d ever leave your side.

You, too, lost all strength. And suddenly, you didn’t care about misspeaking.

“I miss you, Buck…” Present tense. Because, even with him next to you, you missed him. Missed the way things used to be. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, and trying to prove myself…” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, regardless of his intentional distance from you, work really was killing him. “Everyone at SWORD is paranoid- they’re convinced that there’s a secret faction of Hydra growing within their organization.”

“Hmm, that’s so weird. I wonder why they’d be worried about that.” You gave bucky a nudge, and pulled a laugh- your favorite laugh- from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot you an eye roll. “But you’re probably really busy, too. With all the wedding planning.”

His mention of the wedding shattered your perfect, maladaptive daydreams. All the noise from the party once again filled your consciousness. And the weight of Cole’s engagement ring felt like an anchor, dragging you down to the deepest, loneliest sea. Bucky wished he hadn’t brought it up as you removed your head from his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s been-” you felt yourself closing off a bit, and did your best to fight it. “I haven’t actually planned a single thing. At all. So.”

Bucky gave you a strange look. It wasn’t like you to put things off, to procrastinate. He knew you to be an organized, ahead of the curve type of person. You were always the one who had a plan, always the one who over-prepared. He figured that in the few months since your engagement, you’d have planned at least a few things- if not the entire wedding and honeymoon.

“Do you have a date at least?” He pulled out his phone, “I want to put it in my calendar.”

Bucky would be there to support you no matter what, even if watching you marry another man killed him.

“Um, no, there’s no date yet,” you said. “Cole’s parents belong to a really fancy country club and said we could get married there- it’s beautiful. All I have to do is contact the club’s event coordinator and figure out which days are available. I just-” you dropped your eyes to the ground, “I haven’t yet.”

Bucky didn’t like your downcast gaze or your uncertain voice. There was something eating at you- he’d bet his life on it. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you felt like you were behind on all the decisions that needed to be made. Either way, he wanted to help.

He threw you a shrug. “Well, there’s no rush, is there?”

He took your left hand in both of his and gave it squeeze, but regretted the gesture when your engagement ring dug into his palm. You were getting married to someone else; he had to stop touching you like this. Had to stop treating you like you were still on the market. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect your relationship. And so, he dug his hands into his pockets.

“I mean some people don’t start planning right away, right?” He said, “They wanna take their time and enjoy the engagement for a while, and-

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Enjoying my engagement.” You had half a mind to take off the ring and launch it into the street. You’d dreamed about doing so every day, actually. Dreamed of throwing it on the subway tracks. Or dropping it through a grate on the street.

Alarm ran through Bucky’s system like wildfire. “Is everything okay? Is it-”

Finally, you lifted your eyes and met Bucky’s stare.

“I don’t want to marry him.”

Bucky felt his brain short circuit. He forgot how to breathe, how to speak. His thoughts tangled themselves together in tight, writhing knots. Words bounced off the walls of his skull without meaning. This wasn’t what he’d expected you to say.

“Um, why-” he cleared his throat, “why not?”

He cringed at his own question. Maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe you didn’t want to get into the details. But you were upset. And if there was any chance at all that you’d want to vent or use Bucky as a sounding board, he was going to listen.

But there was nothing for him to listen to. For a long time, you didn’t answer. Because to you, the answer was stupid. To you, it sounded like bullshit. Like you’d wasted Cole’s time and love and money. Like you were some noncommittal, unsure child. You rolled your eyes at yourself- as you had every day since Cole’s proposal.

“I just don’t- I don’t love him,” you finally said. “I’m not in love with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great. He’s a really nice person…” And he was. He was kind. He was understanding. He was thoughtful. But he wasn’t the one- he wasn’t Bucky. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. And he’s given me- he’s given me everything. But, I just don’t love him like I-”

You stopped yourself. The words that danced on the tip of your tongue were too risky, too dangerous. You wrangled them before they had the chance to escape- before they had the chance to push Bucky away- and locked them behind bars.

But they screamed inside your mind. ‘I don’t love him like I love you’ echoed again and again, reverberating every few seconds. Part of you feared Bucky might hear it.

“Um, I don’t love him like-” you rerouted, “Like I always imagined. You know? I don’t feel the way I thought I would.”

Bucky considered your words for a long time. Unlike you, he didn’t think it was bullshit. Or stupid. Or childish. He set his feelings for you aside, not allowing them to cloud his judgement, and thought about your predicament.

“Well, you don’t have to, you know,” he finally said. “Marry him, I mean.”

You gave him a subtle nod. Maybe he was right. But a larger problem- a more important problem- loomed. And while you’d spent the past few months hemming and hawing about marrying Cole, there was another issue at hand that ate you alive every single day.

“Why have you been avoiding me, Buck?” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusatory. You just needed to know.

For the third time that night, Bucky found himself caught red-handed. “What?”

“Ever since I got engaged, you’ve been avoiding me.”

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. And though Bucky knew it was truth, his first instinct was to refute. To deny. To deflect.

“No, I haven’t. I’m not avoiding you,” he said, putting on an air of offense. “I’ve been busy with work and-”

“Don’t give me that.” Your heartbreak dissolved into cold, hard facts. Facts that Bucky couldn’t refute. “I used to see you almost every day. No matter how busy either of us got, we still saw each other all the time. We made time for each other. But ever since Cole proposed, you don’t answer my texts anymore. You don’t respond to my voicemails. I mean, I’ve only seen you-” The realization was startling. You knew Bucky had been distant, but as you quickly flipped through your memories of the past few months, you confirmed just how detached he’d been. “I’ve seen you twice. Including tonight.”

Bucky’s silence bit through your flesh.

Part of you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. But the question left your lips before you could stop it. “Buck, are you mad at me?”

He shook his head. “No, why would I be?”

“Because Cole proposed, and I said yes.”

A look of bewilderment yanked Bucky’s features upward. Emotions flashed across his face at lightning speed. A scoff barked out of his throat.

“No. No, I’m not-” He was caught off guard. Struggling to cover his tracks. “I’m not mad. It’s not like that. I’m just-”

“What’s it like, then?” You stared at him, expectant.

“Oh, come on…” It was all too much. He couldn’t be in such close proximity to you anymore. Couldn’t have you almost pressed against his side.

He fled from his seat on the stairs and opted to stand in the grass. He paced for a beat or two, wearing down the fresh blades of greenery. And when he finally came to a stopping point, he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t look you in the eye. He just needed a moment. Needed some space. Needed to breathe air that didn’t wear your perfume. And when he cleared his mind- and his lungs- he turned to you.

“You know…” he let out a huff. “You know that things haven’t always been exactly platonic between us. You know that I’ve had- that I’m-” His metal fingers ran through his hair, “Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to deal with this whole thing. I guess I’m not doing a good job.”

It wasn’t news to you. But it still struck you like lightning.

Things between you and Bucky always teetered on the edge of romance. Always walked a tightrope between friendship and love. And while you adored a good “will they, won’t they” type of relationship on tv, it didn’t have the same charm in real life. The Nick and Jess, Sam and Diane, Janine and Gregory dynamic brought you only pain. Confusion. Heartache. Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a room full of talented writers scripting your every interaction with Bucky. The two of you didn’t have a well thought out, perfectly planned arc that placed you in a relationship by the end of your third season as friends. No, the two of you were left to your own devices, navigating the difficult terrain without help.

Part of you always believed that you and Bucky would end up together. Maybe it was the Ben and Leslie of it all. Or maybe it was your hopeless romantic side. But you truly thought things would work out for the two of you. The ring on your finger, however, said otherwise.

A wave of remorse washed over you. You rested your elbows on your knees and dropped your chin into your hands. “We just never got the timing right…”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Our feelings for each other were always out of sync,” you lamented. “They ebbed and flowed over the years- just with opposite timing. When you had feelings for me, I was dating someone. When I had feelings for you, you were in love with another woman. It was just…” you cursed fate and destiny and everything in between. “It was bad fucking timing.

A sharp edge rose in Bucky’s voice, “You think that’s what happened?”

You nodded, “Um… yeah. Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He was steadfast. Resolute. He wanted to argue with you, wanted to prove you wrong.

“What do you mean?”

“My feelings never ebbed- whether I was dating someone or not, those feelings never went away,” he said. There was a desperation in his voice. A longing you hadn’t heard before. “And they still haven’t. They’ve never gone away or even faded a little bit. I know you had fleeting feelings for me at one time or another, but mine weren’t temporary.”

It was bullshit- it had to be. Right? His “feelings” for you never seemed so concrete, so permanent. They weren’t even feelings; if anything they were more like passing flirtations. Momentary affections that dissolved every time a beautiful woman walked by.

You let out a scoff, “Tell that to all of your girlfriends-”

“I only dated other people because I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice rose an octave or so and he cut his eyes toward the house, watching for a sign that someone had heard him. “Every time you started seeing someone new, it was like I couldn’t breathe. So, I needed something- someone- to be a distraction. And I know that’s a dick move. But-”

You weren’t proud of it, but you were familiar with Bucky’s coping mechanism. With his tactics for surviving every new boyfriend of yours. “I did the same thing.”

“What?” He didn’t believe you- not even for a second. Your engagement ring wouldn’t allow him to.

“Buck, I’ve had feelings for you since we became friends. It was pretty much immediate after meeting you. And they weren’t ‘fleeting’- or whatever you said.” The word actually offended you. “They’ve never ebbed.”

You caught a glimpse of your engagement ring in your periphery and instantly dropped your hand into your lap, hiding the ring from your view- and Bucky’s. “I only dated other people because I didn’t think anything could actually happenbetween us.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He instantly mourned the lost time, the years he could’ve spent with your lips on his. Of course, the friendship you shared was never a waste. And he’d never trade the years you spent as confidantes. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how different things could’ve been. How much mutual pain could’ve been avoided.

He took a step away from you, too confused and upset to be in your orbit. “And you never told me any of this?”

Your brow furrowed; your lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

With fury smoldering in your chest, you rose from your seat on the porch steps. Anger glistened behind your eyes and hurt coated your words. “I told you! I bared my fucking soul to you!”

The puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He let his head tip back a bit and covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep groan that only added to your rage. He didn’t have to ask- he already knew what you were referencing. But the part of him that wanted a fight egged you on. “Oh my god, are you talking about that night at the bar?”

“Of course I am!” you spat. “I told you everything- I confessed everything! I told you I loved you and that I wanted to be with you. I told you I was in love with you. And you just brushed it off!”

Bucky grimaced, “I know...”

He wandered a bit farther, putting a few more paces between your body and his. He knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up. Every time he thought about what you said at the bar, and the way he reacted, he grew nauseous.

“But I didn’t think it was real.” Another wave of desperation sent his voice booming through the yard, “I didn’t know you actually meant it! And I didn’t think I should hold you to something you said after six margaritas.”

He had a point. He had good reason not to believe a drunken confession. But you gave a fervent shake of your head; it wasn’t his actions that night that hurt you, it was everything that followed.

“But you didn’t even acknowledge it!” The words echoed down your street. You wondered if your neighbors had gathered around their windows, watching yours and Bucky’s drama unfold like a soap opera. “You could’ve asked me about it the next day or-”

The pain in your voice cut Bucky deep. His tone was softer now, his voice a little quieter. He knew he should’ve handled things differently. Knew you deserved better. “Well, you never brought it up either…”

“I tried to!” A rogue tear dripped down your cheek. You wiped it away in a hurry, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it- though you knew he had. “But you told me ‘not to worry about it’ and then you walked away. And that was it.”

Bucky watched as a few more tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. He wanted to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. To offer you a hug. But he couldn’t- he was certain you’d swat him away. Regret sat in his stomach, weighing him down like lead.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told you how I felt, and you pretended like it never even happened,” your voice wavered ever so slightly. “And when I tried to talk to you about it, you waved me off. I was so humiliated- I didn’t want to say anything else.”

The weeks that followed your drunken- but true- confession were some of the most miserable times of your life. Bucky simply carried on like normal, inviting you over for movies and pizza and wine. And you didn’t have it in you to pull away. To put some distance between the two of you. To take the time you needed to lick your wounds. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t want to stray from his side. Didn’t want to retreat. Because being around him was better than being without him, even if the rejection left you broken and bruised.

“After that,” you shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want anything more than friendship with me.”

“But I-” Bucky shook his head; you were wrong- you were so wrong. He’d always wanted more, always wanted you. “I’ve always loved you…”

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, your string of girlfriends says otherwise.” You thought back on the litany- on the catalogue- of beautiful women Bucky paraded around. “And I know I dated other people, too. But you had so many. And you were so- you gushed about those women. You flaunted them. You talked about them nonstop.”

Bucky knew it was true. He brought his girlfriends to every event, every team dinner, every casual hang. The one time, the one place he deemed too sacred for the presence of his rotating cast of lovers, however, was the one-on-one time you shared. He never dreamed of allowing them to tag along when it was just supposed to be the two of you- that was one line he’d never cross. He did spend a significant amount of time talking about them, though. He went on and on about his many, many forays into the dating world. And truth be told, you had trouble keeping track of all the names.

Because, while you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, Bucky dated enough women to field a soccer team. Or two.

But you weren’t mad at him for it. You didn’t hate him for seeking companionship. You just couldn’t believe that he had real, legitimate feelings for you while simultaneously telling you that he planned to propose to Isabella. Or Nadia. Or Violet.

“Honestly, you made it seem like you wanted to marry every one of them,” you told him. “The way you talked about them- it was like you were so in love. So, I didn’t think…” The whole situation was too messy. Too confusing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to have real feelings for me. I thought you were a flirt. And a ladies’ man. And I thought you only showed me affection when you were bored between lovers.”

Bucky thought back on all the girlfriends. All the hook ups. All the times he left a one-night stand and ended up at your apartment after. He hated it- but you were right. He may have flirted with you; he may have showed you fleeting affection. And maybe he made a joke or two about growing old with you- but he never made a declarative statement. He never confessed his true and undying love for you. Never made the effort to take your friendship to the next level.

Only you’d been brave enough to do that. And he’d paid you dust.

“And I mean, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk about my feelings for you,” you said. A flood of familiar embarrassment rose around your ankles. You found yourself struggling to wade through it, just as you had after Bucky brushed you off. “So, I just… I found Cole. And I stayed with him- I stayed long enough that he asked me to marry him. And I knew you didn’t want me, so… I said yes.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a reality in which he didn’t want you. “I’m so-” he slid a hand over his mouth. He let his head drop a bit.

The weight of your words- of the truth- almost forced him to his knees. He’d only ever known longing, wanting, yearning- for you. And he always told himself you didn’t see him that way. But knowing now that you’d felt the same, that your confession was real and true, didn’t assuage the hurt. He couldn’t believe that he brushed you off. That he didn’t take the time and summon the courage to ask you about what you said at the bar.

But he’d been too scared. Too scared he’d ruin your friendship. Too scared he’d make you uncomfortable. Too scared that your drunk words were just that- drunk words with no meaning.

As your point of view stood next to his, the puzzle pieces aligned. And the two of you finally got a look at the full picture. It was a picture of mutual love, mutual longing, mutual heartache. A picture of two best friends who couldn’t find it in them to have a serious- sober- conversation about their feelings for fear of ruining a good thing.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said. “I didn’t know you were serious at the bar. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I never want to hurt you.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, mopping up a stray tear that threatened to run down his cheek. “And I really didn’t mean to push you into the arms of another man. I just... I didn’t know you meant it.”

A tired sigh deflated your chest, “I meant it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle the situation. He hated that things got so muddled. Hated that you felt so hurt. Hated that he hadn’t just been honest. The two of you were so close, so comfortable together, he never thought things could get this messed up. This disastrous. But he supposed it was par for the course. After the way his life had played out, why would he think that something as important as falling in love would be easy?

“So, it seems like we’re…” Bucky frowned, “terrible at this.”

“Yeah,” a dark laugh escaped your chest. “I guess we’re both stupid.”

Bucky nodded. If there’d been one- just one- honest conversation between the two of you, none of this would’ve happened. There’d be no Cole. No hurt feelings. No argument in the yard. All this time, you could’ve been sleeping next to Bucky each night. You could’ve shared a home with him. Kissed him good morning each time the sun rose. And the engagement ring- albeit a smaller one- resting on your finger would’ve been from Bucky.

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? There was too much pain, too much hurt. And you were very much so engaged. Hell, you and Bucky were standing in the front yard of the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband. But Bucky had to ask, didn’t he? He had to dig deeper, to find the truth.

And after he’d failed to acknowledge your truth last time, he wasn’t going to do it again.

Knots twisted around in his stomach. His lungs failed to expand all the way. But he needed to know. “Do you still-

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t leave even a sliver of room for doubt. “I still love you.”

Bucky said nothing. He simply drank in the words. Replayed them in his mind. Relished in the sound of your voice- sober and steady- saying that you loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But his silence pushed you to the precipice.

“So, um,” your hands shook. “What about you? Are you-”

Bucky almost laughed. “Oh, come on. Of course, I do- of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?” He shot you a wink.

There it was- his truth laid out before you. And to think, you’d dreaded this night for weeks. Dreaded celebrating your engagement to Cole. Dreaded answering questions about your impending wedding. And now, the love you’d hoped for, the love you’d always wanted, laid perfectly spelled out for you in the grass. Somehow, the party celebrating your engagement to another man provided the perfect venue for Bucky to bare his soul.

And while the two of you relished in the others’ words of love, uncertainty still filled the air. Bucky stood firm on his side of the lawn, and you yours. This wasn’t a perfectly scripted episode of sitcom, there weren’t people telling you what to say. What to do next. Your shared predicament was messy and awkward. And though you didn’t have a director telling you how to act, you knew your neighbors were entertained.

“So, what do we…” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do we do now? You’re supposed to marry someone else. Your house is full of people celebrating your engagement. And-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

You pursued him across the lawn, stalking toward him until your lips crushed his. Instantly, his hands found your waist and pulled you tighter. Your hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and buried themselves in his hair. The chill in the air fell away. The noise of the party evaporated. Nothing existed outside of this moment, this kiss. Bucky snaked his arms around your back, encircling you completely. He wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not again.

But an errant sound from inside the house made a grab for his attention. And suddenly, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a train.

He pulled away ever so slightly, only allowing a few millimeters between his lips and yours. His gaze landed on the packed house, “Someone might see us-”

“I don’t care.” You gave his hair a gentle tug and closed the gap between you. Now that you’d finally tasted his lips, you didn’t want to spend a moment without them. Ever.

And while Bucky wanted only this- only you- for the rest of his life, his anxiety needled at him as it always did. He did his best to swat his worries away and devote his focus to you and only you, but he couldn’t fight it. He had to tell you, had to clarify.

Again, he pulled away.

“But you know I can’t- I can’t give you the things he can give you. You know that right?” He searched your face for any hint of realization. Any flicker of regret. “I mean, the big diamond ring, and the fancy wedding, and the house. I don’t want you to be disappointed, I don’t want you to-”

And again, you cut him off. Your mouth melted against his, hell bent on consuming him right then and there.

“Buck, I don’t want any of that,” you finally said when you came up for air. “I want you. That’s it.”

And there it was- Bucky’s confirmation that you wanted him for him. That you didn’t care about his small, shabby apartment. Or his lack of funds. That you loved him for who he was, not what he could gift you.

“And honestly, all the fancy stuff isn’t really my vibe,” you shrugged. “I mean, I’m not really the type to play tennis at the country club. And I don’t use ‘summer’ as a verb.”

Bucky’s laughed boomed through the yard. It cut through the noise and chatter of the party and made you feel more at home than you ever did in this godforsaken house.

“So, do you want to make a run for it?” Bucky asked between long, deep kisses. “If we go now, I don’t think they’ll catch us.”

It was enticing. The thought of absconding with Bucky set you alight from the inside out. All you could think about was spending the night in his bed, wearing his clothes as pajamas, and then ditching them entirely for a night of passionate debauchery.

But there would be plenty of time for the two of you to make your escape- after you carried out the plan forming on the outskirts of your mind.

“I say, we run- but not quite yet,” you told him. “I think you give me a few minutes inside so I can snag a couple bottles of champagne and some of that fancy whiskey Cole’s dad brought by. And then we jump in the getaway car and run like hell. How does that sound?”

How could Bucky possibly say no to that? He watched with bated breath as you snuck back into the house and hoped to god that no one noticed your return.

And his prayers were answered. Everyone was so drunk, so distracted by the music and the lights, that they didn’t even glance in your direction.

A quick trip to your room allowed you the opportunity to rid yourself of Cole’s ring. Sure, it was beautiful. And sure, Cole was a nice guy. But you didn’t want it, didn’t want to be shackled to him for the rest of your life. You slid the ring from your finger and instantly felt the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. It was the most instantaneous relief you’d ever felt- aside from kissing Bucky for the first time. You tucked the ring safely into the drawer of your nightstand and told yourself you’d return it to Cole tomorrow.

Tonight, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You snaked down the hall to the kitchen, undetected by the raucous partygoers. And without drawing any attention to yourself, you snaked two bottles of champagne out of their ice bath and tucked a nice vintage whiskey under your arm. If you and Bucky were going to celebrate, you were going to do it in style.

With the alcohol safely cradled in your arms, you made a mad dash for the front door. But just as you turned the handle, the sensation of someone watching you gave you pause. Slowly, you turned around, fearing that you’d find Cole’s confused, heartbroken gaze staring back at you. Instead, it was Nat who’d caught you in the act.

She gave you a wicked smile and mouthed “I told you so” from across the room. And with a sweeping gesture, she urged you to “go, go, go!” She didn’t have to tell you twice. Quick as a flash, you escaped out the door and sprinted down the porch steps.

Bucky paced up and down the front walk, waiting for your return. Part of him feared that you might not return from your trip inside. Maybe you’d change your mind about the whole thing. Maybe you’d decide to stay with Cole. But the way you tore down the front steps and launched yourself into his arms quieted his anxieties.

He took your face in his hands and captured your lips with his. “You got the goods?”

Your laugh vibrated against Bucky’s lips, “I don’t know about you, but I think stolen champagne tastes better.”

"That's my girl."

Bucky snaked an arm around your back and ushered you across the yard, out the front gate, and across the street to his car. He stole the booze from your grasp and placed the bottles gently in the back seat. And once he ensured that the alcohol you worked so hard to pilfer would make it home safe, he turned his attention to you.

His hands slid over your hips and traced up your spine, sending goosebumps over your skin. His mouth met yours in a kiss full of love and desperation. Longing and need. This was what you’d always wanted. What you’d begged the universe for. What you’d cried and agonized over. And now it was yours- Bucky was yours.

He pulled away only a fraction of an inch, “You ready to go, baby?”

“Get me outta here, Buck.”

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