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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

Text

under your skin.

The last walk-in you expected to see in your tattoo parlor in one rainy day was a massive masked behemoth of a man. It came as even more of a surprise when you wanted to see him there again and again; and a final time when he kept coming back.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Tattoo artist reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 7K

a/n: listen, as a tattoo artist irl, the first thing i did when i discovered ghost had a tattoo was to think how i had to self indulge. i’d kill to tattoo this man personally. shoutout to @117s-girl, @somnibats and Eddie for the tremendous help when i had writer’s block, and @deafeningcat for the amazing beta read as always <3

tags: fluff, reader being horny for ghost, ghost being slightly ooc, mentions at verbal abuse, slightly suggestive and slight angst.

You remember the first time Simon Riley walked into your shop.

It was a cold and rainy day - like most days in Manchester - and you were idling by, doodling on a notebook by the front desk and listening to whatever was playing on the radio without paying it much attention. Glancing at the clock on the wall where the empty loveseat was, you were starting to wonder if you should go get something to eat while you waited, when the bell on the front door chimed, indicating someone had come in.

At first, you thought he was going to rob you, and in a second you were already kissing your expensive equipment goodbye in your head, cursing the fact you had decided to buy that pricey tattoo machine you were eyeing for so long just last week, but those thoughts vanished when the figure just stood in front of you. Silently, you eyed the skull mask and sunglasses that covered his face, wondering what was this guy’s deal, since it was way too grey outside to be wearing any sort of eyewear. Trying not to let his huge stature looming over you be intimidating, you were about to say something when his gruff voice cut the silence.

“You take walk-ins?”

So he really was a client, you thought. Rummaging through the notebooks in the desk, you quickly glanced at your schedule, seeing your next client wasn’t supposed to come for a few good hours, and decided you were curious about the masked man.

“Well, it depends. What were you thinking of getting?”

He stood still for a moment, and you wondered if he heard you at all, but suddenly he reached for something in the pocket of his jeans, extending a neatly folded piece of paper in front of you. His voice filled the silence again as you unfolded the paper, and you found the thick accent oddly calming coming from him.

“I want it to be a sleeve. Covering my left forearm.”

You opened it to find a surprisingly intricate design, and it seemed like whoever did it made it with the intention of actually getting it as a sleeve. Not taking the masked guy for an artist, you found a signature on the bottom of the page, a chicken scratch that read “Tommy Riley”. Usually, you’d make light conversation and ask about the design, especially when it looked important, but something told you not to pry into this man’s business. Assuming he’s this “Tommy” fella, you just smiled politely, deciding you could fit the first session of it into your work day.

“Sure. It should take a few sessions, though, is that alright with you?” He simply nodded, wordlessly, and you decided that was good enough of an answer.

Leading him into the procedure room after getting his approval on the price, you made sure to give him a consent form for him to fill out and sign while you traced the design to a stencil - making sure to cut the right adjustments to wrap around his visibly huge forearm. You wondered if he was a weightlifter of sorts, or maybe just a gym rat.

Transferring the stencil to his skin and prepping your materials for tattooing was a completely silent ordeal, and your client seemed more than content in just letting the silence linger for the remainder of your encounter, and even if you were getting antsy by it, you were glad he didn’t comment on how visibly nervous you were when you wrapped your gloved hands around his arm to make the stencil stick - feeling his warmth and the protruding veins even through the latex that covered your own skin.

“You have any other tattoos?” You asked, stepping on the machine pedal to make sure your tattoo machine was at the right voltage while he got comfortable setting his arm on the arm rest.

“No.”

“Cool.” God, you felt awkward. “I’m gonna start now, tell me if it hurts too much.”

“Right.”

You felt stupid saying that to a man that had arms the size of your head and was at least 6,4. As expected, he didn’t even flinch when the needles touched his skin, but you weren’t about to give up on your mission to make conversation with your mysterious client. While tracing it with the machine, you analyzed the design a bit closer.

“That’s some interesting art.” It wasn’t. It was tacky as hell, all missiles and skulls and other edgy elements, but you were not going to say that to him. “You like guns?”

“Something like that.”

You gave up trying to chat him up shortly after. Even with the weird dad sunglasses on, you could still feel his stare on you, unnerving at best, and you wondered what was up with the mask. In your line of work, you’d met some interesting individuals, and you considered your shop a safe haven for all outcasts and misfits; you’d known, after all you did decide to pursue tattooing as a career. Still, something about this man - Tommy? - made you feel an itch to see what lied beyond the mask - both figuratively and literally. At least it would take a few more sessions to finish his piece, hopefully he’d say more than five words at once to you at some point.

It took you two hours to finish tracing it, and you deemed it was good to go and begin shading another day. Getting into professional mode, you gave him directions on how to care for it and asked him to come back after a month to start on shading it, and, as expected, he only nodded to you. Going back to the front desk, he handed the bills containing the price you had settled on, and turned around, leaving without another word. Out of curiosity, you picked up his file. The first thing you noticed was that he had left the “Occupation” space blank.

The second thing you noticed was that the signature read “Simon Riley”.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Simon didn’t come back after a month.

A good few months later, you just figured he’d given up and was now walking around with an unfinished tattoo, or, worse, he had picked another artist to finish the job, and the thought made you angrier than you’d like to admit. Despite your annoyance, whenever you’d organize your clients files, you’d find yourself lingering on his, weirdly curious and feeling like he was a puzzle you were dying to solve.

A long time passed - you don’t know how much, but you’d say it was more than a year - before he showed up again, and, once again, it was unannounced. You were finishing a client’s tattoo when your friend - and coworker - knocked on the procedure room door, and when you’d told her to come in, she looked like she had seen a ghost.

“There’s a guy in the waiting room asking for you. Said you were doing his sleeve…” She quietly announced, and you just stared at her quizzically, waiting for her to continue. "He 's…Big. Tall guy with a creepy skull mask.”

She whispered the last part so he wouldn’t hear it, even if he was a good corridor distance away and the metal music coming from the radio would drown it out, and after a few moments you realized she was talking about Simon. You remember answering something to her and finishing the tattoo on auto pilot before heading to the front desk, and, sure enough, Simon was standing there menacingly, in his whole huge aura, seemingly unbothered by how his height, frame, and mask were making the other clients in the shop regard him with uneasy looks. His eyes met yours once you showed up. You noticed he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses anymore, and his fabric mask had been replaced by a simpler balaclava and a hard skull mask on top that you hoped was made out of a synthetic material.

Now bare, his gaze revealed its intensity to you, the dark hues following your every move in a way you supposed you could find intimidating if a small, very weird part of you didn’t find it attractive. He seemed tired, eyes cast downwards and with bags surrounding it, and you wondered what had happened when he was gone.

“Hey.” You breathed, straining your neck to look up at him and completely forgetting about the other people in the room. “Riley, right? I’m guessing you’re here for the sleeve?”

He seemed slightly surprised you remembered his name, but the impression of seeing emotion in his eyes was gone in an instant as he simply nodded at you.

“Yeah. You got time?”

You didn’t. But you’d make it work, you weren’t about to send away the man who had, for some reason, plagued your thoughts so much for the last months.

“I got a few more clients, but if you don’t mind waiting, i can fit you in?”

You hated how uneasy you sounded, your hands fiddling with a stray loose line of your ripped jeans as you waited for his answer.

“That works.”

With his gruff reply, he turned and sat down in the waiting area, and you released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

The hours went by, the clients came and went to and from your procedure room as well as your colleague’s, yet, every single time you left the room to go to the front desk have a sip of water or check your next client’s name, Simon was still there, patiently waiting, the loveseat seeming oddly small under him, and his all black, dark getup blending perfectly with the black walls of the studio. If anything, it made you even more intrigued, since most people would have left by now, considering how long a tattoo takes and he could just come back another day, but he didn’t show any signs of having anywhere else to be. The people traffic started to wind down, and soon enough, you dismissed your last client of the day as you were the only artist left in the shop and the sun had already hid in the horizon.

“Glad to see you again. I was wondering if you had gotten another artist.” You laughed somewhat nervously, taking a breather by the glass door while Simon finished filling out another responsibility form, and you had to ignore how nervous you felt when he turned to glance at you with those dark and intense eyes of his.

“Got busy, that’s all.” He murmured, setting the pen down on the front desk and turning to the wall where your flash pieces were displayed. “And I like your work.”

Feeling your eyes widen, you tried to conceal how flustered the comment made you feel behind a cool chuckle, but something told you Simon could see right through you. Going back inside and pointing him towards the procedure room, you briefly glanced at the fresh consent form and realized he filled out his occupation this time, the words “Army” surprisingly not phasing you one bit.

Simon was the same as the last time, quiet as a grave. But, seeing as you were wrapping up the shading quicker than you’d anticipated, you decided this time you would not let this mysterious man walk out of your studio - possibly forever - without at least getting one piece of information out of him.

“So…does it mean anything?” You nodded towards his arm, trying to play it cool. Being in this field, you quickly realized not everyone gets tattoos that mean anything, and most of them are really just for aesthetics, but the signature below the original design had you wondering, even if the newfound information that he was in the military made the over the top missiles and dog tags inked on his arm make a lot more sense. He stared at you from behind the mask for a moment, making you feel queasy under his stare and suddenly very aware of how much you were draped over his arm trying to get the shading on one particular skull to look just right.

“Yeah.” After a few moments he replied, a wave of sudden relief washing over you upon realizing you had not, in fact, crossed a line. “My brother made it.”

“He’s quite the artist.”

“He really was.”

Oh.

You decided to drop the subject after the implication.

“And what branch are you in?” Not looking at him, you spoke in a low tone, too concentrated on the machine in your hands to realize you were maybe asking more than he was comfortable talking. “You know, uh, in the army.”

“Special Air Forces.” You realized he tensed almost imperceptibly, relaxing once you only hummed.

“Cool. I’d reckon you guys had tattoo parlors closer to base, though.”

“We do.” He huffed. “But I know the guys. Not nearly as clean as here.”

At that, you chuckled gently, missing the way Simon’s eyes softened at the sound.

You continued the piece in comfortable silence, distantly registering the pitter-patter of the rain that had just started falling on the street beyond the front doors. Finishing it up, faster than you would have liked, you decided the corny design looked good - really good - on him, and he might have been the only guy possible to pull it off, which could have been related to how big and strong his arms looked. Wrapping the tattoo in plastic film and reminding him to not keep it on for too long, you had to focus on acting professional and not let him know you were ogling at the recently inked piece of skin. The long sleeve shirt he had rolled up to his forearms did not help you one bit, nor did the way his eyes followed your every single movement.

When you got back to the front desk - relieved to find the rain had stopped - you expected Simon to just pay and leave silently the same way he did the last time, but he actually lingered, letting his eyes wander through the flash pieces displayed in a neat corkboard in the waiting room - this one with your name written on top. You actually don’t know when he got your name - something told you it was when he asked your coworker for you. He seemed quite interested in one particular design that had been gathering dust for a long time on the board, considering how big it was.

“See something you like?” You followed his gaze, realizing it was a ram skull chest piece you had completely forgotten about; it looked too dark and menacing for most people looking for walk-ins and flash tattoos. “That one was meant to be a chest piece. Works for the back, too.”

Simon studied it for a few moments. What was up with this guy and skulls? Finally, he turned to you.

“When can you do it?”

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The third time Simon Riley walked into your studio, it was, by far, the most memorable one.

Unsurprisingly enough, he had decided to set an appointment for the chest piece to be the last one of your day, a week later; whether he enjoyed the night time better or just wanted to not be bothered with other people around, that was a mystery to you. There was a third option in the back of your head, but you told yourself it was delusional, and your fascination with the masked man was, in fact, one sided. That didn’t stop you from greeting him with a cheery smile as you looked up from where you were doodling on your notebook on the front desk, pretty much like your first encounter. However, you didn’t think too much of what exactly the chest piece implied as you headed to your procedure room with Simon in tow. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you freezed for a second, holding up the carbon stencil in your hands.

“Uh, you might wanna…take off your shirt. It’ll be more comfortable for you.”

Preparing the stencil gel, you tried your best to ignore him and not let your eyes wander too much as he lifted the unnecessarily tight black t-shirt over his head, careful as to not remove the balaclava and skull mask combo, folding it neatly and setting the piece of cloth over your table before standing next to you in front of the full body mirror.

I’m a professional. I’m a professional. I’m a professional.

If you thought Simon was huge before, that was an understatement. 6,4 feet of pure, naked muscle stood inches away from your much smaller body, and you were extremely relieved to realize that he had, probably out of consideration for you, shaved his chest beforehand - the same couldn’t be said for the faint happy trail very clearly peeking from his jeans, sitting way lower on his hips than you’d like. Scolding yourself over and over for fawning like a horny teenager, you hoped the nervous tremble in your hands as you delicately smoothed the gel over his collarbones wasn’t as obvious as you felt it was. Even through the latex gloves you could feel the heat coming from his pecs, as well as a few minor scars that shouldn’t give you too much trouble. You decided to ignore the very visible and very big bullet scar on his side. As he adjusted his dog tags to hang behind his neck so as to not get in your way, you finally peeled the stencil off, trying to calm your frantic beating heart as he analyzed it in the mirror to make sure it was in the right placement.

It got worse when he actually laid on the tattoo table - comically dwarfed under his enormous frame. Sure, you had tattooed a fair share of chests along the years - both men’s and women’s - and it never really flustered you, after all, it was your job, seeing skin was a very big part of it. However, as you lowered your torso on the bed and tried to adjust your hand to sit as comfortably as possible on his chest, you thanked the gods it was such a big tattoo; you had no idea how you wouldn’t mess it up if it was a tiny one. But you doubted Simon would ever get a tiny tattoo. Above all, you could appreciate how he maintained his breathing slow and steady and, again, didn’t even flinch as the needles touched him, making you like him as a client even more.

“I’ve heard you guys in the army got…codenames?” You started, desperate to start some conversation before your intrusive thoughts won. “What do they call you?”

Slowly, you were getting used to his brief silence before answering you. It seemed like his way to decide if your question was worth answering or not, and you were glad he had found them all to be so far.

“Ghost.”

“Very fitting.”

You were surprised to hear him exhale in a way that resembled a very weak laugh, and you felt giddy knowing you made your ever so quiet and serious client laugh - or something like that. Feeling calmer, you continued the very big piece, strapping in for a long next couple of hours.

They passed quickly, your hand working almost in autopilot as you traced the tattoo’s lineart and made light conversation with Simon - Ghost. You learned he was a Lieutenant, liked bourbon and the mask never came off. Granted, it was mostly you speaking and him answering, but you were glad he was entertaining your nervous ramblings, and you were only slightly embarrassed to admit to yourself you found his southern British accent very soothing on his deep, gruffy voice. In turn, you told him a little more about yourself; why you got into tattooing and even a few funny stories from dealing with past clients.

Finally deciding it was enough strain on his skin for one session, you set your machine down and admired your work, smiling under your mask. Taking a generous amount of the tattooing balm on your fingers, you swallowed your nervousness before gently spreading the substance on his chest so it would heal nicely, not missing the way he relaxed under your touch. If you weren’t so busy panicking by having your hands on such a massive and attractive man, you could ponder on how he seemed to be enjoying that as much as you were. With your approval, he got up to examine the piece on the mirror, and you caught yourself staring into his strong, chiseled, and scarred back, before averting your eyes, choosing to focus instead on cleaning up the inky mess you made on your trolley. You once again went through the now familiar ordeal of him silently thanking you, paying, and leaving into the night.

As Simon Riley left the studio that day, carrying an unfinished piece of your work right on his chest, you realized something clearly had changed in the air between you two. You just had no idea if it was a good or bad thing.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The next time Simon showed up, a month later, you were stressed out of your mind.

You were booked, so you didn’t really have any open spots next to closing time the way he liked it, so he had to settle for coming a bit earlier than usual, which meant there were actually other people in the studio for once, including the one on the front desk yelling in your face.

You couldn’t really remember what he was yelling about, just that you were suddenly regretting your decision of working with people and wondering if it was worth it to stoop down low and insult him back the way he was doing to you. You figured the moment he started yelling about his already finished tattoo that it was most likely another scam attempt coming from him, but it didn’t really matter anymore once you zeroed in on the hulking figure that showed up unexpectedly behind your unpleasant client in the form of your masked savior. For a moment, you were scared things were going to get violent, but Simon didn’t have to do much. It took one glower from him, his gaze sharp enough to cut from way above the smaller man, and he was suddenly stuttering apologies and leaving the studio in a hurry. You ignored the looks the other people in the waiting room were giving the two of you, offering a tired, but extremely grateful smile, to Ghost.

“Hey, Riley.”

He was still staring at where the man had left, and the annoyance on his usually so stoic gaze came as a surprise to you.

“What happened?”

You were already heading into the procedure room, too shaken to deal with the stares of the people in the waiting room any longer, and shot him a sheepish look from over your shoulder.

“Just a rude client being difficult. Not the first time he gave me trouble, either, but it happens.”

Simon didn’t seem too happy with your answer, but he let it slide, for the moment. Heading into the room and closing the door behind you, the air fell into a familiar silence, broken only by the cluttering sounds as you set up your supplies, and, to you, your still frantic heartbeat in your ears by the less than pleasant interaction just a few minutes earlier. It was unlikely, given how observant he was, but you hoped Simon didn’t pick up on just how shaken you were. Still, you took a few moments to calm yourself down as you tested the machine with your feet; Simon had already made himself comfortable on the table, and soon enough you fell into the rhythm of inking him, the same way you had grown used to in those last few months. Focusing on a particularly stubborn piece of skin where the ink didn’t paint as easily, you were lost in thought when his voice pulled you back to reality.

“Are you scared of me?” You heard him ask quietly from above you, instantly knowing he was referring to the way your earlier client had run off on the sight of him. Pausing your ministrations, you looked up from his chest to find him already staring at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Since you were currently working on the details on his collarbone, you haven’t realized how close you actually were to his face, and suddenly you were hit with the realization you could feel his breath through both your masks; and an intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke and cologne. Caught in a trance by his dark gaze, you realized a little too late you were gawking and not really answering his question, which made you feel very glad for the surgical mask covering your suddenly very red face and flustered expression. Looking down to continue your work, you tried to find your words once again.

“Not really. I mean, the mask was off-putting at first, but I've had some odd people as clients. You’re cool, though. You remind me of those big, scary guard dogs, but in a good way.” Cringing at the lame answer, you felt like a kid talking to her crush in middle school all over again, and the huff-slash-chuckle that left Simon only made it worse. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t, and in your flustered stupor you couldn’t find any words either, so you just let the air around you fall into a comfortable silence over again. If it were anyone else, you’d be wary of the constant quietness, but, for some reason, Simon’s presence was enough to make you content, even if no words were exchanged.

Blacking out the parts that had to be inked was a piece of cake for you and your enormous needle - which you were glad was being used on Simon, since, most of your other clients would have been crying from the pain only halfway done with the black - and soon enough you were heading out to the front with him, readying yourself to bid him goodbye and, disappointedly, only see him again in the next month, once his tattoo was healed enough for another session, however, as you approached the waiting room, he made no move to leave. You thought maybe he was, again, inspecting your work displayed on the wall, the prospect of continuing to tattoo him after his chest piece was done getting you giddy already, but he was looking nowhere but in your direction, eyes unreadable behind the skull mask.

“I’ll wait until you close. Who knows if that asshole won’t come back expecting me not to be here anymore.”

Blinking up at him, it took you a few moments to process what he had murmured under his breath, and, in an instant, your heart rate shot up as you tried to wrap your head around the implications. Had it been any other client, you would have laughed it off, telling him not to worry and that you could take care of yourself, but it wasn’t just about anyone. It was him. And for some reason, the fact made you only wordlessly agree with a nod of your head and wide eyes, certain he could now see how clearly flustered and red your face looked. An intrusive part of your brain was screaming at you that he was just being nice, and that the protectiveness was just because of his job and nothing else, but you’d entertain these thoughts later - if ever.

So, much like the second time you’d met him, the rest of your afternoon was spent with seeing Ghost’s massive figure patiently waiting in the way too small loveseat in the front room of the studio, living up to the scary guard dog imagery you had joked about to him, except, this time, in between clients you’d sit besides him to catch a break and make light conversation, the deep rumble of his voice soothing all of your worries in a minute.

As the hours went by, it was way past nightfall when you closed up, everyone else had already left and you were exhausted after washing the studio on your own. True to his word, Simon loomed behind you like a shadow, quiet and intimidating, refusing to leave until he had walked you to your car in safety. You remember thanking him profusely, and him not making a big deal out of it, and the way your heart thrummed in your throat as you drove on autopilot to your house, trying to ignore the way Ghost’s figure walking besides you on the quiet sidewalk a few moments before felt just right.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

It was early August when you woke up in a very good mood that one morning.

Later you’d realize it was because it was the day of Simon’s appointment, but at the time you had chalked it up to just being a sunny day that brightened your spirits.

Business as usual, you went along your day, anxiously waiting for the place to empty out and you’d get your newly discovered favorite customer, not that you’d admit it outloud to him, or even to yourself. It was actually a slower day, with a big break between clients, which you were glad about, so between coffee and water breaks and chit chatting with your coworkers, soon enough the sun went down and the enormous figure of Ghost could be seen crossing the threshold of the studio’s glass door, responding your enthusiastic wave with a nod of his head, eyes relaxed behind the mask. As usual, he followed you inside the procedure room, and you remembered something.

“Lemme see how your sleeve is healing.” Extending your hand, you smiled cheekily at him, giddy after seeing his half-hearted eye roll, and he gave his left forearm for you to inspect. With his busy way of life, you’d have expected to be worse, but it was actually very well taken care of. “Wow, this has healed up perfectly, good job, Simon!”

You beamed up at him, but your smile faltered once you saw his eyes widening at the praise. Oops. He grumbled something in response and you decided to save him the embarrassment, releasing his arm with a chuckle.

No matter how many times he did it, every single time Ghost took his shirt off it made your brain short circuit, but you remained professional and fell into the familiar routine of tattooing him in comfortable silence, only this time it was broken not only by you talking first, but also him. It surprised you to hear him ask you questions first or tell you some non-compromising stories about his job, - making you chuckle a few times hearing about the shenanigans of this “Soap” friend of his - but you weren’t about to complain. You were lost in the familiarity of it all when you realized that you were actually almost done with the shading - meaning his chest piece would end one session earlier than expected. Trying to mask your disappointment, you wrapped it up, forcing a smile to a suddenly very confused Ghost.

“I thought we were going to need another session but, uh, turns out it was…faster than i expected!” You gave him a slight, nervous chuckle, and you swore you saw his eyes widen behind the mask.

As usual, you wrapped the ink in the plastic film - finding it very hard to make the masking tape stick to his large pecs - and gave the same instructions in a robotic way, following him to the front desk where he finished paying for his piece, all in absolute silence and with unreadable eyes. As the transaction was finished, he lingered, standing silently in front of you, looming. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“So, yeah, i guess that’s it…” You gave another chuckle, offering him a gentle smile. “Hey, don’t be a stranger-”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” He blurted out, shutting you right up, and that stopped you dead in your tracks. You stared up at him, unsure if you had heard him correctly, and were waiting for him to say something else or even backtrack, but that never came.

“Uh. Yes? I mean, yes, sure! I’d love to!” You stammered, certain you were wide-eyed and a flustered mess, not expecting him to be so straightforward, or, even say anything at all. Simon seemed a lot more composed than you, even if the way he blurted his question out made it seem like he could be slightly nervous. You doubted he ever got nervous, though.

“Great. Does this weekend work for you?”

Thinking back on your schedule, you remembered that no, it didn’t.

“I’m booked with work…But, the next one I should be free.” You hated how awkward you sounded.

He nodded, and took his phone out of his pocket to extend it for you, and you assumed he was asking for your number in the Ghost-est fashion possible. You unlocked it, noticing the lack of a password and the factory wallpaper, realizing it was probably a personal and barely used phone, punching your number in and saving the contact. As you returned the device to Simon, you found solace in realizing he probably felt as awkward as you did.

“I’ll see you in a fortnight, then.”

With a last nod of his head, he left, leaving you flustered, confused, but extremely giddy, and with a heart pounding against your ribcage.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Simon came back a week before he was supposed to.

As usual, you were closing up shop when he showed up, distractedly walking around the front room of the studio as you organized everything for the night, the sound of the heavy rain outside covering up the creaking of the glass door, so when you turned around, his presence startled you.

“Hi Simon! You’re early.” You chuckled once you recovered from your scare, but he didn’t match your energy. He was just standing there, stiff as a plank, and staring silently at you. Growing increasingly worried, you were about to ask if he was alright when he beat you to it.

“I’m leaving for a mission. And i’ll be gone for…some time.”

Your heart dropped, and you could only stare at his mask trying to process his words and find words, but ultimately settling on a quiet and disappointed oh. He finally approached you, and in less than a second he was standing towering over your figure, holding you in that familiar eye contact you’d grown to look forward to so much, even if you'd realized by his gaze that he seemed just as upset as you.

“Will you…be in danger?” It was a dumb question, but you couldn’t help yourself, everything you told yourself the days about moving slowly and waiting for your first date to decide how much you cared flying out the window as you openly worried for him for the first time. Ghost sighed, and suddenly you were hyper aware of how close you stood.

“I always am.”

Not breaking away from his intoxicating gaze, your words lowered to a whisper, a plea.

“Be careful. Please.”

The air stilled around you, thicker in tension that got worse with each passing millisecond, all of those feeling like hours. Simon’s height had never seemed so intimidating, and you never chastised yourself so much before for liking how his intense aura made you feel, something that increased tenfold once he boldly got even closer to you. Opening and closing your mouth like a fish, hoping something would come out eventually, you stilled upon feeling his gloved hands gingerly touching your face - dwarfing you in them - and you swore your heart was about to leap from your chest to your throat in a matter of seconds. His steely gaze flickered downwards briefly before returning to your eyes, asking for permission for something you didn’t even know quite right what it was, but that you’d give him regardless. The rough texture of his gloved left hand reached your now slightly parted lips as he traced the bottom of them with his thumb, moving his other hand to slowly lift up his balaclava just enough to expose his - unsurprisingly - sharp, stubbled jaw and full, lightly scarred lips. You barely had time to admire what you could see of him before his face was merely inches apart from yours, your breaths mingling together from both of your parted lips.

“You don’t even know what I look like.” He mumbled against you. A silent beg for you to stop him now, but you wouldn’t even dream of it.

“I don’t care.” You breathed back, voice barely above a whisper, and that seemed to break his resolve, as in the next moment he was leaning in and finally capturing your lips with his.

Kissing Simon Riley in real life was so much better than what you imagined. His height made it that he had to lean down an awkward amount to reach you and you actually had to stand a bit on your toes, but none of that mattered as you finally felt his lips move against yours, surprisingly slow and gentle for a man that looked like that, but you supposed he was always full of surprises. He moved his hands from your face to your waist, gripping with a little more force when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, encouraging him to kiss you harder - it would be a waste not to feel just how strong those huge arms of his could get wrapping around you. Groaning into your mouth, his touch soon became ravenous as he tasted you like a starved man, both of you now knowing it might as well be the last time you’d see each other, but you didn’t want to dwell too much on it, choosing instead to focus on the way he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you onto the counter as if you weighed nothing, getting even impossibly closer to your smaller frame, never breaking the kiss. You felt like you could stay wrapped up in his arms for hours, but at some point you had to part your lips, keeping your foreheads touching and looking at each other without saying another word.

He waited until you closed up and walked you to your car again; except, this time, as you watched his retreating figure from the rearview mirror, your chest felt constricted, the unsureness of if he’d ever come back alive clenching your throat in fear.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The late june spring air smelled good, and you were in high spirits.

You hummed contently, cleaning with a paper towel wet with soapy water the last smudges on the inked skin, leaning back to admire your work. The black crow on his upper back turned out particularly good, and you found it amusing how its edgy nature went along well with the other tattoos already on his body. Spreading the hydrating vaseline to wrap the piece up took a little more than you’d take with other clients, since you were busy admiring and feeling up the strong, scarred back beneath your fingertips.

“All done!”

The man got up, admiring the crow in an awkward angle in front of the full body mirror, and you couldn’t help but keep staring at the muscular back and pecs that you could see from your position in your chair.

“Quit the ogling.”

His voice sounded gruffy, but slightly amused, which made you chuckle and get up, stopping by his side to lean against his huge arms and stare back at him through the mirror.

“Quit being hot, then.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but you knew he was smiling under the mask and possibly had the slightest red dusting his cheeks - since he was so pale, you’d always notice it when he had his mask off, and in turn, he’d always notice how you’d stare at his face with a smug smile. He looked over the tattoo once more before you wrapped it up, past the stage of giving him the instructions, all of them already second nature to him, considering it had been so many years he started getting tattooed by you.

“You know” You started as he followed you to the front door of the mostly empty studio, the only other sound being the tattoo machine of a single other coworker that was staying late in their own procedure room. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know I still got another client and it should take one or two hours more.”

Ghost huffed, turning to you with his hands on his jacket pockets, the height difference between you never failing to take all the air out of your lungs.

“Nonsense. He’s not supposed to be here for another half an hour, right? I’ll go grab us some dinner from that place you like and I’ll be right back. I’ll help you close up then we can go home.”

You shook your head with a giggle, watching as he came closer to you, and were about to protest more but he gave you a look that left no chance for you to be stubborn, shutting you right up. Taking one hand out of his pocket, Simon lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jaw - which you had already admired that morning while he was shaving - and his lips, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled, feeling him murmur just so you could hear it.

“See you in a minute, love.”

With that, he left, leaving you to watch fondly his retreating form from the glass door, as you chuckled dreamily one last time and went back to your procedure room.

#capy.writes #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader

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dragonbarbie · 10 months

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𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇?

modern!aegon ii targaryen x reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: reader thinks aegon can never be more than a one night stand, and aegon is intent on getting her to give him a chance.

word count: 2.5k

tags: modern!au, smut, drunk!aegon having sex with sober!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, tity sucking, pussy eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex

note: i very much write fanon!aegon, not the canon, show!version.

sidenote: is this lowkey inspired by my irl situationship who wont quit calling me every time he gets drunk?? maybe

it was a regular friday night for aegon. his frat was throwing a big party, and he had organised everything down to the last detail. he had a reputation to maintain after all, known affectionately as the king of parties of dragonstone university. he had already drunk his own weight in alcohol, flirted (and then proceeded to get handsy) with a couple of girls but he’d been too distracted to follow through with any of them.

his mind instead wandered back to a couple of weeks ago, at another party, where he’d met y/n. she’d been chatting to cregan stark, wearing a little black dress that hugged her in the best way imaginable. he knew, looking at her enchanting laugh at stark’s dumb joke, he had to have her. putting on his most charming smile, he’d approached her.

she’d been wary of him because of his reputation around campus (who wouldn’t be) but after a few disarming jokes as his fingertips grazed the side of her thighs, he’d managed to convince her to give him a chance.

drunken steps were then taken back to her dorm room, and they’d had what aegon could only call amazing sex.

now hold on, you have to believe him when he says amazing, alright? he’d slept with too many women to count, after a while the nights blended to the point that he couldn’t much differentiate between what having sex with each of them had felt like. so, when one such night stood out for him? it meant it had met a very high bar indeed. after all, he thought, he didn’t go around spending the night at every girl’s place.

he'd thus expected a little warmer treatment come morning and was rudely shocked at her attempting to throw him out. still, wearing his jeans in such a hurry that its button and fly was undone, unlaced shoes, bare-chested as he held his rumpled shirt in his hand, he’d had the audacity to offer her a lazy grin and promise “i’ll call you.”

“please” she’d snorted with an amused look, “everyone knows aegon targaryen is not the type to call.” taking no note of his offended expression, she’d shut the door in his face.

he’d been wondering about those words ever since. sure, she hadn’t been wrong but, hey, he’d meant the lie this time! with tits that great, ass that perfect, why wouldn’t he want a repeat of last night? he’d thought to himself.

determined to prove her wrong, he’d asked around the frat house and found out her number. but as his hand had hovered over the call button, something had stopped him. she’d caught him spot on, he realised. he wasn’t a relationship guy, and she wasn’t expecting the relationship-thing with him. perhaps it was best he left her alone.

he’d done just that, at least while sober. drunk aegon on the other hand, found it much easier to pick up the phone and dial her number.

“who is this?” there was panic and sleep in her voice, having picked up an unknown number at 2 in the morning “sweetheart! you picked up” he’d grinned, words slurring. he could practically hear the eyeroll on the other end. “aegon… to what do i owe the pleasure?” “i was just missing you.” he sighed. “sure.” nothing in her voice indicated that she believed him.

“i’m actually not far from your dorm. how about i come up with a bottle of tequila and we can… catch up?” he suggestively added. “it’s 2:14 am…. on a tuesday.” she pointed out, but her words didn’t seem to mean much to him as he replied, “so?” an exasperated sigh could be heard over the phone, “good night, aegon.” click. he stared down on the iphone in his hand in disbelief, she’d hung up on him.

he decided maybe he’d come out too strong, so the next time he texted first. he’d stared at the text for a couple of minutes, and when he saw that she was online but hadn’t bothered to text him back, he’d walked over to the nearest girl and proceeded to make out with her in the bathroom. until he was interrupted with a buzzing in his pocket, “just a minute” he’d mumbled against her lips, unbothered by her disappointed expression as he fished for the phone in his pocket hurriedly.

he saw that y/n had finally replied to his ‘u up?’ with a ‘depends.’ his brow furrowed at her response in confusion, he typed back ‘on what’.

the notification arrived with a ping. her response read ‘are u drunk?’. something told him instinctively to lie. he typed out a no, but once the message sent, he realised it had autocorrected to ‘yo’. he corrected it to a no and sent again, only to find the same mistake committed again. it was only after a string of typos had been sent, did he blink and realise autocorrect wasn’t to blame at all, his damn fingers just refused to cooperate with his inebriated brain.

ping. after receiving the string of nonsense, she finally replied ‘i got my answer.’ “aegon?” the girl in front of him looked at him impatiently, only to have him grab the handle of the bathroom door, leaving with a quick “gotta go”. he immediately called up y/n as he walked out of the party, but the call went straight to voicemail. all four times.

thus, every night aegon had gotten drunk since, he found himself being distracted by thoughts of y/n, frustrated at her refusing to engage with him.

that night too, once the clock on the wall started to look to him as if it were melting off and his feet seemed to stumble wherever he walked, his brain suddenly thought showing up to her dorm was the best idea ever.

reaching her door, he ran a hand through his hair before knocking. no response. impatient, he loudly whined “y/n! c’mon, open up!” met with more silence. he whipped his phone out, blinking at the bright screen as he concentrated to make sure it was without typos, he sent her a text, ‘m 0utsidee’. he pounded with his fist on the door one more time, before a door opened, but not the one he was standing in front of.

three doors down, y/n stood against her doorframe in her small black shorts, red tank top riding up slightly to reveal skin just above them. “wrong fucking door, idiot.” aegon grinned as he walked towards her. “you’re lucky baela’s out of town for the weekend, otherwise she would have kicked your ass for banging on her door like that.”

ignoring her, he pouted as he leaned his head against her door frame, looking too much like a wounded puppy. y/n felt a tug at her stomach at how undeniably cute he looked. “why don’t you ever pick up my calls?”

“why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she asked instead of answering. “what?” he mumbled, confused. “high….why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she slowly repeated, as if talking to a two-year-old. “i’m not interested in someone who needs to be drunk to call me. i don’t want to be your booty call.” she shrugged. his lower lip jutted out further at her response, crease appearing between his brow. oh, gods, y/n found herself thinking, how could someone manage to look this pathetic and this cute at the same time.

“you’re not a booty call.” he groaned in protest. after all, there were enough girls at that party willingly throwing themselves at him, he could have been with anyone, and yet… it was her door his drunken steps had taken the path of.

“go home, aegon. it was a one-time thing. it’s not happening again.” she insisted. her words seemed to have no effect on him, as he placed a hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. he bent down to her ear and whispered, his words slurring, “let me show you all the reasons that this should be more than just a ‘one-time-thing’.”

he pressed his lips to hers, softly at first. she didn’t immediately kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips on hers felt more intoxicating than whatever it was that she could smell off his breath, and she found her lips moving against his within seconds. he bit her lower lip playfully, at her response. she parted her lips to allow him to slide his tongue past them. his hand, meanwhile, slid under the material of her tank and travelled upwards, thumb pressing against her nipple as he squeezed her breast. breaking from the kiss for a second, he smirked at her, “didn’t bother wearing a bra to greet me?”. “i was preparing for bed!” she hissed in response. “excuses” he shook his head at her, teasing.

with his hand he lifted her tank to reveal her bare breasts. “aegon!” she attempted to keep her voice low, lest her neighbours wake up to the scene, “we’re in the middle of the hallway, anyone can walk in!” the idea of someone catching them only made it all the more exciting for aegon, “relax.” he told her with a laidback smile.

before she could protest, his head dipped and he captured her nipple in his mouth. a moan escaped her lips at the feeling, and she stumbled back, her back hitting her doorframe. aegon continued his tongue’s assault on her sensitive nipple, one hand gripping her waist to keep her in place, the other reaching behind her to squeeze her ass. her hand held the nape of his neck, as her head was thrown back in pleasure at his actions. she whined when he abruptly stopped.

he kneeled down and his fingers reached up, pulling her shorts and panties down her legs, causing a shiver to go up her spine. chewing on her lower lip in nervousness she weakly said, “we should go inside” but she couldn’t deny that the thought of getting caught made her even more wet. there was a hint of recklessness and danger in his eyes, “where’s your sense of adventure?”. he threw the clothes inside her ajar door, then lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. she audibly gasped as she felt his tongue upon her already soaking pussy.

“aegon…ah!” her hand gripped his hair as his tongue played tricks on her core, her eyes rolling back till she could see stars. his grip on her thigh remained firm, and she was certain she would be waking up with a bruise. “close… so…close…” she had begun to say after a few minutes, feeling her muscles tense, when he stopped.

he stood up and started to undo his pants, freeing his length. he grabbed her by the waist, letting the tip of his cock tease her folds. she was already moaning for him, “want me to take you right here? make you scream my name, till your neighbours come checking?” she swallowed at the thought, lust overtaking her eyes.

“let’s do one thing.” he smiled as if he’d struck upon the most perfect idea, but the gleam in his eyes told y/n it couldn’t be anything good. he turned her around by her waist, hand coming to her front to rub her clit as he whispered in her ear, “you see that door?”. she knew he could only mean the door to the elevator which was the way to enter her dormitory floor. she managed a nod in response, unable to form words as his fingers pressed down on her so ruthlessly. “keep looking at it.” he commanded as he grabbed her hips back to push his cock inside her. “aegon!” she gasped at the feeling.

he entered her completely in one go, pulling out punishingly slow before pushing back in. he continued speaking as he impaled her, “someone’s gonna walk in any moment now…” he teased, “…and see you in this mess… see you bent over, taking me from behind…like a whore” the thought embarrassed her, yes, but what embarrassed her more was that she found herself almost wanting it to come true.

“even when they walk in, i won’t stop.” he threatned, his thrusts becoming faster. “you’ll be on display for everyone to see… to see how well you take my cock.” he gathered her hair in his fist in one hand, and she felt him pulling it lightly. “yes, oh, yes!” she found herself moaning, eyes intently trained on the door. “you’d like that? of course, you would, little slut.” she only whimpered in response, his words bringing her closer and closer to her edge. “you’d love to have everyone see just how well you receive a ‘booty call’” he chuckled. she could feel herself going weak at the knees at his pace and dirty talk.

“aegon… i—ah!” pleasure spread over every inch of her body, as she came all over his cock. he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own orgasm, until he emptied inside of her with a grunt.

her legs felt wobbly as he pulled out of her, turning her back around to face him. “next time i call—” he panted as he spoke, exerted from their activities, “—pick up.” she smirked, in contrast to his dominating actions mere moments ago, his words now sounded more like a pleading request; one she felt gracious enough to grant him as his juice and her own dripped down her legs. “i will. promise.”

his pearly white teeth showed as he grinned at her response, pleased. “oh, but i’m not nearly done with you for the night, just yet.” he lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he shut the door behind them as he walked back inside her dorm.

the next morning, she didn’t kick him out like the last time. she let him linger around her bed, aegon placing a trail of kisses down her body as a manner of greeting her good morning. he was needy and showed it by being as tactile with her as could be. yet she felt comfortable with his touches, allowing herself to lie with him for hours, their legs tangled. even as she bid him goodbye from her door, she had to practically tear her lips off his, neither able to get enough of the other.

she felt content as she’d shut her door behind her, leaning against it as she thought back to the night that had passed, when her phone started to ring. she picked it and smiled as she saw the name being displayed, ‘aegon (don’t pick up)’.

“see i am the type who calls. a lot” she laughed at his words through the phone, able to hear him standing right outside the door. “and also the type who does breakfast. what do you say, brunch in an hour?”

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fettuccin-e · 7 months

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Fires In Those Eyes

Kinktober Day 11: Seduction

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, afab!fem!reader, oral (m!recieving), fingering, unprotected piv (pls wrap it irl omg please), joel is whipped, but also so is reader, degradation, possessive sex, joel's filthy mouth again my bad (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: Second Joel fic of the month! Hooray! This time they actually get naked and get down and dirty so double hooray. I tend to just write Jackson!era Joel just because I want him to be happy okay. Also day 10 will be up eventually so sorry about that lol (I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Most of the time, Joel doesn’t think you’re even trying to seduce him like you do. You’re just you. Perfect, soft you, the woman he fell in love with when he didn’t think he was even capable of it anymore. And God, it’s embarrassing with how much he wants you all the fucking time. When you’re on patrol with him, when you’re making dinner for him, you, and Ellie, in the house that you managed to make a home. He feels deranged with the way he wants to tear your clothes off and fuck you until you scream for him at only the drop of a hat. And you’re not even trying.

You’re trying now, though.

He can tell, from the moment you step inside the house, peeling off your gloves and looking at him with a glint in your eyes that has his breath hitching and cock bulging in his jeans.

“Ellie’s sleeping over at Dina’s tonight,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over the planes of his chest. There are flames in your eyes, and Joel feels like he’s burning.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice rougher than he means it, but you only lick your lips and look up at him through your lashes. You look like pure fuckin’ sin.

You perch up on your tip-toes, leaning close enough that your lips brush the skin of his ear. “What are you going to do about it?” you whisper, and Joel can’t help how he growls.

He’s got you slammed up against the wall before he even knows what he’s done, tearing your coat off your shoulders and letting it fall carelessly to the floor. You pull your shirt off, throwing it somewhere behind him, before you lick into his mouth in the messiest, dirtiest kiss he’s ever had. You claw at his back, rubbing against him like a damn cat in heat, and Joel feels lightheaded with how fast blood rushes to his cock.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he rasps against your lips, and you whine so sweetly for him.

“Need you to fuck me, God, I need it so bad, Joel.” Your hand comes down to squeeze the bulge of his cock through his jeans, and fuck, you’ve never been this bold, never taken him like you are right now.

“C’mon, baby,” he groans, “let’s go to bed.” But you’re shaking your head, your deft hand unzipping him and freeing him from the confines of his clothes.

“No, no,” you whine, “‘S too far, Joel, need you now.”

You look up into his eyes as you sink to your knees before him, and Joel’s vision blurs at the edges when you lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his length. He has to brace his hands on the wall as you take him into your mouth, hot wet heat engulfing him as you sink deep. The tight clutch of your throat has him groaning, his hips pitching forward.

You grab onto his hips like you love it, sucking hard enough to make the breath punch out of his lungs. Your head bobs obscenely, your hair brushing his thighs every time to take him to the root. His knees tremble, struggling to hold himself up as you suck his cock like you’ll never get the chance again.

“Baby,” he groans, and you pop off of him, grinning with that same fire in your eyes that makes him want to rip you apart on him. Fuck, he thinks you want him to do just that.

The way he gets to the floor, gets you on your hands and knees for him, is a goddamn mystery. It can stay a mystery, a blur in his memory for all he cares, because when he gets your pants off, peeling your panties halfway down your thighs, baring your beautiful, glistening pussy to his gaze, none of it fucking matters anymore. All that matters is the way his fingers drive into you, reckless, insistent, hammering into you so hard you see stars.

“Fuck, honey, you’re drippin’,” Joel mutters, and your face burns, even as your hips hump back into his hand on pure instinct. “She’s just gonna suck me right in,” he says, twisting his hand as his fingers spread you apart in a way that makes you sob.

And he’s right, he’s so right. Sinking into you is a goddamn revelation, hot and tight around him as you scrabble at the floor for purchase, moaning and pushing your hips back against him. Your pussy lets him in so easy, so perfect, and he shudders as your body clutches at him like a vice, hot and wet and at his fucking mercy.

“God damn it, baby,” he groans, thrusting into you to the fucking hilt and relishing in the way it makes you scream. “You’re so fuckin’ wet f’me.”

“Oh God,” you gasp, even as it feels like your pussy is being stretched to its fucking limit. “All day, fuck- I’ve been wet for you all fucking day.” His hips slap against your ass so hard, pressing in so deep that all you can do is gasp for air and fucking take it.

“Yeah, honey? Needed this cock all fuckin’ day? Comin’ home just to fuck me like a goddamn slut,” he rasps, and God, it’s true. His cock in your cunt is all you need, all you ever need. Even with the wooden floor digging into your achy knees, your panties tangled around your thighs, fuck, this is all you’ve needed since you woke up this morning. He’s right, you’re a whore for the way he fucks you.

“Yes, yes, oh my fucking- Joel,” you cry out as he hammers into that sweet spot buried deep inside, not letting you breathe for a second.

“This what you needed, sweetheart? Needed me to fuck you on the goddamn floor like we’re fuckin’ animals?” He presses a hand to the small of your back, shaping you into an obscene arch that has you getting tighter around him, practically choking his cock with your pretty pussy. “Such a fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Who can fuck you like this?”

“You, Joel,” you cry, tears dripping from your eyes onto the floor. He pulls your hair into his hand, yanking your head back and pulling your body onto his cock with every thrust. The sounds of your cunt smack, smack, smacking against his body are sticky and wet and fucking debauched.

“That’s fuckin right,” he says, sounding about as wrecked as you feel. “Only me. I own this fuckin’ pussy, right baby?”

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes,” you’re gasping, clawing at the wooden floor, and Joel fucking chuckles behind you, deep and dark and primal.

“C’mon, girl,” he rasps, and he snakes a thick hand under your heaving body to rub a calloused finger along your throbbing clit, and you scream. “Squeeze this cock with this slutty little cunt. Show me who owns you.”

And you can’t refuse him, you can’t, not when your body is already locking up with your orgasm. Your pussy strangles his cock, practically forcing his orgasm out of him, and he snarls as he fills you up with his cum. He takes his hand from your hair to wrap it around your chest, pulling you up to press your back against his chest. You tremble in his hold as spasms rock through you.

When you finally settle, he presses kisses to your neck, and you let out soft giggles in reply, running your fingers through his hair.

“Mm, I need a nap,” you sigh, sinking against him. You gasp as Joel nips harshly at your skin.

“Nuh uh, baby. You started this,” he rasps, dark with promise. “And I’m the one that’s gonna fuckin' finish it.”

#oh joel how i adore you #when i write him the filthy mouth is just there idk how to explain it #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou smut #tlou fic

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thel0v3hashira143 · 3 months

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❝𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐔𝐏!❞

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ eren armin jean reiner n levi ☆ various aot men as dads!!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ fem!reader (referred to as mom or mommy), black aligned reader but as per usual anyone can read

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ notes: y'all thought i was playin when i said had 2 other pieces huh...well anyways heres my 2nd official revamp entry!! erm i hope u guys like it cause i lost like 3 hours of sleep over this. (its bhm you have to like it or else) stay hot!! 🎀🎀

eren yaeger 🌸

2 words. girl dad.

this man was born to have an army of girls surrounding him at all times (but he's not necessarily complaining in this case)

you two's daughter is a very passionate and outgoing child and eren totally embraces that

he's deeply involved in his child's life, sharing stories about the world and instilling a sense of curiosity (aka giving her bad ideas)

he was an outside and play in the mud kid so he is all for letting her have free range to express/play how she wants

and he's a sucker for your little girl so he usually gets roped into her shenanigans

when you come home and the house is quiet you know those two are up to something nefarious 😭😭

"eren, why the hell does my kitchen look a hot ass mess?"

"she wanted to make a cake, babe!"

i can see your daughter playing sports (soccer specifically) and he is 1000 the dad that yells at the ref.

"did you see that [name]!? that brat just pushed her over l, why didn't that bastard call it!?"

will get down and dirty for his girls. no matter what

emphasizes the importance of freedom, encouraging your to pursue her dreams no matter what.

actually the most supportive ever??

your daughter wants to play 10 different sports? he's buying all the equipment no matter the cost. she wants to be the next picasso? he'll buy her brand new art supplies and be her model.

just hes so just....*sigh*

armin arlert 🌸

my man, loml, my day 1, my soul mate my everything (he was my first anime crush i will be projecting on this one argue wit ur mama)

he is definitely a gentle parent to your little boy who's just a shy little dude

armin knows what it feels like to be that shy and quiet kid so he's very patient and understanding

him and your son are practically carbon copies of eachother minus his curly hair (which he got from you) but you think its adorable

speaking of hair HE TOTALLY LEARNS TO BRAID/DO TWIST

he knew taking care of your son's hair was going to require extra effort because of his texture but he doesnt care and learns anyway (sob sob)

him and your son are attached at the hip and wherever one goes you typically find the other.

they spend many quiet moments together and obviously armin reads him multiple stories before bed.

i can totally see y'alls son being an artist/artistically gifted

you can find him and armin sprawled out on the floor with paper and various art supplies as armin nods along to the nonsense coming out of your son's mouth

"mhmm, oh i see! i think that color looks great there too."

meanwhile you're in the corner just sobbing and dying of cuteness in your house

much like eren he teaches his son the values of curiosity and freedom, even if his son is a little more reserved

he wouldn't ever force him into doing anything he doesn't want to, but encourages him in the small things

i also fantasize about living by a beach with armin so ik he takes y'all to the beach at least 3 times a month.

every single time he goes he carries his son on his hip as the explore the beach in search of shells and other treasures to take home.

"you like this one buddy? why don't we give it to mommy as a nice present, yeah?"

i can't write too long or imma short circuit but i will be expanding on this because i love armin so much

he's so neat :]

jean kirstein 🌸

jean, as a dad, is like a mix of cornyness and seriousness

on the one hand i can totally see him making the stupidest dad jokes while you and your daughter are just like 🧍🏽‍♀️🧍🏽‍♀️

like the irl personification of "im not a regular mom, i'm a cool mom"

but on the other hand he's just like my dad where he can turn anything into a life lesson and you have to sit while he scolds your daughter for at least 30 minutes

it's all out of love tho

he thrives in a lighthearted atmosphere at home and spending time together is a huge thing for him

he is a bbq/camping dad and no i will not take criticism on this

jean takes pride in teaching life skills, from fixing things around the house to imparting practical wisdom (even though it isn't always wanted 💀)

your daughter will likely be well-prepared for the challenges of the world. he likes to think he's the reason she has a good head on her shoulders.

speaking of which, your daughter is very much sassy...(jean swears she gets if from you but we know the truth)

shes the first one to have something smart to say and its gotten her in trouble quite a few times with jean...but theyre besties.

balances tough love with genuine affection, cause he definitely mellowed out as he got older but knows when to put his foot down (unlike eren. what who said that??)

your daughter knows she can always count on him. ♡

reiner braun 🌸

AURGGYGHH I LOVE THIS MAN

anyways as soon as your son was born he only knew one word.

panic.

specifically timeskip!reiner. i can only imagine him as a worrier and a helicopter parent up until your son is like 6-7.

"rei, if you don't let that boy go play with the other kids!" "[name], i read that a slide has 82 times more germs than a kitchen sink. i won't let him be exposed to that."

it's just like *sigh* but thanks to you he eventually mellows out.

y'alls son is a really kind boy. like stupidly nice. damn near a pushover. (but we love him)

while you're ready to fight the other parents (or kids) who hurt your baby, reiner is actually more gentle in his approach

he's clearly a big strong guy but he's very gentle in his approach when it comes to seeing his son cry or just in general

reiner, as a dad, is the protector. he's vigilant and caring, instilling a strong sense of security in your home

your son feels safe knowing reiner is there to shield him from any harm.

seeing talk all soft to y'alls son makes you go sksmwkwmwka he's so man...

"hey, me and mom love you very much. you got that bud?"

balances strength with gentleness. offering a listening ear and encouraging open communication.

he wants his son to know he'll always be there for him since he never really had a father growing up

safe to say your son grows up feeling understood and supported by both parents ♡

levi ackerman 🌸

for sure the strictest dad on this list.

from the moment your daughter was born he had her on a schedule that was planned meticulously.

like hour by hour he knows what's going on and you're just there like🧍🏽‍♀️

"i read a consistent schedule helps with her brain development." "...."

as she gets older he calms down a little. but like only the smallest little bit.

however! levi, although strict, is a fiercely devoted dad

this just came to me but he's the dad where if you our your daughter syas you like a snack one time he'll buy a lifetime supply until you tell him otherwise

despite his stoic exterior, Levi has a soft spot for his child's well-being and takes pride in their achievements, no matter how small

your daughter is a dancer. fight me.

even if you can't make it, you see him in the audience at every recital with a soft smile.

"you did great. yes, i recorded all of it for mom to see too."

ngl he is very rule oriented but 9/10 he bends begrudgingly for your daughter (she looks like you, so he can never say no.)

he values discipline and order but also knows the importance of showing love and appreciation.

like reiner he didn't grow up with the best father figure (if one at all) or anyone to really give him confidence growing up.

your daughter never doubts that daddy loves her and thinks she's the best ♡

he also is so skilled at doing hair?? probably better than armin.

ponytail, bun, twist, braids, you name it, he can do it. (has put you shame on multiple occasions)

teaches self-reliance and responsibility, ensuring his child is well-prepared for life's challenges.

expects excellence but also provides unwavering support

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ 2nd piece done!! why was i fighting for my life during jean and reiner's....but i actually really wanna expand on dad!armin and dad!levi so maybe i'll give all the kids names sometime in the future. i tried to finish this is my ap chem class and my teacher almost took my phone 💀💀 but expect more soon cause i am on a roll! 🏃🏽‍♀️💨

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲 ♡

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚!

𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙡0𝙫3𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙖143 2024

#Words of the Love Hashira 💗#aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #eren x reader #armin x reader #jean x reader #reiner x reader #levi x reader #black writers on tumblr #x black fem reader

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neon-junkie · 6 months

Text

Fractured

Summary: Tech's recent injury has led him to your Medical Bay, and despite you being excellent at your job, Tech needs additional assistance with easing the pain. You have something fun in mind.

Pairing: Tech x gn!Reader

Tags: Medical assistance, Fractured bones, Medic Reader, Friends to lovers, Oral (giving,) Handjobs, Size kink, Cock worship, Large cocks, Flirting, Pain relief.

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: This is set after Episode 1&2 of Season 2. I actually started writing this back when those episodes aired, but then… depression… lol I have never broken/fractured a bone before (alpha genes,) so I have no idea what actually goes on when you break one lol. I did my research, but… IDK, this is probs off, but you're not here for the medical side of things, are you? Also, I like the idea of nerds with big dicks. I don't really care about size IRL, but Tech with an absolute unit of a cock? Yeah, sign me the fuck up!!!

"You got squished like a bug."

"I did not-" Tech cuts himself off. "Like a bug? Please, restrain yourself from making such comedic remarks about my pain and suffering."

With that, Tech lets out a grunt, and you're unsure if it's at your remark, or an outlet from the pain that he's currently in.

Tech was squished like a bug during the last mission. Splat! As you so put it, after Tech explained what exactly happened in that war chest. The force of a thousand suns flattened his poor leg, and his thigh soaked up most of the damage.

That's what he gets for not wearing thigh armour.

That comment didn't go down well, either. However, Tech should know by now that your wit and sarcasm will never fail you. You have, after all, been running with the Batch long before the Clone Wars fizzled out into… whatever this is, The Galactic Empire, and those who opposite it.

If only Hunter would allow you and the others to join the fight…

Back onto the topic. Tech was carried into the Marauder's medical wing, with Echo's assistance, and left on the medical bed for you to check him over. He was hissing and wincing as he pushed himself up onto the table, his hands flexing whilst he gripped onto his thigh, and pleading eyes met yours as he began going over the series of events.

You were stationed with Hunter and Wrecker, seeing as Wrecker is your loyalist customer when it comes to injuries, only Tech has taken you by surprise!

"It's definitely fractured," you state as you dig through your medical kit, finding something exciting to dial down the pain. Tech has stated that he'd prefer to remain awake, which is understandable, seeing as you won't be stitching him up, or worse, cutting him open.

"I assume I'll have to lounge around with a cast on for the next six weeks?" Tech questions, his eyes watching you as you read over a few labels, deciding which drugs to supply.

"Minimum," you say with a soft nod, half-focused on his words. "These will do," you decide, holding the pill bottle in one hand, whilst the other shuts your medical box.

You turn to face Tech, and with a nonchalant expression, you order, "take off your pants."

Tech's eyes blink wide beneath his goggles, and he lets out a sheepish cough before asking, "pardon?"

"I can't do an X-ray with your pants still on, and do you really want your cast applied over those jeans?" you point to his new pants - casual, straight jeans, which surely can't be comfortable to work in?

Forgive him. It's his first time out in the Galaxy, and a newly freed man is bound to make poor decisions. Live and learn, Tech…

"Oh," Tech mutters. "Understood."

You hand him the pill bottle first, along with a glass of water, and give Tech a strict order to take his drugs before stripping off. "I'll give you some privacy, call for me when you're ready," you inform, and leave the medical wing, the door swishing shut behind you.

Sure, you've seen Tech in all sorts of states, almost naked that one time, back when you were new. Wrecker had found it hilarious to fiddle with the refresher's water supply as Tech went to take a shower, and poor Tech, who was rather reserved when first meeting you, had to leave the refresher with only a towel around his waist. He had barked at Wrecker to, "leave the hot water supply alone! Are you attempting to impress our newest member? Or perhaps, make a fool of me? Both? Do you find this amusing?!" blah blah blah…

Minutes have passed, and you overhear Tech calling out, "you may come in."

The door swishes open, and you're greeted by Tech in the same position on the medical bed, relaxing back against the headboard. An untidy pile of armour and clothing has appeared on the floor, not that he has the ability to neatly organise them.

Tech remains in just his turtleneck under armour, his fingertips currently running along the neckline, picking at its tightness. He's wearing a standard pair of briefs, nothing enticing, and the hemline thankfully stops above the X-ray zone. Great! You don't fancy having to order Tech to remove those as they're in the way…

As for the last item of clothing, they're-

"Tech," you speak with firmness. "Are those my socks?"

Tech stops picking at his neckline to gawk down at his feet. His wiggles his toes mindlessly as he sheepishly mumbles, "it appears they are."

"Is that so?" you repeat with a raised brow.

Tech's pleading eyes come out again as he meets your gaze. "I could not find a pair of my own this morning, and seeing as we were in a rush, I opted for the next best thing."

Your eyes trail from his to look at your socks once more, the little tookas on them smiling at you. They're fuzzy, warm and snuggly, and not the sort of item that you ever thought you'd see on Tech.

Omega? Perhaps.

Wrecker? Definitely.

But Tech?

"The next best thing," you repeat his words again. "I'm surprised that you picked the tookas over the voorpaks."

Tech scoffs. "Tookas are the obvious choice. Whilst voorpaks may be pleasing to the eye, they're needy, with no consideration for personal space. Tookas, on the other hand, are far more independent animals, with a…" Tech shuts his mouth, and nervously licks his lips before asking, "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"A sign that the drugs have kicked in," you say with a shrug. "Time to X-ray!"

Tech lets out a defeated sigh, and watches as you set up the X-ray machine. It's a numbing and dull task, but needed, seeing as such a smart man has managed to get himself injured.

The X-ray is taken, and you leave Tech to his own devices as you begin processing the scan at your desk. Whilst you wait for the image to form, you check on a few other things, and in the corner of your eye, you notice how Tech fails to sit still.

His fingertips are running along his neckline again, attempting to find fresh air, even though his under armour has never seemed restricting before. A light glisten of sweat is sitting above his brow, and whenever Tech's hands stray from his neckline, they rest directly on his lap. His fingertips begin fidgeting with the hem of his briefs, only for his eyes to meet yours, and his hands to fall motionless.

"Are you alright?" you question.

"F-fine," Tech mutters. "Just awaiting the results."

With that, the scan is processed, and you hum to yourself as you study it. Tech doesn't look away from you; he studies your reaction, and his shoulders drop with relief as yours do. "It's not as bad as I thought," you state as you rise from your desk. "I'll apply a cast, and unfortunately for you, you'll be bound to the Marauder for the next few weeks."

"Charming," Tech huffs.

You put together a bowl of warm soapy water, and hand it over to Tech, along with a towel. "Give your thigh a good scrub. It'll be the last time it's cleaned until the cast can come off."

Tech follows your orders, and leaves you to begin putting the cast supplies together. He's letting out soft grumbles as he scrubs himself down, not applying much pressure, seeing as bruises have already begun forming.

Within minutes, you're ready, and Tech is attempting to dry his thigh. The bowl of water is discarded, and you softly mutter, "here," as you take the towel from him. "Let me help."

With your order, Tech slowly bends his leg, raising his knee high enough so that you can gently dry the underside of his thigh - a task that he was struggling to do alone. He's still wincing as you dab over the area, but nowhere near as much as he was when tending to himself. It seems you're light on your touch, and Tech is silently thankful for it.

"Keep your leg bent like that," you instruct as you dispose of the towel, and bring your cast supplies over to the workbench.

You gently run your palm over Tech's thigh, questioning if his skin is dry enough to begin the application, and only now do you realise the predicament that you're in.

You're no stranger to Tech's good looks - impeccable cheekbones, a toned chest, nimble fingers, adorable doe eyes, and a hairline so sharp that it can slice through beskar - but the issue is purely that, his good looks. You're attempting to work, and the sensation of your fingertips dancing through the light hair on his tanned thighs is causing quite the distraction.

You scoot your stool over to the medical bed, and adjust the height. Once seated, you let out a deep sigh before beginning your work, attempting to keep your eyes on his forming bruises, rather than allowing it to wander… higher…

Tech looks down at you, quite literally, watching through his tinted goggles as you begin binding his leg, paying special attention to any signs of discomfort - not that he shows any. His fingertips are subconsciously entwining with each other, fidgeting, and attempting to cover up his briefs out of politeness. It's not that you've never seen Tech, or any of the boys in their undies before, but your face is less than half a meter from his crotch, and you're both well aware.

A huff flows from your lips as you fix the soft material in place, the easy part over and done with. Now, it's time to wet the plaster, and apply it one strip at a time - a lengthy process, seeing as you have to wait for each layer to dry before continuing.

As time goes on, you both seem to relax, becoming accustomed to your new-found closeness. Tech even strikes up a light conversation, filling you in on his side of the mission, and speaking highly about the civilian that he met on the way.

"He called me Ace," Tech informs you, "not that I had any issue with it. I found the nickname rather appealing."

Your eyes trail up to meet his, and a soft laugh slips from your lips as you repeat, "Ace?"

"I think it suits me," Tech says with a shrug. "Besides…"

His words continue, shifting into comforting background noise as you do your job. At least Tech is comfortable with you; when you first met, he'd only ever correct you, or information dump on you. Now, you can hold a conversation, seeing as you managed to win him over after correcting him on a minor detail a few weeks into being stationed with the Batch.

The more Tech mutters, the more his form relaxes. His hands move from his lap to adjust his goggles, not that they probably need it, and you can't help but notice something in the corner of your eye.

In hindsight, this was your fault. You shouldn't have looked. You should have kept your focus on your work, and prevented your eyes from prying at Tech's crotch. He is, after all, a grown man sitting in his underwear, with a pretty Medic rubbing their hands along his bare thigh. Tech is a soldier, and it's a known fact that soldiers don't have much leisure time, let alone spare time to do… stuff.

Your lips fall apart, and every circuit in your brain fries within an instant. Your hands, wet and covered in plaster, come to a halt in the middle of a wrap, and all you can focus on is… that.

Tech, after adjusting his goggles, instantly falls silent as he notices that you've come to a halt. He calls out your name, and despite his exceptional mind, it takes him a few moments to realise what's caused you to stop like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh," Tech sheepishly sighs as he puts two and two together. "I…" he stutters, but words fail him. So, thinking on his feet (and fractured leg) he returns his hands to his lap, covering up the issue.

Only now do you realise that you're a karking idiot. Seriously, why did you have to stare?! Why couldn't you have turned away, blushed, and continued working?

You go to apologise, but Tech beats you to it. "I apologise… It's… It's not intentional-" he sputters.

You let out a soft sigh, and shake your head in an attempt to slap some sense into your dense brain. "Tech," you mumble his name, and after blinking heavily, you look up at him.

Tech, with cheeks so bright that they outshine the suns, fails to make eye contact. He's breathing deeply, and mentally questioning if it's possible for him to run away from his problems, even with a half-finished, wet cast around his thigh.

Instead, Tech defends himself even more, seeing as the first option isn't doable. "I have been attempting to control myself this entire time, but it seems my-"

"-Tech," you call out to him again.

Tech finally meets your gaze, but only for a moment. He can't maintain eye contact, he simply can't, that is, until you state something that has his mind spinning in confusion.

"You're huge."

"P-pardon?" Tech sputters, followed by coughing into the back of his hand. That is not what he was expecting to fall from your lips.

You wave your hands defensively, droplets of plaster falling onto the medical bed. "I mean, it's alright, you can't help it," you sputter. Now, you're the one struggling to maintain eye contact, your mind fogging up, clouded with one simple thought.

"Can't help what?" Tech questions. "My erection? Or my size?"

A timid laugh flows from your lips, "I meant your erection, but both, I guess…"

Tech laughs with you, although it's clear that he's nervous. Whatever this is - intimacy, of some form - is new. You're no stranger to light flirting with your boys, and often receiving it in return, but holy Maker. Tech is rock solid, and there is no denying that you're the cause of it; the evidence is right there!

"Well…" Tech's words fall flat, and after adjusting his goggles, he gears up again. Rather than sit in silence, mutually starstruck over the unit sitting in Tech's pants, Tech decides to ramble as much as humanly possible. "…I have chalked my size up as a side effect from my enhancements. There are multiple documented cases that the standard clones all share the same erection size. I am, however, beyond those standards."

"Wait-" you cut him short with a soft laugh. "-There are documented cases of what?"

Tech lets out a chuckle, and shakes his head in awe that he's having to bring this information to light. "It's no secret that we clones have had intimate relationships, and some partners like to… how should I say it? Discuss their experiences with others on the holonet."

You repeat Tech's motions, softly laughing and shaking your head, amazed over this new information. "You mean, people like to jump on the holonet and discuss which Troopers kriff the best?"

"That is one way of putting it, yes."

"Dank farrik," you laugh. You mean, the information that you've been curious about this entire time, has been on the holonet at your disposal? Idiot! Why didn't you simply search for it?

There's no denying that you're attracted to both your squad, and their regular brothers, and as always, curiosity wanders… At least some beings were smart enough to post their findings on the net, along with… whatever else might be on there. You make a mental note to check it out later!

"What were you doing on those sites?" you question, and decide to start working again, seeing as the plaster is slowly drying on your fingertips.

To your surprise, Tech's emotions remain calm as he mindlessly replies, "I was researching my… ahem, abnormality."

"I see…" you conclude. Curious for more, you take a gamble, and up your flirting game. "Has anybody started a thread for Clone Force 99?" you say with a soft purr, causing Tech's ears to perk up as blush begins to form across his cheeks.

"I…" Tech stutters. "Not that I am aware of, no," he says with a nervous chuckle.

Still with wet plaster on your hands, you put on a cheeky grin as you ask, "we could fill in the blank."

Your name comes stumbling out of Tech's mouth as all the heat in his body rises to his cheeks. "You cannot be serious!" He sweats, refusing to maintain eye contact. Nervous hands fiddle with the hemline of his shirt, wringing the fabric tightly in his bare palms, all whilst still attempting to cover up the topic in the room.

"I am," you say with a shrug. "I mean, I've just about seen yours," you gesture to his erection, hidden behind a thin layer of fabric, yet bold enough to make your imagination dance.

"M-Maker," Tech stutters once more. "Where are those pills?"

You laugh as Tech fumbles about with the pill bottle at his side, sliding another one out into the palm of his hand. He doesn't even bother swigging it down with water, dry swallowing the pill like an absolute mad man. "You do know those pills are to ease your pain, right?" you state whilst wrapping another layer around his leg.

"I am certainly in some form of pain. Although I am unsure of the exact type," he sighs, and finally takes a sip of water, correcting his prior mistake.

Biting back a laugh, you suggest, "painfully hard?"

Tech lets out a long and frustrated sigh, meeting your gaze as his shoulders drop in disappointment. "Hilarious," he sarcastically replies, pinching his brow in annoyance.

With a smirk on your lips, you boldly look down at his erection. "It sure seems like you are," you comment, then continue your focus on applying his cast, nearing the end. "You know, sexual pleasure can help ease the pain, and act as a good distraction," you hint, bringing the fact to light. If Tech wants more, then this is his opportunity to take it.

"As delightful as that sounds, penetration would be near impossible in my current state," he gestures to his leg, as if it couldn't be any more obvious.

"There are things that you can do besides penetration, Tech."

Whilst watching you apply the final layer, Tech moves a hand up, fingertips meeting his chin. His brows are furrowed, a sign that he's in deep thought. "You are correct," he hums, before crossing his arms across his chest. "Although I have to question if partaking in such an act will adjust our friendship, and our status within this squad."

"Only if you want it to," you respond, and begin cleaning up, allowing Tech's new cast to dry. "The way I see it, I'm just helping a friend out."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Tech ponders, shifting into deep thought.

Silence fills the air, and yet, you can practically hear Tech's brain ticking away. He's panning everything together, questioning every minor detail, move, motive. Sure, you are helping him out, but wouldn't this lead to other things? Would either of you catch feelings? Have you already caught feelings?

Tech's eyes flick between the pill bottle, and you. He studies you, letting out a soft hum as you tidy up, putting all your equipment away after washing your hands. "I can feel your gaze on me, Tech," you comment, not bothering to look up from your current task.

"Sorry," Tech exhales. "You do have a valid point. This… sexual favour would indeed assist in relieving my pain, yet I cannot accept such a gesture without reciprocating it."

"Let's say that you owe me one, and I can redeem it whenever I see fit," you suggest. You perch yourself on the edge of the medical bed, your form resting against Tech's undamaged thigh. Gently, you tap your fingertips on his cast, testing to see if the material has dried through. "You're all set. So, what do you say?" you offer with a raised brow.

Tech firmly shakes his head in agreement, "I accept your assistance."

"Great," you purr. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, instantly making the man beneath your palm nervous, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "But what do you want me to do, Tech?" you ask, drumming your fingertips against him.

Licking his lips, Tech's eyes wander down to where your hand is resting, before coming up to meet your alluring gaze. "Perhaps you… could possibly…"

"Spit it out," you tut.

"Just… touch me," Tech finally manages to spit his demands out, all whilst looking like he's about to faint. "Your hand alone will be more than suffice," he adds in an apologetic tone, as if he's embarrassed about what has just slipped from his lips.

Eager to see him burst, you ask, "do you want my mouth too?"

"Oh stars."

Tech, the most calm, calculated, and captivating man that you've ever met, is currently turning into putty beneath your fingertips. You've not even touched him, well, at least not in that way, and he looks like he's about to ejaculate at any moment! Maybe it's the pain relief pills that he's taken, or maybe it's because he has a secret crush on you. The answer, you'll never know. All you can do is work with what you've got - a whimpering mess of a man.

"You don't have to answer that yet. Let's just start with my hand," you answer for him. Tech watches through his thick lenses as the hand on his chest begins to trail south, over his lower ribs, across his soft stomach, and now meeting his hips.

Gently, you rest your hand atop of his erection, and Tech just about moans at the minor contact. "I apologise," he sputters, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Don't apologise, I want you to be vocal," you coo. "Well, maybe keep it down a bit, unless you want the others over-hearing?"

Tech shakes his head, then returns his eyes to watching the action. Your strokes are gentle, yet firm, the complete opposite of Tech's rising chest. Is he a virgin? Or has it been a while? Either way, you begin matching his pathetic state once his briefs are adjusted, and Tech's cock is finally free.

"Kriff," you whimper, eyeing up Tech in all his glory. Maker, you weren't expecting such a slender man to be packing so much heat! Sure, it looked rather large when hidden behind his briefs, but now it's here, throbbing in your hand.

You begin pumping his length, slow at first, until finding your rhythm. All the while, Tech is a panting mess, his gaze flicking between your expression, and what's happening between his legs. He all about caves when you slowly trail a blob of spit down onto his tip, lubricating his cock as you continue jerking it.

"This is going to be the death of me," Tech pants. His head rolls back to rest on the headboard, whilst his hands come up to hide his face. He groans into his palms, the odd muscle in his body twitching as pleasure washes through him. When Tech finally does remove his hands from his face, his goggles are on a slight tilt, and surprisingly, he doesn't bother fixing them.

"Oh?" you say with a quirked brow. "I can make things much worse."

"Do enlighten me," Tech suggests, gazing at you through half-lidded eyes.

"How about I show you instead?"

All Tech can do is nod eagerly, yet he fails to prepare himself for what's about to come. (Or who's about to come.)

It's an awkward position, but after readjusting yourself to lie on your side, you manage to make do. Tech's eyes widen as you move your mouth closer to his cock, soon introducing your tongue to the tip. He moans your name, followed by a painful wince.

"Stop putting pressure on your thigh," you look up at him, cock in hand. "That defeats the purpose of my assistance."

In hindsight, you should have propped a pillow beneath his ankle, but something was preventing you from thinking rationally!

Tech mumbles a, "sorry," whilst looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what he wants, and who are you to deny it? You continue introducing your tongue to his tip, his shoulders instantly relaxing at the minor contact.

You soon find yourself sucking the tip, your hand working magic on the rest of his shaft. Already, there's an ache in your jaw, and you silently question how you're going to make this fit… No matter, you'll do what you can, and all efforts seem to be highly appreciated by Tech, who is reaching the state of debauchery as every second passes.

Through the chaos of spit and slobber, a tender hand comes out to rest on the back of your head. The other one finds your free hand, and Tech makes an effort to entwining his fingers with yours. You vocalise your appreciation to his gentle gesture by humming, only that causes Tech to stir. The sensation of vibrations running along his cock earns you another series of pathetic whimpers, and you, being the mischievous devil that you are, decide to only make things harder for him.

Slipping his cock from your lips, you continue pumping the shaft whilst your mouth wanders south. You slip one of his balls in your mouth, gently sucking on it. Tech's mind quite literally explodes! The hand on the back of your head grabs a fistful of your hair, although he is careful as to not hurt you. His other hand, however, removes itself from your palm to grip on the edge of the bed, a desperate attempt at steadying himself.

"Easy boy," you coo, before focusing on his other testicle.

"I c-can't…" Tech sputters. "I cannot hold on any longer, please," he whimpers, begging for what?

"Tell me what you need," you instruct.

"T-To finish… inside your mouth, if you'd be s-so kind," Tech blurts out, his thigh muscles twitching with want. So much for helping ease his pain, hm?

Removing your mouth from him, you peer up to meet his gaze. Tech's hair is askew, loose strands hanging forwards against his flushed face. Desperation is clear in his eyes, although it's laced with warmth and admiration. Tech was right, you two aren't just going to be friends after this, and quite honestly, you're fine with that.

"How can I ever deny you?" you flirt, earning a sigh from Tech. That sigh shifts into a moan as you slip your lips over his tip, and work your mouth to its limit.

Your name is on repeat, drifting from Tech's lips like a prayer. In the back of his mind, he's thanking this strange turn of events. If he wasn't in that war chest, then none of this would have happened, and the pain is most definitely worth it.

A few pumps of Tech's shaft, and he loses himself in the warmth of your mouth. Tech has to remove his hand from your hair to bite his knuckles, a poor attempt of silencing his final moans. The Marauder does not have soundproof walls, so you two will need to come up with a story for when you finally decide to enter the medical wing, and regroup with the Batch.

"Thank you," Tech repeats, over and over, panting as if he's just run a marathon. He looks exhausted, yet you're the one doing all the hard work!

After removing your mouth from his tip, you swallow his load, which only causes Tech to fall even deeper into admiration. "How do you feel?" you ask whilst grabbing the glass of water, left forgotten on the workbench besides the medical bed.

"Euphoric," Tech responds without missing a beat. "The pain was worth it," he adds.

"Are you still in pain?" you ask, offering him what's left of the water.

He swiftly responds, "no," before downing the rest. "You seemed to have worked wonders on me," Tech comments.

You let out a soft chuckle, and rise to your feet, eager to get out of the awkward position. After wiping your mouth dry with a towel, you assist in cleaning Tech up, not that he needs it. It's his leg that's fractured, not his cock, but you're too sweet on the poor man. "You need rest," you comment as you tuck his cock away, putting his unit to bed within the confinement of his briefs.

Tech ponders, and only now does he straighten out his wonky goggles. "I have already asked so much of you, but I have one last request."

"Let's hear it?"

"I… require some assistance with getting to my bunk," Tech sheepishly asks, earning a laugh from you.

"Of course I'll help you with that!"

It's quite the task, seeing as Tech has the upper hand when it comes to height, but you manage to help him to his feet, swinging an arm across your neck for extra stability. You turn to leave the medical wing, until something crosses your mind. Gesturing to the pain relief pills, you state, "you'll probably be needing these."

A smug grin creeps over Tech's lips. "Oh, I don't think I will," he flirts. This time, you're the one blushing, yet you agree with his statement.

Hobbling down the Marauder, Tech's cabin soon comes to your reach, and before you know it, you're helping him into bed. Thank the Maker that the others have retired for the night, hopefully none of them heard that!

After removing Tech's shirt, a pillow is placed under his ankle, providing extra comfort throughout the night. You retrieve him a glass of water, re-entering his cabin to see that he's tucked himself under the covers, his goggles lying on the bedside table.

"Do you need anything else?" you offer, soon expecting to be in your own bunk. It has been a long day, and you're oh-so-eager for your own rest.

"Actually, I was thinking…" Tech trails off, which causes you to raise your brow. "Surely you should spend the night here with me? You know, in case I require support throughout the night-"

"-I know what you're hinting at, Tech," you say with a light laugh, shaking your head at him. "You don't need an excuse, but sure, we can use that when the others ask why I'm leaving your cabin tomorrow morning."

Tech chuckles, watching eagerly as you strip down into your underwear, soon joining him in bed. You're greeted by his stretched out arm, offering you a cuddle, which you gladly accept, all whilst keeping his injury in mind.

"Goodnight, Tech," you exhale, resting your hand on his chest as your head finds its place within the curve of his neck.

"Goodnight," Tech repeats, holding you tightly.

"And remember, I owe you…"

#tbbwriting #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #smut #tbb tech x you #tech x reader #clone trooper tech x reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #bad batch #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic

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hanbindans · 9 months

Text

NOT MY GOVERNMENT NAME??? 🎤🎤

zb1 as petnames a/n: hi my name is hanbindans and I have come to ruin you all 🤠 you saw the microphone emojis- you know what time it is. I've given this a lot of thought btw I love this concept

jiwoong

"darling" with added rizz. honestly all he wants is just to make you go insane and he will make sure to succeed. if he's in a silly goofy mood it's going to be more like "dalliwng <3" (YOU KNOW WHEN HE DOES THE VOICE???)

hao

you're his little babie cutie patootie munchkin pumpkin pie and he will only refer to you as such!! it's definitely a super cute one like "sunshine" because you will never not be the cutest person ever to hao.

hanbin

"sweetheart", but there's nuances depending on the situation. it's "🥰sweetheart" when you bring him lunch at work. "😀😀 sweetheart" is when you try to microwave leftovers in a metal container.

matthew

babygirl/boy and angel but ironically. if it infuriates you or makes you physically cringe that's just fuel on his fire. his goal is not to make you melt for him it's to embarrass you by letting EVERYONE in this coffee shop know that you are "angel".

taerae

definitely "darling", "honey", or "my love" vibes. it's going to be one of those super sweet ones that only old married couples call each other. he does it with so much ease too like he isn't making your heart skip several consecutive beats by calling you honey.

ricky

when texting? babygirl/boy and angel but unironically (in his mind calling you this makes him the hottest boyfriend on the planet). irl? he's [insert the new jeans song] and will only call you by your name- except for when he's sitting really close to you and no one else can hear him- and he'll let out a "baby" in the quietest voice possible (🥹)

gyubin

I just know he would call you something insane. it's definitely a pet name that he can NOT under ANY circumstance call you in public or people will look at you weird. I'm thinking "hey smelly toes" or something unhinged like that like he knows no limits. you're best friends who kiss there is no such thing as too far in his mind.

gunwook

no thanks!! he would rather crawl into a hole in the ground and decompose <33 actually he has like 24 pet names picked out but he's not about to reveal how much of a simp he is in case he accidentally quotes a full hozier lyric instead of calling you "babe". it's the mortifying ordeal of being known gunwook edition.

#zb1 scenarios #zerobaseone scenarios #zb1 reactions #zb1 imagines #zb1 fluff #zb1 drabbles #zerobaseone imagines #zerobaseone drabbles #zb1 #zerobaseone #kim jiwoong #sung hanbin #zhang hao #kim taerae #seok matthew #shen ricky #kim gyuvin #park gunwook

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vroom63 · 2 years

Text

Positions // P.G

Warnings: alcohol, smut, language, unprotected sex (no glove, no love irl peeps)

Summary: Pierre post that stupid puppy emoji, chaos follows

Word count: 1.8k

Author's note: not beta read or edited as per usual. Welcome to hell..

“Pierre Gasly, you did not.” you scream from your position on the couch. His head pops out from the kitchen, a curious look on his face. “Tell me you did not tell the entire world your favourite sex position?!” the look on your face is something Pierre would like to have framed, thank you very much.

“Not in so many words, no.” he answers, a cheeky grin on his face. “You are the absolute worst. And also basic as fuck,” you say, throwing him a look before going back to reading his comment section. “What do you mean I’m basic?” he asks, not really sure what you’re getting at. “Doggy is literally every guy's favorite position.” you roll your eyes at him. “Oh yeah? And what’s your favorite position then little miss creativity?” he asks with a challenging look in his eyes. You feel your cheeks flush. You had absolutely no intention of this turning on you. “I do believe that is none of your business,” you say, keeping your eyes on your phone. “Come on,” he pressed, “you know mine.”. “Knowledge I have against my will you mean,” you say, finally looking up at him. He wears that stupid charming smile that could make you do just about anything.

Before you can react, Pierre has grabbed your phone and put it on the coffee table, demanding your full attention. “Come on cherie, you can tell me. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” he says with a soft voice. You mumble something about him being the most annoying person on the planet under your breath, looking straight into his eyes. You can feel the tension in the room rising. “What exactly do you need this information for?” you ask, trying to prolong having to answer him. “To help you get laid, obviously. That's what best friends are for you know.” he answers without missing a beat. Of course. Best friends. Friendzoned to infinity. Great.

“I’d say pressed against the wall, facing it obviously, or perched on a table.” you say, deciding he’s going to get the answer regardless of how long you try not to answer. You can see his eyes widen a fraction before he gets control of his expression. “Those are good too, I will store the information for later.” he says. “That sounded really creepy, Pear.” you shoot back, rising an eyebrow. “You understood perfectly what I meant, now go get ready. Charles is picking us up for drinks in about an hour.” he says, extending a hand to help you up from the couch.

Deciding to throw all caution out the window, you pick a short, tight fitting black dress that you know Pierre loves on you. If he wants to “help you get laid”, you will make it as hard as possible for him. He might be your best friend, but you have seen those beautiful blue eyes wander over your body before. It’s not like sexual tention is something new between the two of you, you usually just don’t agknowledge it. “Is that what you are wearing?” you hear a voice say from your doorway. Turning around, you see Pierre leaning against the wall, black jeans and a white linen shirt. He’s only bothered to do up half of the buttons, leaving his broad chest and that unholy cross necklace on display. Two people playing dirty tonight then.

Charles’ driver takes you to your favorite club in Milan. Sliding into a booth in the back of the establishment, Pierre sits down beside you, closer than he normally would. “What would you like to drink?” Charles asks, not bothering to sit down as he’s getting the first round. With your orders in mind, Charles heads to the bar. “You know, you didn’t have to get this dressed up for drinks.” Pierre says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music. “Really? I thought you were going to help me get laid,” you say with a slight frown on your face. Pierre observes you for a minute, but before he can answer, Charles is back with your drinks.

The night slips away in drinks and laughter, and before you know it you’re four drinks in and slightly tipsy. “Come on Pear, I wanna dance.” you say, tugging on his arm. It doesn’t take much to make him comply, hand in yours as you head for the dancefloor. It’s crowded, like it should be on a Friday night, but not uncomfortably so. You can still move without bumping into the person next to you. You lose track of time as you dance, and suddenly you feel a pair of hands gripping your hips, pulling you back towards whoever it is. You open your eyes, and meet Pierre’s, which have gone a stormy, dark blue in the flashing lights of the club. “You look so good in this dress,” you can hear Charles slurred words in your ear, and you freeze. Oh no. Turning around to look at him, you observe that he is way beyond trashed. “Hey Charlie, I think it’s time to get you home, yes?” you ask, throwing one of his arms over your shoulder as you turn back to Pierre, who looks thunderous. “Yes baby, take me to bed.” Charles slurs, barely audible. You chuckle, leading him out of the club and into a taxi.

Closing the front door behind you, you kick off your heels and lean against it. Pierre has not said a single word since leaving the club, and it’s starting to annoy you. “Are you ok?” you ask, him standing with his back towards you. “I’m fine,” he says, slowly turning around, “Why would I not be fine?”. “You just haven’t said a word since Charles came up to us on the dancefloor,” you say, slightly worried about how tense he looks. “I know you wanted to get laid, sorry Charles ruined that.” you continue. “You think I’m annoyed that Charles ruined my chance of getting some?” he asks, an incredulous look on his face. “Yes?” it comes out more like a question than an answer. “Oh no Cherie.” he says, slowly walking towards you, “I am annoyed that Charles put his hands on you.”.

Time seems to freeze. Crazy hot best friend said what now? “Nobody should put their hands on you like that without your consent,” he continues. “It’s just Charles, Pear. You know he didn’t mean anything by it.” you say. “Doesn’t mean he’s allowed to touch you like that. No man should ever touch you like that.” Pierre’s eyes have darkened considerably since leaving the club. You just stand there, unsure of what to say. “No man but me.” he says, and it feels like time stands still. Pierre is now standing just inches in front of you, towering over you. “Is that ok Peach? Am I allowed to touch you?” he asks, as if underlining his point about consent. “Yes,” you whisper, barely audible. “Now come on Peach, give me a proper answer,” he says. You clear your throat, that suddenly feels like it’s gone bone dry. “Yes,” you repeat, more power to your voice now, “please.”.

The smirk spreading across his face is nothing but feral. In one swift move, he has managed to place one hand on your hip and the other on your cheek. “Tell me if I need to stop,” he says, and before you can answer, his lips are crashing into yours. It feels like coming home. Like the summer sun on your skin. Like a cozy fire on a dark winter's night. It feels right, and it takes you about 0.2 seconds before your hands wind up in his hair, tugging slightly. It manages to get a groan out of Pierre, and it might be the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard.

Breaking the kiss, Pierre starts his journey down your body, placing delicate kisses on every inch of skin he can reach. Tugging up your dress, he does not hesitate before his lips explore the apex of your thighs. Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, he tugs your underwear to the side and dives in. The feeling of his tongue on your clit makes a shuddering breath leave you, and when he decides to add a couple of fingers to the mix, a loud moan leaves you. This only seems to spur him on. “Pierre,” you moan, pulling harder on his hair. That particular move makes him moan against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. It doesn’t take long for you to come undone on his tongue, his name on your lips as you climax.

Standing up slowly, he has a wide grin spread across his face. “You taste absolutely delicious cherie,” he says, crowding you up against the wall. You can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. His hands reach for the hem of your dress, pulling it off you in one sweeping motion. His clothes follow shortly after, and you only get a second to admire him in his naked glory before he turns you around, pressing you against the door. “Now,” he says, voice deep with arousal, “a little bird told me you like to get fucked up against the wall.”. A whine leaves your lips, ass pushing back against his hard cock. A hiss leaves him before he adjusts his position so he can run his cock between your folds.

“You ready cherie?” he asks, pausing at your entrance. “Please,” you say, not caring how pathetic you sound begging for his cock. In one fluid motion, Pierre pushes into you and stills. Curses are flying left, right and center, and you have never felt so full in your entire life. “You are so tight,” Pierre hisses out, teeth clenched. “You’re so fucking big,” you moan, pushing back against him, “please move.”. Pierre sets a punishing pace, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. You can’t form a coherent thought, only words leaving your lips are “fuck”, “Pierre” and “more”. It doesn’t take long before that familiar burning sensation in your lower abdomen makes itself known. “Pear, I’m gonna cum,” you manage to day between your moans. “Without me touching your clit at all?” he asks, something like pride in his voice, “my, my what a good girl.”.

It doesn’t take more than that for the band to snap, your walls clenching around his cock as you come harder than you ever have before. Pierre follows shortly after, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. “Fuck cherie,” he says, kissing the side of your throat, “next time we’re doing it my way.”. “Next time?” you ask, turning your head to meet his lips is a lingering kiss. “Next time.” he confirms, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

#pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly fic #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #i want him to ruin me #pierre gasly x reader

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treefish · 1 year

Text

cardigan. pants. slippers. 📂 dl (everything)

the whole collection's in a zip at the top, much like my last cc post. (i'm trying to keep things neatly organized.) this set comes in my new palette (still unnamed oof) for feminine frames and the individual files and details are below:

📌 bold cardigan // that discover university cardigan re-imagined with contrasting colors, some even striped! 15 swatches, base game compatible. 📌 cropped denim pants // i love the details on the flared jeans in high school years- those front pockets? the row of buttons? needed them on a different mesh though, something a little more modern, so voilà- a slightly more versatile pair of pants. cropped, wide-leg, 16 swatches, base game compatible.

📌 colorful slippers // i want more cozy (and cool) clothing in my game! these are 100% inspired by a pair of slippers i saw online that i wish i could own irl. multi-colored, 10 swatches, base game compatible.

#ts4 #ts4cc #custom content #maxis match #cardigan #sweater #pants #jeans #slippers #cas #download

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 10 months

Note

Omg i just read all of the angel and devil steddie au things you wrote and I AM OBSESSED! Literally you are so good at writing and I am so jealous that I’ll never experience this irl lol. Anyway thank you for making so many amazing pieces of writing!! :)

Could you write something where Eddie makes Steve watch him slowly tease and finger the reader, using his tendrils to keep Steve against the wall in a chokehold when he tries to come over and touch you? You get a bit worried, but Eddie says that he’ll let go of his grip on Steve once the reader cums a few times, so he makes the reader squirt and then Steve joins them and plays with her boobs and kisses her, then they fuck her until she’s overstimulated? Eddie’s degrading her and Steve’s praising her?

(Sorry if that didn’t make sense, also feel free to write it however you want, whatever sparks your creativity!)

Thanks! :)

a/n: oh my gooooddd I cannot tell you how hard it was not to write this into a whole, huge fic! if only I had all the time in the world...

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | devil & angel AU masterlist

“Come on, baby,” Steve attempted a slow exhale to calm the throbbing within his jeans, staring at you intently from his restrained spot across the room, “please cum. Do it for me. Let go so that I can come over there and have a taste, please.”

“Eddie,” you whined shakily in protest of the devil’s purposely feathery light touch over your still panty-clad cunt, tickling your throbbing clit so rudely that your whole body trembled in need of more.

Settled comfortably behind you, the doe eyes you tilted your head to flash the creature didn’t sway him one bit as his tongue simply flickered across his smirk, “what?” a condescending chuckle rippling through him, “what is it?”

“M-more Eds, please,” you whimpered in his arms, “I wanna cum so bad.”

“Oh yeah? You wanna cum, do you?” he taunted, not changing his teasing touch in the slightest, his stubby nails drawing slow circles over the agonisingly thin barrier covering you up, tickling the obvious wet spot to grow as he further drew your body into madness, “you wanna get off so that your precious little angel can get what he wants, huh?”

“Yes,” you nearly cried.

“You know what I think? I think you can cum from just this,” he purred, sucking your earlobe in past his lips, “hell, I think you could even squirt for me, soak those pretty little panties and show Steve just how much you want him inside of you,” you felt like clawing up the walls from just how intense and overwhelming the lightness of his touch felt, “come on, cum for him,” he breathed, his fluttering caress steady on your mess of a trembling form, “come on, you can do it,” not even truly realising how far his teasing had pushed you, your desperate moans didn’t register in your own ears as his airy petting conjured a warm trickle to slowly darken the cotton between your quivering thighs, “there you go, honey,” he chuckled as the gush itself had flown completely over your own head, “fuck…” he suddenly gave the sodden gusset a sharp tap, the clear contrast to the previous rude butterfly that had been his touch caused your whole body to jolt and additional squirt to sputter out, your whole centre literally dripping from your juices, “such a pretty fucking mess…”

Dazed, you peeked out of the crook of Eddie’s frame that had become your hiding spot, “c-can you let go of him now?”

His eyes briefly flickering up towards the angel enveloped in the familiar forceful and inky tentacles, his smirk then redirected to you, “if you cum for him twice in the next 5 minutes,” you felt his long fingers finally breach the waistband of your underwear, your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as you caught sight of the vision of his hand bulging underneath the drenched cotton, “then I’ll maybe consider it.”

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haet-sal · 10 months

Text

A File For Junhui//a Jun x reader

TAGS: Jun x fem!reader, fluff, SMUT included near the end, Seungkwan+Seungcheol features somewhat, a whole meant-to-be sort of love

Synopsis: when concert-pianist-in-training!Jun found your music (before he even found out you went to the same university and in the same major) he wished to himself, damn. I wish somebody loved me like that. But what does he know—all those songs were literally, I mean literally, all about him.

W.c.: 12.2k

Warning: basically bullying and Y/N is really INSECURE about her looks, ONESHOT NO PART 2!!! Jun might feel a little OOC but you should imagine the stage performer!jun, not irl shy jun!!, SMUT+PIV

Excerpt: “These are songs I wrote without lyrics…” you explain slowly. “They all mostly sound the same, please don’t look, it’s embarrassing—oh and that—” you point at the file Jun was reaching for— “that’s my lovesongs folder.”

Oh, wait.

“Um—Wait!”

Jun had opened the file up, and your heart shoots through your chest, beating wildly. You wanted to scream, curse, something, anything, just wish this moment away—

All you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. Bloody rushing like crazy to your head, in a frenzy.

You named the folder, in your stupid head that thought no one would ever see these: A FILE FOR JUNHUI.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What does the name mean? 1096? What does it mean?”

“Who cares, Seungkwan? You want the song for your project or not?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan huffed, “I do. But I deserve to know what all the titles mean—your titles are always so cryptic.”

You stare the boy down, eyebrows furrowed. A stronghold against giving away what the title meant. “That’s what artists do. Good artists. Keep asking me questions and I’ll stop lending you my songs for your vocal projects.”

“Jeez, Y/N, I need them,” Seungkwan said in the whiniest, babiest tone you've ever heard. “The feedback’s amazing when I sing original songs.” Feeling like he had to brown-nose a little, he added: “Especially when they’re as good as yours.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright. I’ll email you the full audio file later.”

“Are you really not going to tell me what the title means?”

“It’s…” you sigh. Seungkwan’s two warm brown eyes are watching you intently. He really wants to know, but if he found out... “It’s embarrassing.” You leave him without an answer.

But at this point what about your life wasn’t embarrassing?

Case in point: 1—You didn’t even have to go that far back to see it. Last night your roommates Chungha and Jia went out to the club, or bar, or wherever kids like going these days, and came home each with a man behind her. You met the two in the kitchen, where you were just pouring yourself some warm milk.

In your pajamas.

You came face-to-face with the two girls, and their accompanying men, Chungha wearing a sequinned minidress that probably costs four times your nicest dress and for even less fabric; and your other roommate, Jia, was wearing jeans and a fake ostrich feather top. She looked amazing. They looked amazing.

You were in your pajamas. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t that big of a deal because it was 1 am in the morning, but all you were thinking at that moment was, y/n, you fucking idiot. If you dressed like them, if you went out like them, you could be getting laid right now. You wouldn’t have to cry about being ugly or feel like you’re utterly undesirable or curse your entire existence—if you’d just dressed in sequins and ostrich feathers.

If you knew how to dress. If you knew how to walk. If you knew how to smile. But it didn’t matter now. The two men had the munchies. They tore open a box of cookies you were keeping for yourself, some fell on the floor. Shaky drunken-slash-high hands. The four people stared you down; if they hadn’t maybe you could have told them the cookies were yours. One guy was picking them up and eating them from off the floor. Jia was halfway through screaming something at you. You slowly backed out of the room with your warm milk, and thought more about your situation when you were alone in your room. Maybe if you knew how to dress, if you were interested in the things they were interested in, maybe you’d get along with Jia and Chungha. Maybe you’d be happier. But you were too… you knew the word. You just couldn’t say it. One of many words that had been hurled at you for years. Ugly, unlovable, weird. All those words that applied to you when you were little and didn’t stop applying to you. They swam around in your head and followed you into your dreams.

Case in point: 2—the things you let your roommate do to you every morning.

Picture this scene, every morning: Chungha’s already dressed. Jia’s in the bath, but she’s locked the door so you can’t even get in to brush your teeth. You’re waiting outside the door.

“Jia, can I come in yet?” That’s usually what you open with. Which is usually met with a “mmm!” or “just a minute!”

A minute turns into 3. You’re waiting in your bathrobe, you can’t just go to school like this and she knows it. She’s the reason your first period lecturer hates you so much, but ‘my roommate was hogging the bathroom’ becomes a stupid excuse, and also entirely your own problem.

“Hey, Jia? I really need to shower,” you’ll try again, knocking on the bathroom door. Which usually makes her mad.

“I’m using it, Y/N, don’t be a fucking bitch.” She usually snaps this in such a biting tone.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just…” you trail on and on. One time, you heard her snicker in there. She was on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m just making her late on purpose. I fucking hate her…”

You’d have thought by college the mean high schoolers would have matured, but Jia was a curse in the flesh. She was never going to give up tormenting the weird kid. It was very unfortunate you had to live with her.

Jia wasn’t all bad, though. She would come out of there, when she needed to get to her classes. Which makes you about 15 minutes late to your first lecture, even when you hurried up in the bathroom with all the time you were given. In conclusion, you were a loser and an embarrassment and you know everyone, including Chungha, was waiting for you to stand up to her, but you just couldn’t. In a way, you kept believing you deserve to be pushed around like that. For being ugly, for being weird. Whatever complex that was.

Case in point: 3—you’re crying writing songs in your room dedicating it all to one person. Wen Junhui, who lived in the pianists’ conservatory, eating and breathing Beethoven for a living and not knowing that you existed, at all.

You thought maybe you liked Jun the way that 12-year-olds made fanpages about BTS, or gave valentine’s gifts to the most popular guy in class, knowing he only dates seniors. He was just simply better than you in every way and you wanted to be a part of that, you thought that if maybe somebody like him loved you, you could start seeing yourself as a person that deserved love.

You’d met him before in person—you weren’t that crazy to develop a crush on someone you’d never talked to before—but like everyone else, the first instant you fell for him was when he played at the concert rehearsal at the conservatory.

You’re an idiot. You fell in love before he even played the piano.

It wasn’t Jun’s turn yet. But he stood to the right of the stage awaiting his turn, really close to the edge—sometimes pushed by the other students backtracking, and almost falling off, to which he reacted by regaining his balance and laughing it off.

A girl was playing Bach or Debussy or something or the other. Jun kept laughing. You felt something not horrible rise to the surface inside of your stomach, like inside of your emotions—and anything not horrible is wonderful to your brain, so you guess that this feeling was wonderful, perhaps even beautiful, something you had never felt before, just looking at the stage lights frame Jun’s face all the right ways: cheekbones bright, the bridge of his nose shiny.

You tell yourself okay, this is stupid, I’m not in love. But you knew if you kept looking at his face it would only take a few more seconds until you really do fall in love, guaranteed, so you averted your eyes, and looked down at his beige-pant-clad legs, and…

And he’s tapping his foot and his shoes are beige, too.

You didn’t even need to raise your eyes back up to his face, to that shy little smile, again. He was tapping his foot. Timing the notes. He was a pianist. That was suddenly so spectacular to you. This boy standing in front of you is a pianist.

So that was the first season of Jun; like fall, you fell. And then winter came and you found your feelings entirely unchanged, but pathetically so, because you were never going to make a move.

You always hoped to run into him sometime somewhere along on campus, but it never happened. But it was okay. You liked imagining that he was real, living his own life—and even if you both weren’t real, just two barbie toys being moved around in a make-shift campus, doll Jun was running his doll hands through doll books and it made you romanticize this universe of lack of autonomy more.

And his doll parts had been everywhere, sadly.

You hear about him kissing some senior at a town club, you see his best friend post stories of them partying. It felt bad, knowing he was so different from you and you couldn’t even change what you were. Which once again brought you back to the main issue: Jia.

It was one of those evenings where she had appointments outside, and you had the apartment to yourself. But you still couldn’t enjoy it, couldn’t just sit on your computer and mix tunes all day long. Jia’s voice nagged you internally, calling you every synonym of ‘loser’ in the book.

And even your songs were definitely written by a loser: ‘I told you I loved you/you made me swear/I’d never say a thing like that again’

You slam your laptop shut. Was all you did make dumb lo-fi music and then stress yourself out? Would it kill you to write an actual song that people actually wanted to hear; make people-pleasing music, instead of making music just to appease your feelings?

Deciding you couldn’t deal with just this anymore, you closed your laptop, and put a hoodie on so you could walk around the town.

Being that the town had both an arts college and a musician’s conservatory, it was impossible to get away from someone who had something to do with it. But the town center, where most students went most nights, was quiet, quaint, and always had street musicians.

A man was playing an accordion by the stream, in front of the lines of restaurants usually populated by kids on campus. The accordion music filled the entire night with its soft melody, and the further away from it you were, the more dreamlike it all seemed. Maybe you were right in coming out. The streetlamps were giving out a yellow light that the water reflected in golden flecks you couldn’t touch. For a long time, you just watched the lights and listened to the music—thinking, maybe you could add an accordion to your music. You’ve never worked with it before, but now you have an idea about it. An accordion behind a verse about Jun’s eyes, maybe coupled with some sax in the background.

Not that the song had to be about Jun’s eyes, you just thought of the first thing that came to mind. Now you feel embarrassed it was the first thing.

For some reason, as you stood by the bridge listening to the accordion, you were reminded of when you first saw him, when you were working with Jeon Wonwoo somewhere in the university. Jun came to pick his roommate up for lunch, when he was just a freshman and no one even knew who he was. Before he played at that Christmas concert and literally everybody in school developed a crush on him.

When you first saw him, you didn’t think he was a pianist. He had just come from practice. He talked to Wonwoo about whatever, and then he looked over at you, and asked if you wanted to go to lunch with them. You froze up on your seat. Pathetically, tears brimmed your eyes and you blinked them away—it was the beginning of living with Jia, where you had been treated so lowly that the smallest kind gesture was enough to make you cry. Jun saw that you got a little sad. He made a joke to cheer you up, with a smile. Instead of laughing or joking back, you averted your eyes at the ground and shook your head.

“I don’t think I’ll go to lunch with you guys, sorry.” You were hungry, but Jia made you feel like you didn’t deserve anything good. You didn’t know what to say, or how to act around Jun and Wonwoo. “You go, Wonwoo,” you said. “I’ll keep the counter for you.” Later you felt dumb for tearing up from the invitation when Jun probably didn’t mean it, he was just offering to be nice. It was stupid.

And then the Christmas concert came, and Jun played a piano solo—a 20th century composer, which you appreciated. It wasn’t the 400th Mozart piece that evening, finally. From the moment he got on stage, girls went wild for him ever since, Wen Junhui with the magic hands. And Jia… your worst enemy fell in love with him, and that was when you realized you were never getting anywhere with Jun. If girls like Jia liked him… what was even the point of trying?

Now, you walk around the campus, past the accordion player and the stream with its bridge and turn the corner to get to the restaurants. You fished in your pockets for money, for the accordion player…

You kind of wanted an ice cream at the parlor near the river, but decided to give it away to the accordion guy. You couldn’t spare another for the ice cream, so you decided to just go back home, get back to your room and tell Seungkwan you went out, since he's always telling you to explore the town. Technically you weren’t lying, you did go around the block.

Just as you were dropping the last of your monthly allowance in front of the (very grateful) accordion player, you felt watched. You turned to the street opposite where there were tables lined up at the front of one of many of the restaurants lining the bridge, and you see Jia, and her date. They’re both watching you.

You couldn’t see the man very well because the lights of the lamppost skipped over him and shined more on Jia, but he was definitely looking at you.

A weird, menacing look flashed through her eyes, and she said something quickly to her date, and while you were working on walking faster away from their table, she called you over.

“Y/N! Hey! Come say hi to Jun, you know him, right?”

Jun?

Jun Jun Jun Jun—

This can’t be happening.

Your legs carried you to their table, your brain must have decided to not be rude—it didn’t really consult with the rest of your body, because your heart was beating out of your chest and you did not want to be there, saying hi to Wen Junhui in your giant black hoodie that made you look like those slug aliens in star wars, and you were going to have to stand next to Jia, in front of Jun, which would definitely make him realize why he didn’t like girls like you that didn’t dress up or even look presentable. He was going to look at Jia and feel so lucky you weren’t the one he was on the date with.

“Hey,” Jia starts. “Jun, this is my roommate. Y/N, this is Jun. He’s training to be a concert pianist.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. Every time you see Jun from afar, you’ve loved that wide-grinned expression of his. You never thought you’d see it this close. You gape at him, wide-eyed, unblinking.

God, his smile is blinding.

Shit. Now you’ve waited too long to say ‘nice to meet you’ back, and it’s weird.

You didn’t want to say ‘nice to meet you’ because you’ve already met… be it a year ago. But now you realize you can’t point that out, because he obviously doesn’t remember you. You swallow.

Jia is cupping her hand over his on the table. You felt a pang in your chest, but just about, a small pain compared to how you were embarrassing yourself right now.

“Uh…” There it is, there’s your go-to phrase. Uh. Uh, uh, uh… “Uh Huh. Right. Good to meet you. I’ll get going…” You realize your hoodie’s not up and your hair is a mess. You were a mess. You pull the hoodie up until it’s covering all the way down your eyes. You look even more like a mess. “Bye!” You step off the restaurant platform, and run into the lamp pole at the side of the restaurant. “Ow!”

Fuck. Jun got up from his seat to help you, but you zap away from his touch like it burned. Now you were getting up and walking away, eyes on the ground like it would kill you to look up at the world. Running into the lamp pole did its damage: you were zigzagging along the pavement. Head down, so it feels like the restaurant and Jia and Jun disappeared behind you and never even happened…

Why did you have to meet Wen Junhui like that? Why did everything have to be this way with Jia? Only when you were halfway home you realized Jia is absolutely aware of your crush on Jun—she's heard you speaking over the phone to Seungkwan, she definitely has heard you talking about him… You realize she called you over to humiliate you, because she knew you would embarrass yourself in front of him. You feel like kicking yourself. Played right into her trap. Stupid, stupid… You felt like if you looked at yourself in the mirror tonight you’d probably cry. You needed to curl under your sheets as soon as possible, and forget about the day…

Back at the restaurant, your roommate cackled. “She’s so weird. It’s a pain living with someone like that.”

Jun frowned. “Was she okay?”

“Oh yeah, of course. It’s just always embarrassing to be in public when your whole existence is a mess.” Jia threw her head back and laughed, shoving a forkful of salad into her mouth. “You know those songs that Boo Seungkwan sings for vocal classes? She wrote them. And she has an album out on band camp—Wildflower Dreams? That’s all her.”

“That’s her?” Jun gawked, mouth open. “Wow…”

“Yeah, but she’s weird.”

“Eccentric musicians are cool.”

“Yeah, but… that’s like, outlandish eccentric. Y/N is pathetic, sad and weird. It’s different. And she’s not a real musician. I mean, can you call a spoken word poem over sad beat music?”

“What—what does she study?”

“Music production—who cares, Jun? I just wanted you to meet my weird roommate. I think we should stop talking about her now.” Jia grabbed Jun’s hand over the table, squeezing it lightly just to bring him back to the conversation. She suddenly had a pang of regret calling you over to the table; now she couldn’t bring him back to the conversation at hand anymore; Jun looked worried about you—she didn’t think he would care, but apparently…

“Jun,” Jia called, “she’s just some weird girl that doesn’t fucking know how to fit in. It’s not a big deal.”

Jun frowned, avoiding his date’s eyes. This was when she realized she really had made a mistake calling you over. “Do you… know what morning classes she has?”

Seungkwan performs 1096 privately to his professors and evaluators, although later all the students want to see the recordings, so the entire productions class was crowded around, you included, although you didn’t like crowds a lot.

Seungkwan pulls you aside as his voice surrounds the class through the lecture hall speakers. “I figured it out,” he told you.

You asked what.

“June.”

“June?”

“Tenth June, 96. 10-96. The only letters left are Jun. J-U-N.”

“You figured it out…” you started to laugh, a little light-hearted since you trusted Seungkwan and knew that he could never betray you with gossip or rumors. “Yes,” you told him. “Yes, Jun…”

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows all dramatically and looked over your shoulder at someone else. “Happy talking,” he says softly, and rejoins the class in the crowd.

“Hey.” Honey-voiced, too light, too airy, just soft and breezy.

Wen Junhui.

You freeze in the spot, and your own music sounds so absolutely grotesque. You had to delete it, start anew. Everything sounds horrible to you. You rip your gaze away from the class for politeness’s sake, and also because you really wanted to know what Jun looked like right now.

“I'm Jun.” As if you didn’t know. “We met the other day, but I just wanted to introduce myself again. Can you tell me your name?”

Um. “It's um - um - Y/N.” After a minute's pause, you add: “L/N.”

“That's cool, to put a face and a name to your music,” Jun gushed, but you started to doubt how genuine his enthusiasm was. Was he playing a joke on you…? What was this, exactly?

“Wanna talk somewhere else? People are coming in for their next lecture.”

So Jun takes you to a sunny little spot outside in the hallway, right in front of the window sill. You lean the side of your body into the wall, just looking up at him, thinking this is a dream.

“You gave away a full note,” Jun says absentmindedly as he started the conversation.

You thought he was talking about a note in music—did you make a mistake? “Huh?”

“The accordion man, back at the restaurant. You gave him a full note—not even a coin. I thought it was cool.” Oh, so he meant note, like money…

“Shit, how long were you guys watching me?!” you blurted nervously, then collected yourself: “uh… I mean, I like supporting those kind of people. Plus, his hands looked so blue and frozen…”

“Jia wasn’t watching you that long,” says Jun. “I was, though. You caught my eye.”

Probably because you’re such a freak, you thought to yourself.

“You know, Y/N, I was wondering… if I could play on one of your songs, if you’re working on a new album? If you don’t want my type of piano on the track, I can always harmonize in the back, I’ve done it for Jihoon’s stuff—”

“Hold up,” you say, pushing him back by the chest a little because he was getting way too close and the only thing you can think of was kissing him right there. “How do you even know I make music?”

“I've listened to all your albums on bandcamp.” You’re shaking your head, frowning. Hold up, what the hell? Jun went on: “I love the whole Daisy album. My favorite is Cherry—”

“That one? But that's so old and only like ninety seconds long,” you interrupt. And it's not even about Jun.

“Yeah!” Jun laughed. “I'll never forgive you for shortening my favorite song like that!” You didn't know why, but he was reaching over to cup his hand over yours, which was just resting on the length of the windowsill. Like the skinship was normal to him or something. You pull back, and he did too, with an apologetic smile.

You must be magnetic or something. His hand kept coming back up to hold yours. With the brush of his skin against yours—soft pianist fingers, but still calloused on some parts of his palm—you guessed from playing the guitar—against the back of your palm. You shudder covertly.

Jun started to hum the song, and you broke into a smile that you had been holding back for too long.

“Mmm, mmm, cherry, my cherry… everywhere the light touches, it shines, wrote you a poem with just two lines…” Shyly, he looked down at his shoes with a sharp breath. “It's such a pretty tune.”

You can’t stop smiling, because when’s the last time anyone’s ever treated you this nicely?

You gulped down saliva that wasn't there, a dry throat. You usually don't get complimented on your work, mainly because you refuse to show anyone, but… now, this was coming from Wen Junhui.

“You give Seungkwan songs to perform, right? I was wondering if you could do that for me?"

“Uh…” You thought of it. You knew you had to accept—or else Jun would disappear from view and you'd never see him again. You wanted to prolong this moment for a long time, for as long as you could get. Jun wasn't the type to care about people like you. You were the background to his stage presence, just a face in the crowd. “Are you free? We can go through my files right now!”

“Yeah, sounds good!” God, how can his adorable accent be so enunciated with just three words?

The walk out to the campus felt more spiritual like anything, like in Spirited Away or Avatar: The Last Airbender when they enter the spirit world—okay, those aren’t real examples, but that’s the closest you can imagine it to be. Because it felt like your feet weren’t touching the ground, and you were sure once you got to the gate, that if you grabbed the handle, your hand would go right through—your heart was beating fast, but in a way that felt numb. There has to be more adrenaline than hemoglobin in your blood right now.

Jun reached over trying to help you open the door outside, and the moment your hands touched, a string of electricity sparked between the two of you. Zap. You both jumped a little. “Oh,” he said, “sorry.” Once you reached a spot under a shady tree he demurely sat and watched you open your files, handing him headphones so he could listen. You pulled out the one you were most proud of: the music that had already been released online already.

Jun quietly looked through the files humming the tunes trying to get a sense of them, moving his fingers along to identify the chords.

“I’ve heard all these,” he says. “Do you have others?”

“But,” you protest, “they’re bad. I mean, not bad necessarily, but raw and unfurnished.”

“You know that’s what makes the songs so good, right?”

You gave in and handed him your other file of note sheets, mindlessly letting him leaf through it. “It’s my songs I wrote back in autumn,” you explained. “I don’t know, I just sort my music through the period of time I was working on, like sometimes 30 or so songs in one file. Like making an album, you know? I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever really sell whole albums, but…”

“Why can’t you make an album?” Jun asks.

“Well you know, I’m not… some pop star…”

“You could be.”

“No, Jun, I don’t… I don’t look the part.” The air turned awkward as you said that, you saw Jun’s forehead crease in a small frown. Right, right, self-deprecation is generally frowned upon… You swallow, trying to get rid of that moment.

“What’s in there?” Jun asked, pointing towards the other folders. You pull out the one the cursor is on.

“These are songs I wrote without lyrics…” you explain slowly. “They all mostly sound the same, please don’t look, it’s embarrassing—oh and that—” you point at the file Jun was reaching for— “that’s my lovesongs folder.”

Oh, wait.

“Um—Wait!”

Jun had opened the file up, and your heart shoots through your chest, beating wildly. You wanted to scream, curse, something, anything, just wish this moment away—

All you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. Bloody rushing like crazy to your head, in a frenzy.

You named the folder, in your stupid head that thought no one would ever see these: A FILE FOR JUNHUI.

Fuck.

Now Jun was going through the audios, acting like he didn't see the writing on top of it, but you know it's exactly in his line of sight—you can’t even let yourself live in denial.

This was it, you thought, he's gonna think I’m a weirdo and he'll get a restraining order on me now.

Instead, he just asks:

“Can I play these?”

You lift your eyes up to look at his face, shocked by how… undisturbed he looked. You started to doubt he even saw the name of the folder, but you weren’t dumb—he had to have seen it.

“Y-yeah, sure… any one you want.”

“I've never heard this one before,” Jun says, gliding his finger over the sheet music. “Look into my heart, where flowers have bloomed, a song written about you…” He was reading out the lyrics, before he started humming along to it. You're filled with an emotion that feels like wholesomeness, you grit your teeth to resist it. It feels too good.

“That one's not released yet… I meant to, but um… I don’t know, just haven't gotten around to it.”

You’re tapping your foot on the floor as a way to fight the feeling from overwhelming you, but you can’t stop it, you could just start shouting for joy and embarrassment and everything else in between. You have never been more overloaded with emotions.

“These are great, thanks…” Jun neatly sorted the file back to where it came from, after pulling out the songs he wanted. “Actually, I wanted to ask you this, too—can you give me the audio file for Cherry? Just the rough drafts, if you still have those. It’s my favorite song ever, you know?”

“Oh yeah—sure—” you go through your laptop for it, and then Jun says:

“So, who'd you write it for?”

You freeze up. “Uh, one of my friends' favorite scents is cherries, so…” Online friend. The only people that could stay around you were the ones that couldn't see what a mess you were.

“Oh, shoot,” goes Jun, “I was kinda hoping it's about me.”

You froze up, slowly coming back up to face Jun, cheeks burning like they never had before. Your life was embarrassing, but it has never gotten this bad. “Why… why would it be about you?”

“I don’t know, what do you usually write your songs about?”

“Uh, definitely… definitely not about you.”

“For Junhui,” Jun read out, and you feel yourself cringe—toe-curling, eye-scrunching cringe. “Hmm. Common name.”

You stared down at your shoes for the longest time, trying to will the shame and awkwardness to go away. All the people you could embarrass yourself in front of, and it happened to be global campus crush Jun.

It’s Sunday, and you’re getting your work done for the school day tomorrow, when you hear your roommates leave. Today was one of the days you felt like interacting, so you went: “guys, it’s Monday tomorrow.”

Jia rolled her eyes, while Chungha started to explain that Sunday night was a promotional night, there were conservatory people there, and everything, and sensing their annoyance, you went back into your room.

In the dark of the night, you don’t hear your roommates come in, way past midnight, but you hear Jia’s sobbing.

“Chungha?” you spoke quietly into the kitchen, where light sobs were coming from. Jia lay there, draped over the veranda, howling in embarrassment. All you could hear was “and she’s so old! And ugly! How could he choose to dance with her?”

Chungha spared a glance at you, and merely waved her hands for you to get the fuck out of there—although rude, it was so you didn’t cross paths with the mean girl and make life worse for yourself.

“Come on,” Chungha was telling her, “he’s not even that hot.”

“He’s the hottest guy in school… and… he… has… nice… pianist fingers!” Jia says, speech ruined by tears.

You wondered if you knew the person they were talking about, although if your guesses were right, it probably was. You inched away from the kitchen, closing the door behind you, when the doorbell rang. The two girls probably don’t hear it; you open the door, not even checking through the peephole, despite the fear of assassination, or some creepy guy following the girls back from the club.

It’s Jun. It’s fucking Jun, dark-haired, tall, beautiful, Jia-would-kill-you-if-you-looked-at-him-Jun.

You actually get chills in some type of way as you look at him, and he’s not even looking at you. He’s looking over your shoulder, with a certain sleepy quietness in his eyes that told you he was buzzed. He rests his hand on the door frame coolly, and speaks with cocktail breath, “hi.”

He must be drunk. There’s no way he isn’t. The balancing himself on the door frame looks cool, but it’s also for practical purposes so he doesn’t, like, fall over.

“Jia’s crying,” you say, and realize she’d probably hate that you disclosed that information once it comes out of your mouth. “Shit, don’t tell her I said that. But I don’t think she wants to see you.”

Jun looks at you from the corner of his eyes, head turned a little bit away, and even though you like him you can’t risk setting your cruel roommate off again, not with now possessive she was about him.

He’s not speaking until he does. And that takes a while. Maybe he’s trying to get the right words out while simultaneously trying to not sound drunk. “I’m not here to see her,” he says, “I’m here to see you.”

What?

“So can we talk?” he asks, motioning with a slight nudge of his face to the stairs.

You look back at the apartment, where you could still hear his “girlfriend” crying. Whatever he wants to talk to you about, it can’t be good. He’s probably here to convince you to help him win her back, but you weren’t willing to waste any effort on reviving a relationship WHOSE HALF IS A GUY YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH.

“I…”

Jun says with a raised eyebrow, “you gonna say something?”

“Um, no.” That’s all you can manage. And a nice “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Which is rude at first glance, but that’s the kind of thing you made up your mind to say to him ever since Jia got all possessive about him.

Jun sighed, disappointed, but you started to think he had a side to him that Jia didn’t know—but you did. It was in the childish way he would tap his feet to music, or get excited about meeting the musician behind his favorite songs. It was the way he was passionate about piano, too. You saw things in him, things you wanted to keep to yourself.

“... why?” he spoke. You frowned, asking him to go on—but as quietly as he could, since you didn’t want your roommates to know he came to see you. “Why don’t you ever say hi at school? I know we’re not really friends—I don’t even make that many friends, but… I don’t know, would be nice if you had said hi.”

“Uh.” You couldn’t give him anything. You kept telling yourself you were a loser, that nothing was going to happen between you and Jun, and he likes your music, he was a fan—so that’s all what it was.

“Whatever,” Jun says. “I’m drunk, so I hope I forget about this. I hope when I wake up I still believe you like me somewhat still.” He turned his back to you as he walked away, and you stared after, hoping he’d look back. He didn’t. You left the door open even after he had left the building, wondering what it would have been like if you actually had articulated everything you felt.

“Are you okay?” your senior asks, one hand against the small of your spine—usually you'd be concerned by any skin contact, but you knew Seungcheol could be trusted. You never got a wrong vibe from him.

You nodded absentmindedly.

“Great. Listen,” he says, “I’ve got this big project coming up. And my professor’s evil, like he won’t go easy on the grades unless what I turn in is revolutionary. Plus I’m up against Lee Jihoon for this, so…” You blinked at him, not understanding. “Let’s work on something. Together. I’ll give you my lyrical experience and my senior tips, and you compose like Beethoveen for me.”

“Are you sure I’m the one you want to work with?”

“With your talent?” Seungcheol leans back and grins at you, the biggest grin he’s ever given anyone. “I’d be surprised you’re not always booked and busy like a ex-idol-group-DJ right now.”

You thought about it, just wondering what could ever go through Choi Seungcheol’s mind that he would say that. The senior noticed, too, checking himself for whatever he said.

“Oh. Do you not like the word ‘talent’? Sorry, I meant you honed your skills yours—”

“I don’t really have any skills, though,” you mumbled.

“What are you talking about?! Your indie band was one of the top rising stars of indie pop bandcamp, and the fact that you’re here in music production classes—you’ve got talent and soul, and Wildflower Dreams has a future—”

“Are you a fan?” came a voice from behind you.

You watched the lights in Seungcheol’s eyes change as he averted his eyes to look at who was speaking. “Oh! Jun!”

“I’m a big fan of Y/n,” Jun says. “If that’s what we’re talking about. Mind if I sit?”

You hadn’t spoken to Jun ever since he found your folder of songs on him, and, also, hadn’t called him to include him on your project. You knew he could play guitar beautifully. You knew it would fit your songs. You just… didn’t feel like you deserved him.

“We were just talking about Y/n’s music,” says Seungcheol. “I wanted to include her compositions in the new thing I’m producing.”

Jun froze. You think it’s a look of disdain and betrayal, but you couldn’t be sure. “You’re collabing?” Ah, now you’re sure. It’s definitely betrayal. As Seungcheol affirms, you realized you and the senior were both watching Jun as he went through a face journey, swallowing each word that comes to his mind until he finally settles on: “have a nice time, guys.”

Clearing his throat, Jun leaves your library table, shuffling away.

“We were supposed to collab,” you explained. “Right now. I guess he felt rejected. I should call him.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, clearly… Also he’s in love with you,” Seungcheol puts it flatly. He reached out his packet of snacks for you. “Cookie?”

“He’s not in love with me.”

“He is. You should definitely take a cookie—they’re store-bought, but one day I’ll get make good use of the oven in our dorm and—”

“Why would you say Junhui is in love with me? Twice?” you demanded, keeping your voice down to a whisper since you were in the library. “Like, why would you even—”

“Because he is,” says Seungcheol, “and it’s not even the dry puppy love type of love. He got jealous. He’s passionately in love. Expert’s opinion.”

You scoffed.

“So… will you help me with this grading test, or are you that busy? So busy you won’t even text Wen Junhui back?”

It’s rehearsal night where the conservatory students and the art school students mingle for a concert, and you see Jia looking around the chairs of performers, searching for someone. For you, it’s the opposite–you stare at your feet, hoping no one notices you. Not any seniors coming to congratulate you on your projects, and definitely not Wen Junhui.

The only person you wanted to see was Seungkwan, who was part of the vocal in the choir and waved at you excitedly and smiled whenever you caught his eyes. But other than that…

Jun was the first pianist they’d chosen; there were two. The piano is slanted on stage so everyone could see the musicians, and Jun was just… behind the wooden lid, in and out of side as he rocked to the music.

It was the only time you felt like looking at him, at a place where he couldn’t spot you looking at him or even stare back at you; looking up at someone who will never see you in a sea of other people. This was all you wanted to be for Jun, who shines like the sun on stage, a prodigy, a talent, something way bigger than anything you were.

There’s bouquets being given out to the performers after the show. You loiter; Seungkwan is talking to a whole bunch of your producer colleagues, including Seungcheol and Jihoon, who were the only people you knew. You were alone.

“Jun!” Jia’s voice was shrill as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “Baby!”

Yikes, did you have to go through and see all this? You look away, pretending to walk away—the night was over anyway, but you were thinking of savoring the walk back to the dorm, while people like Jia had better things to do than retire to bed so early.

But someone tall was striding over to you, in a white suit, so fairytale-prince-esque as he gently turned your shoulders around. “Are you leaving already?!”

He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so loud; he apologized that he was just excited. Jun grinned at you. You wanted to lie, that Seungkwan or someone wanted you, but no one came to get you; you were forgotten to all but one person… unfortunately.

“If you’re not going anywhere,” starts Jun, “do you want to go on a date?”

You saw that he slid a wallet into the inside pocket of his coat; he’d been planning to celebrate after the concert. Was it just meant to be you? Or could it have been just anyone?

“Sure,” you say. “Are your other orchestra friends coming?”

Jun looked confused, almost like he couldn’t articulate that confusion, like a cat with its head tilted. Then he walks over to the orchestra people—”give me one second.”

After going around leaning over everyone’s ears and asking them to join, Jun comes back to you all straightened up, with a certain mischief in his eyes. “Bad luck,” he pronounces, “no one wants to come. Shall we?”

You end up at an ice cream parlor, one of the more popular date rendezvous around the town, and Jun swears everything is on him as he orders a large sundae, which melts more than he could eat.

You thought he’d ask you about school, music, projects, but he’s asking in detail about each of your albums.

“I always thought ‘marriage’ was about death, and like… ego death?” he prodded. “There’s a better word in Mandarin, but I just…”

“That’s too nice,” you tell him. “I can’t believe someone things that deep about my stuff…”

Jun’s sundae cherry looked lonely, and anyway there were two on two mountains of ice creams. He gave you one.

“I’m glad we’re alone, actually, I think I’d be too shy if Seungkwan or someone came along.”

Jun nodded.

“How did you invite them, anyway?” you giggle. “Well, I guess it’s good on your wallet.”

He scoffed. “You wanna know how I invited them?”

As you nodded, Jun’s hand (which you see now was kinda way larger than yours) slid out of sight to tuck your hair behind your ear, and he leaned over, whispering: “I went over, and whispered into each of their ears: ‘the girl I like thinks I want to bring other people on my date, so pretend I’m inviting you and shake your head.’ And then… they all shook their heads. I don’t know what made them do it, though.”

You looked at him, and he didn’t even dare face you this time, looking down at his sundae. His ears were red, which was quite a feat of you; although he had been the one that embarrassed himself.

You didn’t want to draw conclusions. Although everything he did just pointed to one conclusion. Still, you wanted to play dumb—until he straight up looked into your eyes and told you he liked you, full-on, no room for lies and games. Right now you just felt like a dumb girl going along with a devious boy charming you off your feet.

“Um…” you started, and suddenly, the salon bell chimes, and in walks some members of the orchestra, some kids that you knew by name. You wave at them, and they invite you to their table—you looked back at Jun.

“Do you mind if we go talk to them?” you asked softly. You were shocked to see him look a little embarrassed, more severely than before—he looked down at the floor, almost dejected.

“Oh, well, I was thinking if it was just us…” Jun looked into your eyes, and slowly started to stutter with his words, until he came to a stop: “... ah, forget it. Heh… I just… sorry. It’s up to you.”

“Why do you look like that?” you speak softly.

“Why do I look like—I can’t tell what I must look like right now, but it’s just… the face of someone who got turned down by someone they really admire.” He forced a smile. “I’m sorry, of course… you… wouldn’t think of me that way. I just really like your music, and thought you should know. I am down to help you in any way, though, which… you should be able to tell… I’m actually good at playing piano. Just tell me if you need anything.”

He smiles. And you were happy—he’d just affirmed everything you’d ever thought. Of course, like he said, he didn’t like you that way, it was just the music. Maybe it just touched him enough to delude himself into thinking he liked you, but… He didn’t.

You’d been led on by men a lot, so you think you know… But Jun wasn’t like that. Jun was genuine. But you liked the distance, still.

“You’re sick.” Seungkwan and you were working in a free practice room. Well, Seungkwan was working on his vocals, you were amateurly coaching him (because he didn’t dare ask for a professor to help yet). “Look at all these lyrics and all these song titles… You’re obsessed. And it’s not even hopeless, you might actually have a chance.”

You scoff. “He just likes me as an artist.”

“God, that’s what they all say until they elope.”

You slap his wrist with a ruler. “I am not getting eloped!”

“Wait… ‘looking at your eyes/ while I’m reading your pretty texts’... DO YOU TEXT HIM?” The question echoes through the empty room and you gingerly nod, kind of afraid of Seungkwan.

“Call him up,” Seungkwan says. “Right now. I don’t take no’s. Call him up immediately and say you’re down to collab.”

A minute or two of back and forth passed between you and him until you decided to grab your phone. This was what you loved so much about Seungkwan: he makes you step outside your comfort zone.But honestly right now if you embarrassed yourself in front of Jun you’d hate him. A lot.

Jun picked up on the second ring. You had given him your number the day you gave him the music files. He greets you cheerfully, “Ah, I was wondering when you would call.” You just stared at Seungkwan’s excited face, trying to not show any emotion or insight into what was happening. “...Should I not be so cocky?” Jun goes over the phone.

“Um,” you say, “Hey. Jun. I was thinking about what you offered, and, yeah, turns out I could actually have room for acoustics or keyboard in my new tracks…”

“And A BOYFRIEND!” Seungkwan yells out, and you immediately kick him with a swift rubber-toed sneaker.

“What was that? It was really muffled,” Jun says, and you could hear the confusion in his voice.

“Nothing,” you assured, “just… nothing.”

“If we’re going to do this, I’ve got conditions, though. I want to meet you,” Jun says. “I don’t want to work through emails—I want to see the creative process, and I want to work and fuel that process—you still want me on your album, right?”

You realized Jun talked a lot when he was excited, and as he rambled on, you look at Seungkwan to see him holding in his laughter. Ugh, whatever… Jun’s just a friend.

“And when you’re done with everything, you should come see me play. They call me Magic Fingers,” Jun says. It was clear he was saying it to be sexy, and you just sigh, not wanting to give in to the Jun fever.

After you’d said bye, Seungkwan spent the rest of the evening laughing and recalling parts of your conversation. “Magic fingers! Magic fingers—god. You kids keep me young…”

You stayed booked and busy at the end of the semester, working on your own projects while also helping Seungkwan and Seungcheol. With Jun’s tight schedules, you hadn’t been able to get together and do whatever you planned together—which, no, Seungkwan, was not happening. You considered maybe you’d work over the holidays, and plus, Jun had his school concert coming up where he wanted to be in the pianists’ showcase.

To be honest, Jun was the only reason you wanted to go back to posting songs for your own enjoyment on bandcamp again. He was the only reason you actually started believing you had fans. You really thought this day would never come, that someone might give you something to believe in about yourself.

One morning—a weekend, you wake up late and tread into the kitchen just wanting cereal. Instead, you found a well-dressed Junhui sitting there, tapping his fingers on the table, playing some symphony no one else could hear.

You almost fooled yourself into thinking he was there for you, but Jia comes in. Barging in all neon-lipped. “We’re going out, loser, did you just wake up?”

“Brunch,” Jun explained in just a single word, not saying more. As if it embarrassed him—you didn’t know if it’s because he’s talking to you, or if he’s shy about his relationship. You furrowed your eyebrows, unable to control your expression at all—Jia reached for his hand and intertwined it with hers, and you thought about how pretty her hands were, all manicured, fitting into his like that.

“Our moms made us,” Jia says, impossibly gloating so hard her face shined. “Jun’s mom is literally obsessed with us dating—she says our zodiacs are totally compatible."

Jun stood at her side nodding along, although he couldn’t articulate anything.

He didn’t need to. Jia may be bragging, but you knew enough. She was right, you weren’t. Not the right star sign, not the right element, not the right person. You never thought you had a chance, Jun was just your friend—and still, it hurt to have your friend choose your bully over you.

It’s a weekend. The two of them won’t be back until evening. And you, you had nothing to do except sit in your room listening to old lyric-less tunes you made until it maddened you.

So Jun and Jia are dating again, this time for real. You saw the couple kiss right in front of you, which you just stood by and watched so you didn’t look so aloof, but it didn’t matter what you did, Jia was always going to lay into you. She made a crack of a joke at your expense as they left together, and you didn’t know if Jun laughed but you imagined he might have. It’s not like he owes you anything, is it?

It was killing you, and to be honest, Seungcheol was right—you were worth something, at least your music was. And maybe… Junhui just wanted to use you for your talent.

When you check your text history, it’s always just Jun starting the conversations, sending emojis and stickers, acting forward about everything, asking you how your school work was going. You had always kept him at arm’s length, and still he managed to hurt you.

Maybe it was just how having a crush on the most wanted guy at school goes…

You finish 3 songs that day, which was a feat for you, and surprisingly, it’s all the ones you intended to feature Jun on.

Jun wanted to tell you he really missed you when he didn’t get to see you, and also, you did a good job writing the song for Seungcheol’s project. He also wanted to tell you he spent a total of 5 hours per day streaming your old songs on bandcamp, just because he felt like hearing your voice and you weren’t talking to him.

He thought at the end of the semester, well, I should just talk to her, whatever.

He wanted to congratulate you on the song with Seungcheol, anyway. The professor had been proud enough to share it with the students, and so he thought he should also congratulate you. Plus, he felt like no one ever got the song the way he did. What your songs made him feel was special.

He sat down next to you after class was over, just like the first time you talked, and said, “The collaboration with Seungcheol was so good. Everyone loves it.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, I think I loved it the most out of anybody else ever,” he adds.

You were frowning, so he thought you were challenging him that he didn’t listen to it at all. So he started to hum:

“If I were a wildflower I could grow in the cracks of your front lawn/watch you smile for the girl you love/crush me under the soles of your boots…”

“It’s a love song,” Jun says. “It’s about complete devotion.” he listens to the tune for a few more seconds, before he can look up at you with eyes so full of what you assumed as pity. “The guy you wrote this for is really lucky.”

He doesn’t have a clue.

You snap your laptop closed, not sparing one glance at Jun—which he noticed and saw the hostility. “Yeah, well,” you say, “you wouldn’t have a clue about my devotion.”

Jun was frowning. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

You didn’t reply when he pressed for more from you, and you simply crossed over his lap with your sweatpant-clad legs and walked off on him.

He pulled you back by the arm. “Listen, if you think Seungcheol’s a better musician than me or you like him more than that and you’d rather collab with him, you can just say that. There’s no need to lead me on like you’re—”

“This isn’t about Seungcheol,” you say, “or it’s about Seungcheol for you. But not for me. You can leave, Jun, if that’s all you came here to talk about.”

“F—forget it.” Jun basically threw your shoulder off his grasp like he was shaking you off, although there was a softness to his voice like it was killing him being mean to you. With gritted teeth, you walked faster and faster out of his sight, cursing him. Oh, the things you were going to tell Seungkwan about him…

“We’re gone,” Chungha says with a laugh. “Don’t expect us back.”

“I wasn’t going to…” you mumbled in your usual unsure tone, but with a smile so you didn’t look so sullen.

Chungha smiled back at you, or was about to, when— “Chungha! Let’s fucking go!”

“Alright!” She shot you half a glance, fixed her heels, and trodded out the door.

Sound of their pink heels clinking against the stair tiles. And then the entire building was quiet. All the students in the building had left for that one party.

Not to be pathetic, but you always end up regretting every decision you made.

Why would Jun ever even like you?

You lie on the bed thinking of what Seungcheol told you, the sentence going over your head over and over again until you feel like slapping yourself or taking a ice bath just to get it off your mind.

Yes, Seungcheol had experience in everything: being a boy, being in love, being a boy in love, and yes he could have actual insight, but also, what could he ever know about what Jun feels?

Seungcheol might just be saying it to be nice.

You decided to play one of your songs from that folder, FOR JUNHUI, just to see if the raw audio needed retouches, but halfway through listening to the whole album you realized two things: 1) you had no clue how to fix anything—not even just in your songs, but also in your life—and 2) you were crying.

It didn’t help that your own songs were a representation of your own fucked up, boring, messy life, so you kept listening and crying and listening and crying more. Until you were uglier than you had started.

Somewhere through the night—-maybe 40 minutes after Chungha and Jia had left—the doorbell rang.

You weren’t expecting anybody, but it was also possible that throughout your sadness you had blacked out and ordered a pizza without the present you knowing, so you opened the door.

You never expected to see Jun here. The Wen Junhui of your poetic lyrical metaphorized musings, manifesting himself on your doorstep with tousled hair and a leather jacket.

It’s cold out. That’s the first thing you think. He should have worn a puffer coat. You pull him into the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, sounding more fed up than you needed to be.

“Got bored at the party…” Was he slurring? You could understand him well but there was that tint of alcohol in his words.

“Jia isn’t here.”

“I know, I saw her at the party. I…” he laughed, and you see his flushed cheeks—definitely drunk. “I told her I’d bring her some booze and then ditched her. It’s whatever, I’m sure she’ll find some other guy… were you just lying in the dark here?” He reached for the light switch, turning it on. White light against your tear streaks.

Jun looked startled, like the sight shocked the liquor’s effects out of him. He gasped. “Are you crying?” Just when you were about to deny it, he stepped closer—or the closest he could get—and wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, you zap away from him at the speed of light.

“Why would you cry—”

“Jun! You don’t break into my house when no one’s around and proceed to wipe the tears off my face!”

There was a silence, which after a moment he broke with: “Well I didn’t break in, you let me in… But I can go if you want me to.”

“Please do.”

He was frowning. “For real?”

You nodded, taking a pathetic swipe against your cheek to get rid of remaining tear streaks. You really didn’t want to see him right now.

Jun turned to leave, only before he had opened the door completely, he looked over his shoulder. And shuts it. “Have you had dinner?”

“... not hungry,” you say.

“Well you still have to eat something. Let me make you black bean noodles, you know it’s a chinese staple—”

You were pulling at his sleeve before he could reach the kitchen. “You already know this apartment well, huh? From visiting her so much?” your tone was accusatory and you were quiet, but he heard you: there was little else to pay attention to in the cold dead night.

Jun sighed. “Why didn’t you call at all? Even if it wasn’t about music—you know you’re more interesting to me than just your music? I could just listen to you talk all day. Just sit somewhere and talk.”

“That’s…” you start, searching for words, “embarrassing.”

“I’m embarrassing?”

“You don’t want to be seen with me, Jun. It’s going to make everyone think… it’s gonna be embarrassing if someone assumes we’re… together.”

“Maybe I want people to think we’re together,” Jun blurts.

You know he didn’t mean to say it, because there was a red light of alarm in his eyes as he finished saying that.

“Yeah, but… you have Seungcheol sunbae, anyway, and—you like Seungcheol, don’t you?”

“No!”

“But you were working—”

“It’s just that,” you say. “Work.”

Jun sighed. “You know my whole persona is an act, right? I’m performing. I’m being this suave kind of guy that knows a lot about the world, but really, I just really want you to like me.”

“Why…”

“Not even I know that!” His head is in his hands. “I love your music. But you… I like you. Like-like you.”

You roll your eyes. “And you, don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

Jun considers this for a moment, and finally, softly, he asks: “who was that album for?” You lifted your face up to his, just to know what he was thinking. He’s not pulling a poker face, and his eyes were soft. But that big grin was nowhere in sight. “The unfinished songs that you gave me,” he continued, “The title of that folder—I mean, am I seeing things? If everything in that album is what you want to say…”

“It is,” you answered. “Yeah. It’s for you.” You felt like beating yourself up, because it’s so strange. It’s so weirdo freak of you to have written a full album on a guy you’d only ever talked to once, but you always assumed you were doing no harm in just using him as a muse… But now Jun might think different. He’s going to think you’re a stalker, that you—

He’s kissing you. Lips on lips. Tongue on lips.

You weren’t that big of a loser that you’d never been kissed, but you never actually felt this way being kissed before. The kind of kiss that knocks out every single thought from your head. You whimper, a sound from the back of your throat that easily escaped.

Jun pulled away. “Oh. I shouldn’t have—”

“I thought you were dating her,” you say. “I thought—”

“I thought you were dating Seungcheol. It’s… just so stupid… my mother made me go on a date. I was going to call you and explain, but then you just shut me off comple—”

You bring your lips to his again, both hands traveling up to his thick head of hair, and his own hands went to support you at the small of your back, the crop top you were wearing rising up so he could feel the vertebrae on your spine, inch by inch. He’s so close to you.

He asks which of those doors is your room. You grab him by the hand and drag him inside your horrible aspiring-music-producer-vibes room, which is, to say, messy, but he doesn’t mind. He pushes you down on the bed like he owned the entire apartment and kept kissing you, and you could feel his knees between yours, pushing and pushing.

You wanted to feel him, too, but all you could do was not objectify him and simply remove stray strands of hair from his forehead, staring up at him with utmost love. And he takes his patience unbuttoning each button from your blouse, and then pulling your sweatpants off you.

“That song you wrote for Seungcheol,” Jun says, “you don’t need to be under anybody’s feet. All you need to be is here. In my arms.” He kissed your neck, and you’re glad he’s too caught up in the feeling of your body that he doesn’t need an answer from you, but also, he’s right. Being in his arms just felt right. You’ve been daydreaming about him since forever, but you never thought you’d get to touch the thing you’ve been writing songs about. You reach out to touch him, and there he is, warm and real.

“You’re real,” you say between pants. “You’re fucking real.”

You feel his teeth on your breasts and his fingers on your clit.

You’re wet—you don’t know how you could get so wet when you’ve been wasting all the water in you through crying—and so is Jun’s mouth, as he swirls his tongue on your nipple, acting as if he were starving. It’s just body and body, hot, human. You’d never had a kiss you regretted until now.

Jun’s hungry for all of you and it shows. He knees your legs apart as his hands knead the skin of your thighs, and for a second just stares hungrily. You squeeze your eyes shut under his mercy—this whole night belonged to him now.

“Let’s see if you taste like cherries, baby.”

You feel his tongue on your clit and you ball up the covers in your fists, trying not to make any noises in case it scares him off.

“Let me hear you,” Jun panted into your flesh. “Don’t be shy.”

You simply make a mmmph sound, but once his tongue meets the spot in your clit that makes your whole body feel like it’s on fire, you scream. You had never felt this way before.

“Please!” you whimpered. “Fuck, Jun, please.” With every new height and sensation, you press your legs together, as if you wanted it to be over, and you could feel the sides of Jun’s head against your thighs, precious skin against skin.

Just when you thought you might release this burning feeling, which could leave you spasming and shaking, it stops, Jun’s tongue isn’t on you anymore, but his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself. It’s lewd, but you’d always wanted Jun this way. Loving you in the filthiest ways. For a long time you didn’t think he’d even want to talk to you, or touch you… but now he’s touching you like this.

“I wanna make you cum,” Jun says, “but not just with my tongue. I want us together.”

With his mouth attached to your neck and his hands kneading every part of you, you almost didn’t feel him pushing closer to you, crotch against clothed crotch, until you feel him against you, and he pulls away and stares, almost to ask for permission.

You pull him in and you’re crashing into each other, body against body, sweat against sweat. Your cores have met each other, and it’s so warm, a thousand sensations in one stroke of his hips, and you’re both letting go of the breaths you’ve been holding in, panting and moaning. You like his tired-out groans, there’s something so manish about them.

Once you felt you couldn’t keep the pace so regularly this way, you close your eyes and tense up, expecting it to be rough, but Jun brushes the hair out of your eyes, and you blinked. He’s looking down at you sweetly, and, with a soft kiss to your cheek, you feel him inside of you, slowly, unbearably hot and paced, the deepest part of you meeting the highest part of him, and you just mewl under him.

Jun compliments your eyes. Jun compliments your body. He calls every part of you pretty, up until the point where he couldn’t speak anymore because of the pleasure.

“Pretty,” he kept saying, “pretty, pretty…” His lips are on your ear when he releases, and you hear the worst of those moans, it sounds as if he were in pain. Like you put him in that pain, and it feels… good. What was making love but agreeing to hurt each other? You felt tired out and you feel the back of his spine with closed eyes and trailing fingertips… it’s real. It’s all real.

“My cherry,” Jun gasped. He kissed you, in a drunken daze, on the ear. You could feel his breaths and panting. “Everywhere the light touches, it shines...” He touched a spot on your forehead where the moonlight off the windows shone, and it made you feel all beautiful and made of light. Then he kisses your lips.

SMUT ENDS HER

You woke up in his arms. He was staring at you. You recoiled as soon as your eyes met—you weren’t expecting his to be open—and covered up your face with the blanket. “Ugly,” you say.

“Pretty.” He gave you a kiss on your forehead which was left uncovered. With one hand that was supporting your body from the back, he pulled you closer. “Breakfast?”

Just as you were asking that, something loud came from outside the door. “Y/N WE’RE BACK AND I HAVE A HANGOVER SO DON’T YOU DARE PLAY YOUR SHITTY MUSIC OUT LOUD.”

You pulled away from Jun. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I just slept with Jia’s crush—”

“I have a name, you know?” Jun didn’t even get to crack the full joke because you had flung his pants and belt at his face.

“Get dressed!” you hissed. “We have to sneak you out of here.”

“Why can’t we—”

“Jia. Will. Kill. Me.” You tiptoed to the door and peaked out, to find Chungha adminstering eyedrops to a very fatigued C. You glanced back at Jun. “We can’t do this alone. Get dressed, fast.” Without sparing Jun a glance, you waved your hands to get Chungha’s attention, and waved her over, opening the door just slightly ajar enough for Chungha to enter.

“Wait, I’m still changing—”

“Oh my god,” Chungha gasped.

Jun put his finger to his lips, eyes pleading. Extremely vulnerable, being that he’s only half-dressed right now.

You don’t even have a single inhibition in you to think.

Chungha closes the door behind her, treading lightly in your room. You felt relieved she discovered you, because you didn't want to keep this secret. At least now there's someone you could talk to about it…

Because Jun's here right now but you don’t want to count on it. You’re gonna need someone to talk to when he decides he’s more into girls like Jia and never someone like you.

“You were here all night with Wen Junhui?” Chungha hisses at you. “Woah, Y/n.”

You shushed her.

“How did you even manage to score Jun?” Chungha asked, and her tone was at first trying at keeping the whole ordeal clandestine, but slowly her voice raised and raised.

“Chungha!” Jia yelled from outside. “What are you doing in her room?”

“Just—She needs to borrow an outfit!” Chungha turned back at you. “Damn. So. Wen Junhui.”

“We need to sneak him out of here,” you whispered.

“Wait, why?”

“Yeah,” Jun added in, “why?”

“Because—” you say. “Because—Jia—she’ll make my life a living hell if she finds out I stole her dream man.”

You look over at Jun and he’s frowning.

“I’ll distract her,” Chungha volunteered. “No worries, guys. Just sneak him out while her back’s turned to the kitchen.”

Chungha exited the room, and you and Jun stared at each other—or, Jun was staring and you wanted to lose the eye contact.

“You’re afraid of her that much?” Jun asked.

“She’s just—you should go.”

“You must have been really mad at me when I chose her. I didn’t know.”

“You should go, Jun, and you shouldn’t apologize for nothing…”

“If I knew,” Jun says, “that she hurt you then I wouldn’t have…”

“Go,” you say.

“I’ll make this right.” Jun pulled you in so you were looking at his eyes, and they were dark and warm, like coffee. “We’re going to tell her—we’re going to tell everyone. When you’re ready.”

He pulled on the extra coat he had on the previous night, and then stood up. You promised him you’d walk him to the gate, so you did, both slowly inching out the apartment.

On the way down the stairs, Jun kept looking over at you, as if he wanted to say something, but honestly you didn’t know if you could take an honest conversation right now.

You didn’t regret the night, but when you thought more about it, it felt like Jun had just been using you, or was drunk, or just—it wouldn’t make sense that someone like Jun would be into something like you.

“Text me, okay?” Jun says, even though from his point of view you were just one side of your face that had disappeared behind the magnetic door.

He said it so softly and shyly that you felt touched. “I will,” you say. “I will, Jun.”

229 notes · View notes

itsmeatballworld · 1 year

Text

| just a dream |

summary | Bucky and reader are neighbors in Brooklyn. When reader has a spicy dream about the broody man, it sets off a series of events that ignites something in both of them.

pairing | bucky barnes x f!reader

wc | 6k [pls I got carried away]

warnings | smut & fluff babes so 18+ ONLY. Cursing, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, p in v (no condom mentioned but pls wrap it up irl), lots of praise kink, handjob, cock warming (if you squint). If a one-shot could be a slow-burn romance, here it is.

a/n | set during tfatws. I posted this on my ao3 account originally, so here it is on my tumblr account!

Minors DNI, 18+ ONLY [again, 18+ only] Minors, Do Not Interact.

dividers by @/firefly-graphics

The shimmer of moonlight illuminated the small space in an ethereal glow. Below the bedroom window, a messy bed was littered with pillows. Pictures hung on the walls to hide imperfections laced throughout the simple paint color.

And you were standing among the wreckage of clothes stripped off your body one piece at a time.

Your hand played with the fabric of your panties, watching the tall masculine figure waiting in the darkness for your next move.

You flicked your tongue. “Your turn. Jeans first.”

On command, a pair of jeans landed at your feet as proof of his contribution to the clothing pile.

“Now the shirt,” you said. A hum escaped your lips as you unhooked your bra. You waited until his shirt, now crumpled in a ball, fell to the floor.

He was nearby, hidden by the darkest part of the room where moonlight failed to highlight his handsome features.

“Lie back,” his sultry voice demanded.

Bare legs brushed the edge of your bed as you pout your lips. “What’s in it for me, Sergeant?”

He stepped closer to your scantily dressed body, as only your underwear remained. “Lie back and find out.”

A grin plays at your lips before you tossed yourself down, burying yourself in the silky sheets.

Through the dark, it was hard to see him but it was clear he had you in a trance.

The bed creaked under his weight as he moved closer. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you mewled, nearly squirming from the never-ending tightness in your lower belly.

You needed him. Wanted him.

Callous hands gripped your ankles. “Can I taste you?”

Your breathy voice sputtered out ‘yes’.

Instantly, his head lowered into the only sliver of moonlight over the bed. His blue eyes were the first thing you always were drawn to. Bright and clear like the sky on a spring morning. But woven throughout were waves of steel, silver, like a shadow trying to dull his brightness. Chiseled jaw with stubble. Short brown hair that clipped perfectly around his face.

“Bucky!” Bucky Barnes, your neighbor who just moved into the complex, was the only person you wanted in this world.

Those blue eyes drop to your body.

“Bucky.”

Fingers trailed up to the band of your panties and within seconds they were gone. “Impatient as always,” his sweet laugh seemed to take on a hint of something hot, something feral.

“Mhm.”

His head dipped between your legs. “Baby,” Bucky gripped your thighs as his tongue slid across the softest, most inner part of your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel good. Just like that,” he coaxed as your knees spread to allow him complete access.

“That’s my girl.”

Your head dropped back against the bed at the sheer sound of his raspy, honey dipped voice – You snapped your eyes open.

Sweat pooled at the back of your neck. Sheets tangled between your legs, twisting around into a woven knot. Your hands fell to the thumping rhythm in your chest.

“Fuck, fuck…” you cursed between pants of air. Like the world was crashing down on your chest, you couldn't breathe.

Bucky. Bucky. It felt so real. His skin on yours. His touch. His tongue. “What the fuck?”

Bucky Barnes, your neighbor, who you talk to in passing since he moved in. He was very attractive, you couldn’t deny that. And now you’re having sex dreams about him.

He was quiet and removed, most likely because of who he used to be: the Winter Soldier.

People whispered about him in the complex, sharing secrets on the elevator. I heard he’s killed thousands of people. I heard he worked for Hydra and is still working for them.

You ignored their stupid comments, knowing damn well he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. When those blue eyes looked at you it was clear that he was a wounded shell of a man trying to find himself in a new world, not some soulless machine.

And those vibrant eyes carried into your dream. A dream that felt too real.

You wobbled off the bed, which was easy considering you were inches from falling. Padding to the bathroom you jumped into a luke-warm shower. The more you scrubbed and washed the thoughts away the more you could feel him on your skin. Under your skin. In every inch of your mind.

He was like a drug, lingering in your system. A drug you didn’t expect to be so potent. It’s just Bucky. He’s just some guy you met from across the hall. He’s a nice guy.

Maybe it was because you helped him not too long ago when he moved in as a “welcome to the neighborhood” greeting. Since then, you both have done little things for each other.

For one, you brought him muffins because he’d mention quickly how he likes blueberry sweets. It was a simple thing that offered no reciprocation. But then, he brought you a bunch of Japanese sweets that were out of this world amazing. And the little things kept on happening. Now, you chat in the halls and you look forward to it everyday.

Shit, maybe you were kind of crushing on Bucky Barnes.

“UGH!” a frustrated yelp escaped your lips. The tile wall became a post to rest your wildly spinning head.

No, this dream – these feelings – they were all just in your mind. Right?

He replayed the scene in his mind. Over and over, he circled back through the hazy nightmare. Blood. Bullets. Knives. He killed people, he knew it was him in those memories. It was his finger pulling the trigger, and yet it was like someone else did it.

It wasn’t really him. It was what they made him to be. A monster.

“—still having nightmares?”

The question cut through his dissociative moment, but like a statue he kept still. His eyes focused on the corner where the tile met the molding.

“James,” the woman pestered, “I asked you a question. Are you still having nightmares?”

“No.” Bucky Barnes tipped his head back, staring up at the blank white ceiling above him.

“James. I can’t help if you’re not being truthful with me.”

He didn’t respond. He knew there wasn’t any way he’d get out of these mandatory therapy sessions. The longer he sat here, the less sanity Bucky could maintain.

“Okay,” his therapist sighed wistfully, “no nightmares?” Her eyes burned into him. “Fine. Then let’s move on. Have you talked to anyone recently? Sam? That neighbor across the hall?”

His eyes snapped towards the mid-aged woman. “My neighbor?”

“Now don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not—”

“The neighbor who helped you.” He stared blankly at the therapist. She sighed, scribbling something in her notebook. “She fixed your radio—”

“Gramophone.”

Her pen moved as her eyes circled him, curiously. “A what?”

“You know, a gramophone. A record player.”

The woman hummed and Bucky clenched his fist. He started to silently plot how he could escape the questions he was currently under fire for. He didn't want to talk about the nicest woman from across the hall. The kindest stranger with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. He’d like to keep it to himself.

“Well. This woman who fixed your gramophone is the same woman you mentioned,” she scanned the paper before wildly circling something, “knocking at your door with…muffins.”

He paused, contemplating her words. He’d be lying if he said he hasn't thought about his neighbor on more than a few occasions now.

On the elevator, he’d nod when she said ‘good morning’. Another time, she knocked to tell him about the roofing construction in the complex that would start early in the morning. It was sweet of her to tell him, but Bucky never had the nerve to say he never slept so the noise never bothers him.

She’s the one with the sweetest smile and pleasant conversation. He couldn't help but like her a bit more each day they interacted. Just last week, he walked with her up to their complex from the street.

Although Bucky told that to his therapist, what he didn't say was how he knocked on her door with homemade dorayaki. It was a gift from his friend Yori but he wanted to share something sweet with the kindest woman he knows.

But none of that would leave the confines of his mind. Instead, a snide smile seemed to match his tone. Bucky sighed, “boy did I say all that?”

“James.”

“Doc.”

She groaned, clicking the pen again. The look on her face was something Bucky was used to now. The woeful stares and patronizing expression were a part of coming back from being the monster they made him into. The weapon of a man Hydra used at their disposal until he was no longer necessary–until he wasn’t a puppet anymore.

“James, did you ever think of trying to make friends? It’s healthy to have people in your life.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, Bucky focused on his black leather gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. The only person he wants to talk to is his neighbor.

Maybe the doc was right. Maybe he should be friends with her.

“Look, why don’t we start fresh next session,” the therapist sighed as the notebook dropped onto the side table. “Hopefully you’ll be more open and honest.”

Bucky sighed, his tongue flicked over his teeth. “Sure, doc.”

The text message was very clear: be there in ten minutes. That was two hours ago. Either your date had a series of terrible events happen or he stood you up. You checked the clock again. 8:12pm.

It was dark outside now and you could barely see past the street lamps on either side of the road. Tonight was the first of many real dates in a long time. Whatever the reasoning, whether it was no guy was good enough or you were just too terrified to put yourself back out there, you agreed to go out with the guy from work. He seemed nice enough.

But your kindness was running short. He was late. Very, very late.

Now it’s 8:16pm.

Heels tapped impatiently as you sat in the lobby of your building.

“Miss?” A deep voice called out from across the room. The night concierge peered over the desk. Coffee in hand, he raised his mug. “Sure you don’t want some?”

“No, but thank you.” Your smile dipped. These past few hours you’ve been sitting downstairs with the sweetest concierge named Joe asking if you needed anything. He nearly handed off the homemade pupusas he had in his lunch bag after an hour of waiting.

You sighed, tapping the screen until you reread his message again. Ten minutes. You typed out a quick response, again, hoping he’d at least –

The screen flashed to a new text.

Your Date: Shit I forgot. Sorry. Rain check?

The screen went dark. Anger and sadness swirled through your body and there was no distinction between them. You were furious — and rightfully so. He forgot? He was acting as if he misplaced his car keys or left a sweatshirt at his friend's house.

You stood up, mind racing, blinded by swirling emotions and – something hard bumped into you. You stumbled, grasping at emptiness until a strong arm grabbed ahold of you.

“You okay?” Staring down at you, Bucky Barnes gawked.

Those steel eyes froze you. “I’m fine…”

He nodded, slowly helping you back up to your feet. You flattened your outfit into place as Bucky handed off your phone. “Thanks.”

“Miss,” Joe called out. “Any luck?” The concierge tapped at his wristwatch. “If he was my son, I’d yell at him for keeping you waiting.”

Bucky didn’t move from his spot near you.

“Um,” you cleared your throat. “He’s not coming.”

Joe slapped the desk, spinning in his chair. “Now that’s some grade A bullshit!”

“It’s fine. I’ve got a pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer calling my name.” You turned slightly to Bucky, staring anywhere but his eyes. The same eyes you dreamt about the other night. So instead, you fixated on his hands. The same hands you fantasized about touching you. His chest. The same chiseled and bulky body you’ve caressed in your dream—

“Do you wanna go get some dinner?”

Your face scrunched in response. “What?”

“I was just thinking about eating at this diner down the block.”

“With me? You want to go out to eat with... me?”

“I’m asking, aren't I?”

“You’re talkative tonight,” you chuckled.

There was a spark in those mysterious eyes. Maybe it was because he asked you out or maybe it was because you were actually going to say yes.

“I’d love to.”

One month later.

Bucky ducked down.

“Right there, no on the left–”

“My left?”

“Yes,” you laughed. He reached lower until you nodded with approval. You clasped your hands together as he brought the next round of vinyls over.

The small office in your apartment was converted into a book/music room where you housed everything in messy but surprisingly organized stacks. Rows and rows of bookshelves kept your things lined neat enough to tell the difference between albums and novels. A dresser sat across the shelves topped with the record player and lots of random things you owned. Opposite that was a small loveseat you dragged back to the apartment from a flea market.

It has been a month since your dinner dates started. Neither of you said they were real “dates”, but both of you secretly felt like it.

Every Friday night (and a few Saturdays too), Bucky knocks on your door and walks you to a restaurant. A cute little Italian bistro or a modern Thai restaurant in the midst of old school Brooklyn. Then, it was back to your place for music, movies, and pure enjoyment of another person’s company.

Each night has been more exciting than the last. And somehow in the midst of dinners and getting to know this solitary man, you felt it.

That spark.

It sounded stupid but it was real – that feeling you get when you fall in love. The butterflies and tingling when talking to him. The way he smiled made you melt. The goofy laughs and excited conversations about his obsessions. You were head-over-heels, mind numbingly in love, with Bucky Barnes.

And those feelings were getting harder to ignore.

“Listen to this one,” you dropped the record player’s arm down. “You’re gonna love it.”

A soft melody echoed through the space and he nodded his head in approval. “Told you. It's a good album.”

“Yeah, but I never heard of them.” He leaned against the dresser.

“Never?”

“No,” his eyes flickered from you to the album. The Bee Gees. His gloves were removed, piled on top of the mahogany colored wood. Stacks of vinyls towered over the old-school record player you owned.

“Here, this is one of my favorites.” You yanked a record out from the stack and handed it to Bucky. “Take it home with you, listen to it, then tell me what you think.”

His brows furrowed. “Why not now?”

“It’s getting late, I don't want to bore you all night.”

“You’d never bore me,” Bucky said as he twisted the record. “I like being with you.”

Instead of focusing on him and those hands, and what he just said, you dove through the next pile of records.

/-/

When you looked away, he grazed his eyes down your body. He was infatuated with you. The way you moved, the way you smiled. Everything you did had Bucky’s eyes locked on you. It made him feel like he was going crazy. Maybe he was going crazy. He’s never felt so attracted to someone like this before. When he asked you to dinner, he chalked it up to trying to be friends. But that wasn't it. He liked you. He liked you but was too afraid to make a real move.

So asking you to dinner after being stood up seemed like the easiest way to ask you out without putting himself out there. And every Friday for just over a month has been heaven and hell. He was ecstatic to take you out. To make you smile. To hear your laugh.

But he was in hell—a hell centered around his paranoia. He doesn't want to lose you if he tells you how he feels.

Shit. It was getting harder to ignore his feelings for you.

Some time passed and you both wound up on the couch. Conversations came and went. They were silly topics and some things more personal. He let out a slow exhale. “I don't get it.”

You sat up. “Get what?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so nice to me. I know you know who I am… or who I was. I just can't understand how someone so kind and smart and–”

“I know a good person when I see one. Maybe it’s hard for you to see that you’re not a bad person. You’ve done bad things, most people have. But that soldier isn't the man who’s in front of me listening to music.” Your hand gently brushed his vibranium fingers exposed past the henley sleeve. “The past doesn't always have to define who you are today. If you know the bad stuff, understand the horrible things you've done, and you grow from it? You’re a better person than the rest of us, Bucky.”

He didn’t move or speak. He just watched you as if your next move would be the one to level him down to nothing but ‘the real him’.

The real him—when he was just a dumb kid from Brooklyn heading out to fight for a war he knew little about. You saw him for who he was: wounded and broken, but not irreversibly damaged. You could see him for who he wanted to be and Bucky wasn’t ever going to let that go.

“You’re something else,” he murmured your name like it was a prayer on his tongue.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He lifted the vinyl. “Well I should head home. I’ll play this tonight,” he smiled softly.

/-/

That smile – Oh. Oh. You felt a rush of nerves and excitement through your body.

“Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“I had a lot of fun too.” He was warming up to you. Or you were warming up to the cold, grumpy ex-Winter Soldier.

He gave you one last smile but you were too in your head to realize. You liked him. You really, really liked him. Bucky was already out in the living room when you called for him. “Next Friday?”

You wanted to do this again. More than Fridays. Many times. For dinner. Drinks. Anything. He sparked something in you that couldn't be put into words. Something unknown. Unfamiliar. Exciting. You wanted, no, needed more.

He poked his head through the doorway. That light smile plastered across his face, warming his tense features. “Next Friday.”

One week later.

You polished off the last handful of popcorn. Bucky slumped against your shoulder as he tapped his fingers on his jean-covered knee.

“Okay you were right. I really hated that movie,” he turned to you with a dreamy expression.

“If you liked the Hobbit that much when it came out–”

“When it came out in 1937 it was a masterpiece.” He rested deeper into the couch as the credits rolled and it brought you back to the streaming platform’s screen. “Now that was poorly executed.”

Bucky could ramble on and on about his love for fantasy and science fiction and you would happily sit through every second of it.

“We should watch Princess Bride next.”

Resting blue eyes flicker to your face. “Game on,” he murmured with a grin.

“Need another drink?” You stood up and moved towards the kitchenette.

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks.” He kept that sweet smile for most of the night. So you played vinyl after vinyl while making cookies. Then movie after movie. At two in the morning, you were wide awake and no matter what excuse you used, tonight was the best night in a long time. Barnes was a surprising man under all that stoic exterior. He was flirty. Goofy. A bit of a nerd. He was more than who he thought he was before.

“You’re staring.” Bucky stood to meet you. The lip of his shirt dropped over his exposed muscular mid drift, but not before you caught a glance at his defined abs.

You nearly choked when you remembered the abs you dreamt about the other week and how eerily similar they were. “I was just thinking about how late it was.” You turned and shut the fridge. “Maybe we should go to bed.”

We.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should go to bed.” He didn’t correct you either. A wave of excitement and nerves bundled inside.

“I’ll set up the couch in the office if that’s okay?”

“Fine with me,” he stretched again.

Carefully, you stepped into the book infested room to fix the cushions. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.”

“Next Friday?”

He nodded, “next Friday.”

“Feel free to leave a note on my door if you need to switch out a vinyl.”

“A note? Like a love note?”

The flirty side that you’ve seen of Bucky was back. He was in this trance, watching you. He was mesmerizing but you continued fixing his bed. You moved towards the dresser in the room, opening the top drawer for blankets.

“No, but I wouldn’t mind,” you whispered.

“You wouldn’t?”

You shook your head. “I’d write back but don't expect anything poetic.”

“Well then.” Bucky leaned in, “guess I’ve got some writing to do.”

“Guess so.”

He was so close to you. If it weren't for his shirt, you’d be staring at his abs again. “What would you say?” Your voice was so quiet.

“Hm?”

“In the note.”

“My love note?”

“Yeah.”

He kept that piercing yet warming gaze on you. “I’d say that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You’re the kindest person to ever walk into my life. You look at me and I can’t help staring back. I’d say…you’re amazing. And that I’d be an idiot not to tell you. I’d be even more of an idiot not to show you how I feel.”

Those butterflies returned with a sense of urgency. Hot, twisting excitement buried deep in your belly as his rasping voice sucked you in. It wasn’t a matter of how you would tell him how you feel. It was a matter of when. And this was it.

“How would you show me?”

He stepped in close. “Show you how I feel…” he pondered the question. Searching his mind, Bucky seemed to be in a swirling pit of emotions in front of you. “If I was the old me, before everything, I would take you out to dinner.”

“Check,” you grinned. “Next.”

“Well, then walk you home.”

“Bucky, this sounds like any old Friday–”

“And I’d kiss you.” He was so close yet not close enough. You needed him. The dresser’s edge dug into your back as he stepped towards you again. “I’d kiss you softly so I could savor each second.”

Something hot and urging was burning through you. Then, his hand brushed against your wrist. “Is this okay?”

“Touching me?” Your voice felt heavy.

“Yeah. Touching you.”

Your breathing was rapid and deep, each inhale bringing you one second closer to smashing your lips on his. “Yes.” You were breathless. Then his arm brushed your hip.

“And then…what would happen?”

A wolfish grin crossed Bucky’s face. “Honey, we’d barely make it to the bedroom.”

Warmth rushed to your belly to the core of your body. You wanted to be held by Bucky. Kissed. Licked. Fucked. One more touch and you were sure there wouldn't be anything stopping you. And you were desperate for him.

“Touch me again,” you whispered. The wooden dresser dug into your back but the pain was so faint compared to the toe curling feeling Bucky gave you.

He loomed over you. Skin and vibranium trailed up your jeans until he clamped down on your waist.

“I’m a bit rusty,” Bucky whispered. “But I wanna make you feel good. Tell me if this is okay.”

You feverishly nodded, tugging at the henley he wore. “I want you. I need you.”

Those bright blue eyes darkened as something primal took over. His hips pin onto yours as his knee slides between your legs. You hitch a breath as he leaned into the movement. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip like he was thinking about his next move–contemplating his options.

“That so?” His mouth hovered above yours. Tentatively, Bucky squeezed your waist as his warm breath trailed down your cheeks.

You whined and inched closer until you kissed him. It was soft, just like he said. His lips danced with yours while those hands migrated up to your neck. He circled the delicate skin at your clavicle, tracing it back and forth.

Savoring every morsel of his kiss, you leaned in with a whimpering sigh.

He moaned in reply and twisted his fingers into the back of your hair. He pulled and angled himself so you were pressed more into him rather than the dresser.

“You’re… rusty?” you gasp between kisses.

“I used to be pretty good at this part.”

“Mhm,” you slid your hands down his chest. “I’ll say.”

Within seconds, you were straddling Bucky as he carried you down the hallway. He was strong. Never did you doubt the ex-winter soldier to carry you across your apartment. The man was multitalented.

He kissed you again, tugging on your soft lips with each step to the bedroom. You slide your hips down a little with the hopes of relieving the already budding ache. But it was his bulge that halted your movement.

Bucky pulled back, “shit. You feel that? You feel how hard you make me?”

A mewling moan escaped your lips and you pushed down onto his cock. “So fucking hard.”

He growled when you rutted against him. “Oh, God.”

You liked the way he quivered under your body as if your touch made him desperate to relieve his own ache. His arms pulled you closer, “Christ, I'm not gonna hold out much longer with you doing that to me.”

The bedroom door opened and closed with a quiet thump. His hand was firm on your ass while the other wrapped around your waist as he maneuvers through the pitch-black room.

You nudged against his stiff cock again. “Please.”

Without hesitating, he lowered you to the bed. Bucky dropped to his knees as your pants and underwear were tugged down instantly. It was all his pent-up excitement fueling this sleep deprived man.

As he made a move for your top, you pressed your hands against his chest.

Your tongue flicked between your lips. “Slow down, now it’s your turn. Shirt.”

He grinned, tossing the henley to the floor with your clothes. You pushed him back to admire his chiseled body. But you also couldn't help but stare at the scars. The vibranium.

Bucky moved with you on the bed and nestled between your legs. Any clothes left were tossed over the side, forgotten.

He kneeled above you, heavy eyes scanning your body. Every inch.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.” He dipped low, nestling himself fully between your opened legs. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Tentative movements of his hands explored your body. His mouth drags hot, open-mouthed kisses up your inner thighs. Then, that mouth was on your pussy. Gentle and unsure, Bucky started to figure out what you liked. Understanding what wasn’t comfortable. But eventually, he had a handle on it.

He picked up on the way you twisted and pressed down. Sensing your love for his movements, he continued. Your hands gripped the short brown hair on his head. You gasped, “Bucky please.”

He rolled his tongue then flattened it, twisting and stimulating your sensitive clit. His vibranium hand slowly trailed up until it reached your breast. He squeezed as Bucky continued the same pattern over and over. Inching you closer to the inescapable height of your orgasm.

You whined, “oh. Oh, yes.”

“So good. Just like that,” his finger slipped inside. Then another. You bucked up as he curled and fucked you with his thick fingers. “You’re so tight,” he moaned into your pussy between licks. “Come on baby. Just like that.”

“Please,” your hand tugged his hair again. But he wasn’t relenting. Bucky’s fingers continued their rhythmic pattern in and out as his tongue lapped your clit. You cried out, “Fuck, baby—”

He rocked his hips into the mattress. You knew he was still so hard. The image of his hard cock and the feeling of him between your legs sent you over the edge. The throbbing sensation of your orgasm hit you like a train. You cried out, bucking under his weight. It was hot and fast, but you could still feel another orgasm begging for release once again.

His mouth slipped away from your throbbing pussy as he dragged his devilish tongue up your stomach.

To your happy surprise, his thick fingers stayed inside you. Slowly moving in and out as if he could feel your second orgasm building up quickly. His lips trailed to each of your breasts. He nipped at the sensitive skin before finally kissing you.

A breathy gasp escaped your lips. He was relentless with those fingers of his. He grinned, pinning himself against you. His hard cock pressed down on your stomach.

“Bucky.” Your hands traveled down. You squeezed.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back as a gasping moan left his lips. You squeezed again, rubbing up and down his cock already slick with his own pre-cum. “I can help you feel good too.”

He dropped his head, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

“I want to make you feel good too.” You squeezed his cock again. He nearly toppled over. “You deserve it.”

He moaned in response. “Yes, keep goin’ baby. Touch me.” His words were as hot as the room.

In that instance, he moved his thumb back over your clit. His fingers continued to thrust in and out. You grasp his cock again, watching the blue of his eyes deepen. You pumped him, but the stimulation was getting to you.

“S-shit,” you withered. “Fuck, I need you. I knew it the moment–” you gasp as his fingers curl up. “I-I knew it when we went out the first night.”

Breathless, Bucky propped himself up higher. His eyes roamed your body and how determined you were to make him cum with you. “Mm, that’s my girl, getting off at the thoughts of the first date we went on.”

“You looked so g-good.” You mewled, feeling the pinnacle of your orgasm again.

Bucky groaned as you flickered your thumb back over his tip. “What do you need?” It was a statement, a demand, not a question. He knew exactly what you needed. What you wanted.

“I need you.” His mouth found yours as he seamlessly screwed you with his fingers. The moment he brushed over your sore and aching clit for the last time, the spasm rocked over you. Waves of heat rolled over your body.

“Yes, oh, god yes!” It was earth-shattering but you needed more. It was obvious he needed more.

“Inside,” your hand continued to thrust his throbbing cock. He moaned as you squeezed his shaft, rubbing your thumb up the tip. He was not going to last much longer. “Inside me. Now.”

Those blue eyes widened and you opened your legs wider. Grabbing a small pillow from the bed, Bucky nudged it under your hips. He moved slowly as he aligned himself. His tip nudged at your opening.

Fuck, he was huge. No matter how many orgasms you had, his aching cock was bigger than you’ve ever taken.

“Tell me to stop if it hurts.”

He moved in, gently stretching your already relaxing muscles. You gasped as he pushed in a bit deeper.

Those blue eyes shot up to you, “I should stop–”

“No.” You lifted your hips and he slid deeper. You tossed your head back. “Keep going.”

You exhaled as he sunk down to the base of his cock. He pressed into you, leaning above by his elbow. The motions were slow and steady at first as Bucky found a solid rhythm again. You dug your nails into his back as he thrusted deeper. Harder. Faster. He was fucking you so deep, so good.

Bucky kissed you. His vibranium fingers found your clit once more. The sensations were too much to bear.

You cried out in pleasure as he groaned into your neck. Harder. Faster.

A third orgasm wrecked your body. The sensation of his cock slamming into you with the rub of his vibranium thumb on your clit sent chills down your spine. Twisting and writhing under his touch nearly had Bucky spilling over. He bared down on you, feeling every inch of your pussy tighten and throb. You mewled, “oh god yes. Fuck yes.”

When you were finished, he was close behind. It was like he waited for you. Hoping to please you first like he insisted the moment he kissed you.

Bucky slammed into you again and came with a breathy groan. “I knew you could take it,” he grunted, spilling inside as he leaned down to press his sweaty chest against your breasts.

“That’s it,” he moans. “S-so good to me. Take it.”

It was all too much. His body against yours, the feeling of him inside you. You were folding at his touch. With one final rut, he was finished.

Against the bed, Bucky collapsed into you. Both bodies were covered in sweat, panting like it had been the most intensive work out of your lives. He kissed your lips, not bothered to pull out.

He liked how he was still throbbing inside you.

“Wow.” He murmured your name, “That was…you’re amazing.” He brushed your cheek. “Was that okay?”

“Y-you’re kidding, right?” Your chest bounces as you laugh. It wasn’t intentional, but you couldn’t contain yourself.

Bucky lifted enough to see your smiling face and glossed over eyes. You looked drunk on him.

“What?”

“How the fuck are you rusty?”

His tight lips turned into a wide grin as he joined in on the laughter. “We made it to the bedroom at least,” he hovered above your body.

“Barely.”

You smiled. He kissed you. Pressed together, slick with sweat, you held each other tightly.

Sunlight danced across the bedroom leaving a rosy glow everywhere. You stretched, remembering the feeling of his skin pressed against your body.

Remembering last night.

His kisses were hauntingly beautiful. Each time his lips brushed yours, it felt like parts of you were placed back where they belong. Like pieces of yourself had been missing for years and he was putting you back together. You’d never be able to forget the way he felt, the way he tasted.

His kiss would linger on your skin even after tonight because you knew that he was more than just a dream.

He was your reality.

Almost on cue, a strong arm draped across your waist and tugged you backwards.

“Morning,” Bucky yawned.

“Mm, morning. Want some breakfast?” You spot the time on your cell phone wedged onto the nightstand. “Or I guess brunch? I can make waffles.”

His fingers trailed the length of your body and you rolled over until his sturdy chest pressed to your front. “Waffles?”

“Mmhm,” you nestled close. “Only if you want.”

Bucky refused to pull away. Every morsel of his being was tied to you, right here, right now. He smiled. “I do.”

“Perfect,” you grinned.

His pink tinted lips pressed against your temple as his vibranium arm tucked you under his body. Rolling over, he hovered above you. “I happen to make the best cup of coffee in Brooklyn.”

“Well, it just so happens that I love coffee.” You leaned into his embrace as his lips met your eager mouth.

Neither of you moved from bed.

And it was perfect.

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | thanks for indulging in my chaos <3

#Bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #reader x bucky #reader x bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x y/n #y/n x bucky #no y/n used #no minors please #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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urtheoneiwant · 2 years

Text

Buckle Bunny of Sorts │ Rhett Abbott

Genre: SMUT with some fluff

Summary: From the insistence of a friend, you spend a night out on the town. But you run into your long time crush, Rhett Abbott, and he has something to tell you.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ ONLY! P in v, oral sex (female receiving), small spit kink, dirty talk, degradation, praise, kinda dom!Rhett and sub!reader, use of term 'buckle bunny', pining, revealing feelings, unprotected sex, pull-out method (be smart! don't use pull-out method as a form of birth control irl), messy sex, pet names (bunny, baby), a smidge of sexism from the towns people? Written as a fem!reader. Just nasty, nasty filth.

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: My first smut! Please be kind, I'm still very new to writing and especially smut. But I loved Outer Range and I saw someone post about wanting to be Rhett's buckle bunny and couldn't get this out of my head. I didn't want country girl (as I call her) to be an actually buckle bunny since they are sort of frowned upon (but I say you do you). So this is the idea I came up with instead. It took me forever to write this, but I'm pretty proud of it. In conclusion, I love Lewis Pullman and the characters he plays. Go watch Outer Range if you like Lewis, he's amazing in it and it is such a great show! Now I have to go bathe in holy water :) Oh and feel free to send in any request or thoughts you have about Top Gun or other characters. There is a list on my page of the main fandoms I'm into, but you can send whatever you want it and I've might have seen/read it. And you can always reach out to me for whatever (rants, ideas, links to articles about be we're obsessed with) Thanks for the support!

SMUT BELOW CUT. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

(GIF is not mine)

Admittedly, you felt a bit stupid. In your head, this seemed like a good idea, but as the idea becomes a reality you mentally kick yourself for it.

You’ve grown up in Amelia county your entire life. And in a place like this, people tend to stick to their roots, inner circle, and cliques. That being said, you knew just about everyone in your town, and definitely knew every boy your age. The problem was that they knew you too. Growing up you were definitely an outcast. Spending all your free time working to help pay the bills didn’t give you many chances to make friends. You were boring, safe. You knew it. You weren’t anything to write home about. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Last week you sat with the one friend you managed to make throughout your time in school, Sadie, and spilled these thoughts to her.

“That’s bullshit honey, and you know it.” Leave it to Sadie to soften the blow. “I’m sorry, but you are beautiful, any guy would be lucky to have you. But you spend all your time holed up at work or with me. These guys haven’t got a proper look at you since you hit puberty, no wonder they don’t seem interested.” She lectured.

“Well, what am I supposed to do about that? Get all dolled up for a night on the town? Look around, it’d be ridiculous” You replied.

“Come on, let me take you out. Just throw on some daisy dukes, a risky top, and some nice boots. It’ll be fun. And I’ll personally beat the shit out of anyone who has anything bad to say. Please, please, please…” And you knew that when Sadie was like this, you had no choice but to give in. So you agreed, one night out.

And that’s how you found yourself in your apartment letting Sadie pick out your outfit. She refused to tell you where you both were going, claiming that she didn’t want you to “get scared off.” And after opening the door wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and mud-covered boots, Sadie pushed her way inside to make you change.

She rifled through your dresser before holding up the tiniest pair of shorts you own. “No way, those are from high school. I don't even think they’ll fit. Plus it’s late out, why would I want to wear shorts?” You tried to reason with her, you really did.

“They may not fit you like they did in high school, but that’s the point, honey. Just trust me this once. Everyone is going to be all over you.” She replied, and handed you the shorts. As you began to wiggle them up she quietly added “Oh, and Rhett’s going to be there.”

You froze in place, glaring at your friend. “WHAT? Oh my god. Oh my god. I can’t believe you.” Rhett fucking Abbott. The cowboy that you had been crushing on since middle school. Ever since the day he saw you walking home late after babysitting for a little cash and offered, no insisted, on walking you home. He was a few years ahead of you and happened to be friends with your older brother. Anytime he would come round your house to see your brother you would find yourself with your ear pressed to your door, trying to catch any of the words he was saying. Your eyes always seemed to wander outside your window to see if he was out back throwing a ball around with your brother. Once you even caught a glimpse of him shirtless after coming over to help your mom with some yard work.

Needless to say, your crush on Rhett didn’t get any better. In high school, you went out of your way to see him in the halls, or to accidentally run into him on your way home from work. You even went as far as to offer to tutor him in algebra, a class you yourself were failing. He wasn’t too keen on getting your help once your brother told him about that.

Now, Rhett had grown up and you had too. You would see him from time to time at the bar you worked at, always polite and asking about your family. And even now, you couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted whenever he was around. Some crushes just don’t go away.

“You’ve been into him since 8th grade! I can’t believe you haven’t made a move yet. It’s time to put your big girl panties on and do something. Hell, screw someone else for all I care. All I know is that if I have to watch you make puppy dog eyes at Rhett from across a room one more time, I’m going to lose my mind.” Sadie said. But that was the problem. No matter how many guys you went out with, or screwed, you always came back to Rhett. Honestly, you could see why it was so exhausting for your friend to watch all the time, it was a bit pathetic being a grown woman with a crush from middle school.

Deciding to listen to your friend and do something about your pining over him, you buttoned up your shorts and turned to look in the mirror. Sadie was right, they don’t fit as they did in high school. Where they used to be a bit loose on you, they now held on to every curve you had. Damn, when did you get an ass? Swallowing your nerves, you shoved your feet into your white boots that only appeared on special occasions. To top it off, you threw on an old flannel opting to tie it up and undo the top couple of buttons to let a bit of your cleavage spill out.

“Now, that is hot. He’s going to be drooling over you, just wait” Sadie hyped you up. She reached up and messed your hair up just a bit, giving it a wind-swept look before ushering you out to her truck.

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After driving for a half hour, Sadie pulled into a dirt parking lot. You saw lights flashing, and heard cheering coming from the stadium seats. She took you to a fucking rodeo. Dressed in booty shorts.

“This is a joke. I look like a goddamn buckle bunny for christ's sake.” You curse out to her. She has the audacity to simply smirk back and says,

“Bout time you start acting like one.” And with that, she was out of the car and walking towards the show. With no other option but to sit and stew in the truck all night, you reluctantly hop out too. You curse under your breath and begin to tell Sadie that this is the last time you go anywhere with her without knowing before what she had planned.

Walking into the crowd, you felt your throat dry. You could feel people staring and you swore you heard a whisper that said “Is that Bruce’s daughter, Y/N?”. Suddenly, you became very interested in kicking the gravel under your boots.

Sadie did her best to reassure you, grabbing your hand and weaving you to a back lot. The crowd was sparse back here, and it looked like most of the guys hanging around were bull riders getting ready. “I don’t think we should be back here,” you said into Sadie’s ear and moved to pull your hand out of her grasp. But before you could she whipped you back around.

“This is it Y/N. Scout out which one of these boys you’re going to be riding tonight” She said with a wink. You let your eyes briefly scan the group. None of them noticed you two seeing as you were tucked a ways away. You made out a few familiar faces but you had no desire to talk to, let alone seduce, any of these guys. As you opened your mouth to inform your friend of this, your eyes caught something. Not something, but someone.

Standing slightly turned away from you and chatting with some other rider, you saw Rhett. Maybe it was because you only got to see him in dim-lit bars nowadays, but you swore he somehow was more attractive than you remembered.

He wore a blue flannel with the sleeves rolled up, allowing you to see the veins run down his arms. You got a flash of the tattoo on his forearm, the one you imagined so often at night when thinking of him. He had his chaps on, the fringe down the sides fluttering ever so slightly in the wind. His signature black hat was perched on his head. At that moment, you swear you could’ve died.

You didn’t realize how long you had been staring until Sadie gave you a nudge. “Close your mouth or you’ll attract flies,” she said. It was then you noticed that you in fact had been standing there with your jaw on the floor admiring this man. Your eyes stayed locked on his figure as you gave him a once-over. God, he was gorgeous. Even with the layers of clothes he had on you could tell how lean and strong he was.

As your gaze made your way back up to his face, you were now looking right into his bright blue eyes. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He caught you. He fully caught you drooling over him. And just when it couldn’t get any worse, the fucker had a smirk plastered on his face and sent a wink your way. You averted your eyes and pretended you weren’t there, feeling a hot blush creep up your neck. But just when things couldn’t get any worse, you heard Sadie yell out, “Hey there Rhett”.

You silently prayed to the gods above that he wouldn’t walk over to you two, but it fell on deaf ears as you heard the crunch of gravel grow louder. Next thing you know he’s standing right smack in front of you. “Hi there Sadie, how’s your ma?” he asked, his southern drawl heavy.

“She’s well, thanks for asking. You know Y/N right? You were friends with her brother growing up” Sadie tried to segue. You forced yourself to bring your eyes up to meet his.

“Well of course I do, how could I forget a face as pretty as that?” Your eyes snapped to meet his. No way, there was no way Rhett Abbott was flirting with you. He was just being nice, that’s all.

“Oh um, hi. Good to see you.” You muttered out, full of nerves. Sadie cleared her throat and you thought back to her earlier lecture. Maybe it was finally time for you to get out there. Stop playing it so safe all the time. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. So with some more confidence mustered you blurted out “I hope you do good tonight. I’m sure you will.”

Without missing a beat he responded, “Oh now that I know you’re here I definitely will. Always ride better when I know a gorgeous girl like you is watching.” His words sent heat blooming between your thighs. Fully committing to the act you took a step toward him and leaned up onto your toes to whisper in his ear.

“Well if you win, we’ll have to celebrate. Why don’t you come to find me after you finish up? Let me give you a victory prize.” You did your best to put on the most sultry voice you had. And despite the confidence you were exuding, you were scared shitless deep down. As soon as the words left your mouth, you were off. You swayed your hips a bit as you went to find a seat, knowing that he would be looking.

You didn’t dare look back until you reached the arena seats. Sadie guided you to sit down amongst the crowd, all waiting for the show to begin. And just as she opened her mouth to ask you what happened you whisper out “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad at all.” She whispered trying to not draw any attention.

“Oh no. It was bad. Very very very bad. Can’t show my face around here again bad. Have to leave the country bad.” You felt bile rise up in your throat. You turn to your friend and recount to her what you had just told the man of your dreams. It was like word vomit, you couldn’t stop freaking out and rambling.

“Y/N. STOP. Take a breath. The worst case he says no, he leaves once he’s done tonight. At least you know you tried. But you’re forgetting that he could be just as into you. And from the way he was talking it sounds like he is. So it’s going to be fine. He’s fine, you’re fine. All we can do is sit and try to enjoy the show.” Sadie reasoned with you. And you knew she was right. So you sat there, ass freezing from the cool metal bleachers. The more you thought about her words, the more you were able to calm yourself down. What’s done is done, and you rather be rejected than never know.

The soothing mindset you were in came crashing down the second Rhett’s name rang out. He was heading out for his final ride of the night. You felt your mind go blank and body numb as you focused on the arena in front of you. Honestly, you knew very little about bull riding but the way his muscles strained and body twisted was enough to keep you interested. Timed seemed to slow as you stared at him squeezing his hips to stay on the bucking bull.

After what felt like minutes of him being tossed around, you gasped as he was uprooted from his saddle. You knew that was bound to happen with any bull riding venture, but it still startled you to see him thrown about like that. He was yanked up and led out of the arena until the bull was wrangled. When he walked back out, your tension eased seeing he was unharmed.

You locked eyes on the scoreboard and nearly fell out of your chair when you saw his score. He won, holy shit he won. You were on your feet in an instant, screaming your head off. You felt a rush of pride for him, knowing how much his bull riding meant to him. Sadie jumped with you, and you were sure you were the loudest there.

After yelling for much too long to be appropriate, Sadie gave your arm a tug. “Come on” and you, still being in a blissed-out state, let her take you back to where you first ran into Rhett that night. You looked around in the dark, eyes wide anticipating what would happen next. A chill ran up your spine as you thought about your earlier promise to Rhett if he won. Startled out of your thoughts, you heard the sound of whooping and cheers from some men around you. Cranking your neck around you spotted him.

He was caked in dirt and his sleeves were hastily pushed up, hat askew on his head that was tilted back with a wide grin. Your mouth ran dry as butterflies erupted inside you. His eyes began to scan the small crowd of people before landing on you. Burning with embarrassment and admittedly desire, you shifted your eyes elsewhere. But soon enough, you heard that all too familiar voice. “Hey there ladies.”

“Hey Rhett, congrats on the big win. Y/N and I were cheering you on” Sadie said.

“Oh, I bet y’all were. Hey Y/N, can I talk to you real quick?” Rhett turned and asked you.

With a nod of your head, he gently took your hand and pulled you under a nearby tree. Still too shy to make eye contact, he brushed his hand under your jaw and turned you to look into his blue eyes. “You know I don’t expect anything. If you want to act like nothing happened earl-”

“No” you rush out. “No, I mean I want to. If you do.” Talking to just him and him alone felt so much easier. You felt your confidence grow back and expectantly looked at him.

“Well darlin’ I would want nothing more. You want to go back to your place for a bit?” He questioned, still being gentle with you as to give you an out if you changed your mind.

“Yes please,” you murmur. You felt as though you were floating when he wrapped a strong arm around your waist and led you back over to Sadie.

“Hey Sadie, you alright if I take Y/N home? Just figure it would be nice for us to catch up.”

“Oh, sure! By all means, go ‘catch up’” Sadie had the cockiest smirk plastered on her face, and while you wanted to be mad at her for it you also know she was the whole reason you were going home with Rhett Abbott tonight.

Walking out to the parking lot, Rhett keeps his arm firmly around your midsection till you arrive at his truck. He opens the passenger door for you before walking around and getting in himself. The roar of the engine coming to life jolts you forward a bit, remembering that you were in fact about to go home and get railed by the hottest cowboy you’ve ever seen.

“What are you thinking about Bunny?” Rhett can tell you were getting lost in thought.

“What did you call me?” Surprised by the nickname and the way it made you clench your thighs even tighter.

“Bunny. You look like a buckle bunny in that getup. But it’s cute, I like it on you.” He answered honestly. On any other occasion, you would’ve been pissed that someone thought of you as a buckle bunny. You grew up on a ranch in rural Wyoming, you were the farthest thing from a buckle bunny possible. But the way Rhett talked about you made you melt.

“Oh yeah. Blame Sadie. Wanted me to get myself out there more I guess.” You replied chewing on your bottom lip.

“Well, it was definitely nice to see you outside of the bar you work at. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for the longest time but I felt weird bothering you at work.” You whipped your head around at the confession.

Staring at his side profile as he continued to drive, “That’s nice of you to say, but it’s okay you don’t have to lie.” You didn’t believe it. That a man like Rhett would be interested in talking to someone like you.

“I’m not lying. I’ve always kinda liked you. But I guess I just never acted on them. And I know we’re on our way to your place so I can rail the shit outta ya, but I’m not just interested in sex from you. Let me take you out one night? It took me long enough to make a move on you, don’t make me wait any longer.” He said with the utmost sincerity. You were stunned. Shocked. All this time you two idiots both liked each other, and it was a rodeo and a plotting friend to finally make you realize it.

“I would like that. A lot.” You smile up at him as you pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex.

Cutting off the engine, Rhett runs around to open your car door. Always a gentleman. You laced your fingers with his as you tug him upstairs to your place. You feel him placing teasing kisses on your neck and jaw when he can reach you. You giggle, moving even faster to get up the 3 flights of stairs.

When you reach the door of your apartment, you fumble around looking for your keys in your purse. When you manage to grab them, you pull them out with shaking hands cursing as they fall to the ground. Before you could bend down to retrieve them, Rhett already has them scooped up. He chuckles softly before resting his hand on your shoulder and rubbing your arm soothingly.

“You don’t need to be nervous Bunny. But I want to ask you again, are you okay with this?” He asks kindly, eyes soft and hands warm.

“More than okay.” And you pull him down by his shirt to crash your lips onto his. It was messy and desperate. Teeth clashed and tongues battled for dominance. You slid your hands up Rhett’s neck and into the curls at the back of his head tugging softly. His one arm wrapped around you and pulled you impossibly closer to his body. You recognize the faint jingle of keys through your fuzzy headspace and realize he was unlocking your front door with his tongue down your throat.

The door soon swung open and Rhett began to push your intertwined bodies inside. Stumbling in, you hear a door slam behind you before he has you pushed against a wall. His leg came in between yours, knee and thigh pressing up into your core. You let out a whine into the kiss, the feeling of him making you even wetter. In fact, you were sure you were absolutely drenched.

Seemingly reading your mind, Rhett broke the kiss to ask, “How wet are you Bunny? How wet does the idea of my cock have you? Bet you were sitting in those stands all night just soaking wet.” You merely moan in response, your brain not working fast enough to form actual words. Rhett brings his lips to your neck biting and sucking hickies into your smooth skin. You run your hands down his back to the hem of his shirt. Too impatient to unbutton his top, he leans back and pulls it over his head.

You knew Rhett was strong. After years of working at the ranch and bull riding, you expected him to be pretty muscular. But the actual sight of his abs, sharp and all edges, makes your mouth water. You tentatively place a hand on his toned chest. God, it looked like his body was made of chiseled marble. Under your hand, you feel his warmth radiating and the steady beat of his heart. When you force yourself to pull your eyes up to his, he says “Your turn.”

He places his hands on the bottom of your shirt, eyes silently asking if he could take it off. Your hands reach down and cover his, urging him to swiftly remove your top. His eyes immediately move to your breast, covered in the white lace of your bra (if you could even call the small scrap of fabric that). You hear a faint groan come from him before he ducks his head down. Placing open mouth kisses along the top of your tits, he brings his right hand up to palm your breast and roll your nipple. His mouth goes lower and latches onto the other nipple through the lace of your bra.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him closer to you. It’s not enough. You’ll never have enough of him. Soft moans tumble past your lips and Rhett takes this a cue to keep going. Eventually he pulls off and uses a hand to unclasp your bra as it falls to the ground. Getting a full view of your tits, Rhett brings both his hands to them and gives them one last squeeze before kissing your lips once again. Getting frustrated and wanting, no needing, more you drag your hand to his ripped figure. Your fingers trailed down the wide expanse of his chest and trace down his happy trail until you reach the waistband of his jeans. Popping the button and pulling down the zipper, Rhett helps you by tugging his jeans down as fast as he can. He kicks them off, leaving him in his tight boxer briefs. A tent is growing in them and you let out a gulp at the size of him.

“Don't be scared honey, I’ll stretch you real good before I fill you up” his voice fills the air. Excited at the idea, you grab his arm and drag him farther into your apartment and to your bedroom. You pull him in front of you and push him down on the bed causing him to look up at you. Reaching to your shorts, you nearly rip down your legs ready for him to touch you. Before you can pull your panties down, Rhett reaches out to them. He rubs his calloused hands over your hips and yanks you so you have no option but to straddle his figure. “Bunny, with panties like that I don’t think I could stand you not wearing them as I fuck you.”

You whimper at his words alone and he lets out a chuckle. He runs hands up your back and suddenly you are flipped over onto your back, Rhett now looming over you. Scooting down the bed, Rhett's face lands between your legs throwing them over his shoulders. He moans when he sees the wet spot that seems to be growing on your panties, landing wet kisses on your inner thighs. You think how could someone make a sound so beautiful. But you are quickly pulled from this as he tugs your pink panties to the side and takes in the full view of you. His eyes darken and he rasps out “Holy shit baby, you are so goddamn hot. I might come in my fucking boxers,” and he subtly grinds his hips into the mattress in attempt to get some much needed friction. Opening your mouth to make some teasing comment, you instead let out a cry as Rhett licks a bold stripe up your pussy. He lands on your clit, tongue moving in figure eights over top. For the second time that night, you find yourself pulling Rhett by his hair closer to you. He then alternates between lightly fucking his tongue into your dripping hole and brutally attacking your clit. The duality of pleasure causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

Rhett places the tip of his finger at your entrance, sliding it up and down through your folds first to get it slicked up. He breaches your entrance and your toes curl as he slides knuckle deep. “Fuck, oh my god Rhett please please, keep going,” pathetic pleas fall from you. You feel him adjust his thick digit in you until he finds that spongy spot that has your back arching. “Right there- right fucking there.” Any other night you would be embarrassed that someone has you so close to coming with one finger, but right now you could care less, only able to focus on the increasing burn in your stomach.

You can practically feel Rhett smirk against you as he eases a second finger into you, again going directly to that sweet spot inside you. He begins to thrust his fingers in and out of you, still using his mouth to suckle your clit. You are screaming in pleasure, babbles of “please” and “don’t stop” leaving your mouth. The coil inside of you is close to snapping. You are so close, so unbelievably blissed out. “I’m gonna cum Rhett. I’m so close” you speak out in warning.

But just as close to the edge as you were, all the pleasure you felt was quickly ripped from you as Rhett removed himself from you. You glare down, sweat dripping down your forehead. “What? Why did you stop?” you croak out, voice already strained from your screaming.

“Oh Bunny. I want the first time you cum to be on my cock.” Rhett responds and leans up to place a hot kiss on your mouth. You deepen the kiss, wanting more of him. You can taste yourself on his mouth and soon he pulls back to say “You like that dirty girl? Like the taste of your sweet pussy? You should, it’s the best pussy I’ve ever got my mouth on.” You feel yourself clench at his dirty talk, managing to turn you on even more. You whimper and try to buck your hips up to encourage him to do something, do anything. Instead he just laughs, “Oh you are so desperate Bunny. Need me to fuck your tight pussy, make you cum so hard you can only yell out my name. Don’t worry Bunny, I’ve got you.” As he speaks he wiggles himself out of his boxers, hard cock slapping his tanned abs.

He props himself onto his forearms and brings a hand to his mouth. Your eyes widen as he spits into his hand and reaches down to pump himself a few times. Noticing your reaction he looks at you. “Open your mouth” and you obey, sticking your tongue out for good measure. You feel something wet hit your mouth before you process that he just spit into it. Rhett Abbott just spit in your mouth. And you swallowed, savoring the taste of him. “Good Bunny” he says into your ear.

“Rhett. Fuck me.” You whine out. Now it’s his turn to moan, finally sheathing his cock into your cunt. You gasp at the stretch and he waits a few moments for you to adjust. After a second you whimper out “Move please.” And Rhett doesn’t need to be asked twice, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back inside you. The force of his thrusts push you up the bed despite Rhett’s bruising grip on your hips.

“You feel so good baby. Squeezing me so tight. Best fucking pussy.” he praises and you clench around him. “Oh baby, you love when I talk dirty. When I tell you how amazing this cunt is. Going to make it mine, never letting anyone else near my pussy again.” You are pathetically whining and thrashing. Your nails are raking down his back, surely leaving welts in their wake. He clashes his lips onto yours and picks up his pace. The brutal fucking makes you feel like you’re floating. He licks into your mouth as you let out a steady set of moans and cries.

Just when you think things can’t get any better, Rhett snakes his hand down to rub tight circles into your clit. Paired with his cock repeatedly hitting the sweet spot inside you, you know the knot in your tummy is starting to unravel.

“Rhett” you whine, “Rhett, I’m so close.”

“Come on baby, make a mess on my dick. Wanna feel you cum” He responds.

Clamping down on him, you are brought even closer to the edge. Eyes tightly shut, you turn your head to the side and let out a moan louder than you thought was possible. No one had ever made you feel this good before. You couldn’t even believe that it was the man you had been crushing on for years that was in your bed, in your pussy. And with that reminder of who it was that was fucking you better than you’ve been fucked before, you saw white behind your eyelids. As you reached your peak, heat spreading all the way through you, you couldn’t help but yell out, “Cum Rhett, let me make you feel good. Wanna be good for you, only for you.”

Unable to resist your fucked out babbles, Rhett ruts into you. Once he knows you’ve finished riding out your orgasm he pulls out from you. Furiously fisitng his cock, he groans out reaching his own release. White ropes of his seed spurt out and land across your tits and you mewl out at the warm, sticky substance coating you. Teasingly, to bring two fingers down to swipe through his release and bring them up to your mouth. You suck on the cum from your fingers, loudly moaning at the salty taste. Both panting hard, Rhett adjusts your panties back, flops over and lays next to you. “Shit y/n. That was amazing. Was it good for you?” And you blink hard through your fuzzy mind searching for a response.

“So good. The best, I think you succeed. Definitely ruined anyone else for me.” Rhett laughs at that. Abruptly, you are filled with a new feeling. It’s warm, cozy. You blush and you realize just how much you have fallen for this cowboy next to you.

You get lost in the idea that this is the start of something real between you two. No longer will you have to pine for him from afar. He likes you, he wants to be with you. You are consumed by him, forever connected you think. No matter what, he’ll always be there. He’s not leaving. And it’s that thought that brings you so much happiness and lets your body relax completely.

A wet towel between the valley of your breasts pulls you from the daydream. Rhett has at some point gotten up and found something to clean you two with. You melt, heart softening at how kind and caring he was being. God, you were so lucky.

The two of you cuddle up and spend the next hour talking about random things. Your favorite movies, what your go to karaoke song is, what you plan to do in the future. And it is easy, it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. And when your eyelids become heavy, you find yourself slipping into a peaceful sleep listening to the beat of Rhett’s heart.

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