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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 day ago

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Lowlife Princess

Act One: Jeong Yunho, known locally as The Joker, has found himself a favorite new plaything. Or — you, a poor girl just trying to survive in Gotham City, form a strange relationship with the Clown Prince of Chaos.

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

"They became the King and Queen of Gotham City — and God help anyone who disrespected the Queen."

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut with plot, gotham au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not beta read, sex worker turned sugar baby reader (no depicted sw), reader is definitely messed up from her job, obsession at first sight, touch starved reader / touchy yunho, dacryphilia / daddy kink outside of sex, fear, police intimidation, yunho threatening a cop, smoking and trying to quit (yun), yunho crazy as hell / reader just as crazy but hides it better at first, does making vengeful murder plans count towards aftercare ? for yunho, yes ! featuring riddler!hongjoong and highly inappropriate family / worker + boss dynamics smut warnings: rough dom yunho, soft making out, hickeys, cumming in pants, dry humping, tipsy sex, talk abt kinks and fantasies (including cnc + exhibitionism), table / couch / floor sex, size difference, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, one instance of spit, light spanking, hand kink, body worship, first time squirting, manhandling, overstimulation, daddy kink + ddlg themes, hardcore dacryphilia, dumbification, unprotected + creampie, yun gets off on reader being a bit mean to him, very possessive dialogue + dirty talk, lots of dirty talk actually- yunho won't shut up, praise, pet names (pretty girl, doll, baby, princess), aftercare

♫soundtrack♫

➯a/n: this all started when someone asked for cnc with yunho... how the hell did i end up with a three part series with a joker au ?? well, either way, here we are 😭 this is on the same level as cornflower blue and allure for me... i love what i've done and i don't say that often but sometimes my brain lets me be proud kkkkk im having really not the best night so i decided to share this early and have some fun ! ➯a/n2: this is a long, long chapter ! i think the second smut scene is probably the longest one ive ever written by like a loooong shot🥲sit back, relax, and welcome to the clown show~

♡masterlist + tag post !♡

【jokers♱】 @mentallyunpresent @fireseo @beomkyum @onyxmango @spicyhotteokkay @vinylphwoar @ramadiiiisme @m00njinnie ₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy

18+.NO MINORS ON MY BLOG.

ꕥ

"Asshole can't even be bothered to turn on the heat?"

You chuckle at the new girls complaint, looking over to her. "Be thankful he didn't start you on the poles, newbie." You're sat on top of the wooden bar, drying cups at almost four in the morning.

It's slow. And, yes, it's cold in the skimpy outfit your boss makes you wear. Winter in Gotham, much like everything about the city, is unforgiving. But you know better than to complain; born and raised in the poor, crime ridden city.

All things considered, this is a good gig. The club that you work at is a poorly veiled front for sex work; but since it's in a nicer part of the city, you get treated fairly well.

In your years at The Riddle Room, you've saved a good bit of money. Got your own apartment in a neighborhood that doesn't have break-in's literally every night. You haven't gone hungry since you started working here and you're only cold when you're on the clock.

"I don't know how to dance," the younger woman shrugs as she rubs her arms.

"Neither did I," you hum, looking around the desolate bar. "Hey," you nod over to the bathrooms, "it's always a bit warmer in there. Go warm yourself up. I'll cover for you if he comes around."

"Really?" She smiles, and you can tell she won't last long here. You almost want to tell her to actually just go home and never come back. You either adapt or you break — and you can't see her adapting.

"Yeah," you give her a tight lipped smile, "sure. Don't be too long."

"Thanks, (Y/n)!" She yells as she runs to the women's bathroom.

"Poor kid is gonna get eaten." You mumble to yourself, glancing at the clock. 3:56.

She's still in the bathroom next time you look, 4:12. Still two more hours until you can go home and put on some warm clothes and go to sleep and get up tomorrow and repeat the day all over again.

"Where's the new girl?" Your boss: Kim Hongjoong, aka The Riddler, asks immediately as he enters the bar.

"Bathroom-" You look up over at him, and quickly toss yourself off of the bar when you see that he's brought others along with him.

The man right next to him is the infamous Joker. The Clown Prince of Chaos. Looking right at you with a grin that can only be described as unsettling.

You gulp, but you push a smile onto your lips quickly. "Hello! Welcome in."

"You're fine," Hongjoong waves you off, "they aren't here for that. Here for business."

You can't help the way that your shoulders physically relax. The stories you've heard about the man are... frightening. From the news to the unfortunate souls who got to live after he got his hands on them.

Now you want to go home and never return. If The Joker is doing business with your place of work — you want nothing to do with it.

Jeong Yunho, who you know only as Joker, keeps his eyes on you like a predator as he follows your boss to a large round booth.

He has an eye for fire. And you, poor you, are shimmering with embers that he wants to stoke into a wildfire.

He manages to be business-man enough to seal the deal with Riddler; an agreement of giving some of his profit if he allows him to store product in the bar. He can't remember the details. As soon as they shake on it, he forgets all about it to be frank.

Because his mind goes back to you.

And then his eyes, as well.

You're behind the bar with the younger girl who had brought over drinks a little while ago. You're clearly trying to ignore his presence, and he can't blame you. He knows his reputation. But it still makes him tap his fingers against the table in annoyance; his sharp metal accessories thudding rhythmically.

"How much?" He asks Hongjoong suddenly, cutting the silence. "Out of curiosity." Because whatever the price is, he's sure it's not enough.

You're beautiful. And you still have fire in your eyes even with your line of work.

Yunho likes that very, very much.

"Hm?" He follows his eyes, "(Y/n)? I thought you'd like her, that's why I had her work tonight." The man smirks a bit, "(Y/n)!"

Your head perks up from your phone, immediately dropping it on the bar and making your way over. "Yes?"

"C'mere," he curls his finger, beckoning you closer, "give our new business partner a twirl, will you?"

You would really rather not. You've felt his eyes on you since the moment he walked in. But you swallow your pride as you always do and you give the man a smile before slowly turning in a circle.

One of the men next to Yunho whistles lowly, and while you aren't affected by it; he surely is — giving the man a glare which shuts him up immediately.

"Five hundred an hour. She knows how to please. My best girl."

You do, and sometimes you take joy in it. You do not want to please Joker, however. You want as far as possible away from him.

"That's it?" He cocks an eyebrow, giving you another once over. "Spin for me again." He leans back, chewing on the lollipop stick he'd been fiddling with.

You swallow around the lump in your throat as you spin, looking down at the floor when you return to face them; feeling like you've somehow displeased him.

"When's your shift tomorrow, doll?"

You blink a few times to register that he just asked you a question, not your boss. You look to said man, who looks just as puzzled. It's pretty rare for a customer to even bother asking your name, let alone try to schedule with you directly.

"Uhm, midnight to six, sir." You aren't entirely sure how to address him, but you certainly don't want to be rude to the cold blooded clown.

"I'll see you from three to six."

The way he says it leaves no room for argument, and Hongjoong's eyes widen a bit. "Wait- wait a second, she only does an hour at a time-"

"Not with me." He scans you slowly, catching onto the way you hold your own hand nervously, pinching your skin. "Don't worry," he laughs as he stands up, towering over you as you stay statue still, "I'll be nice."

ꕥ

When 2:40 rolls around the next night, you debate skipping town. Hongjoong said you didn't have to do anything you were uncomfortable with — but you were doing it anyway because you know the repercussions that come with denying The Joker of what he wants. You've seen the news headlines.

If what he wants is you, you'll have to give it to him unless you want to end up missing or mangled. And now that he's in business with your place of work, you worry that if you say no to him; you'll no longer have work.

Three hours? Three fucking hours alone with the Prince of Chaos?

You wondered if you'd be alive at the end of it even if he was 'nice'. His definition of nice could mean not shooting someone if they look at him the wrong way.

You had to take a sleeping pill after your shift to even think about resting; and god knows you needed the rest for the hours to come.

You throw your phone onto the bedside table and stand up straight as you hear the door open. Your hands behind your back, you find the bravery to meet the man's eyes.

"Hello, sir."

He didn't know what exactly he was expecting when he opened the motel door. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in a white, lace babydoll dress that barely conceals your most private areas.

Despite the fact that he opened the door with zero intention of touching you, he feels his cock twitch.

He bolts the door behind him out of habit, unaware of the fact that it makes you gulp. "What the hell are you wearing?" He asks as he faces the door still.

"...what? Do- do you not like it?" You picked it because you believed you looked good in it. Maybe innocent even, so he might go easy on you.

"Do you want me to fuck you stupid?"

"Isn't that wh-"

Yunho turns around and storms into the room, making you flinch heedless of the way you try to hold it back. You close your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for whatever comes your way with a squeak of, "please, I bruise easily!"

You were sure that the first thing you would feel would be his hands on your exposed skin, maybe even a slap. What you did not expect, not in a million years — is the blanket being draped around your shoulders.

"No." He says simply as he takes a step back.

You look completely shell shocked. Probably because you are. And again, he can't blame you. He'd probably think he was about to be fucked senseless if he was in your situation as well.

And make no mistake — he wants to fuck you. But he also wants to do so much more.

"No?" You whisper as you open your eyes, looking at him with confusion written all over your face.

"No. I'm not going to fuck you."

"But you paid-" He quickly grabs the blanket and holds it shut around you as you try to shrug it off.

"I did. I paid good money, so listen to what I want." He bites his lip as you nod quickly. He really could get you to do anything. But that's not what he wants. He wants to light your fire, not put it out. "Listening?"

"Yes..."

"I'm not going to fuck you. And I'm not going to hurt you. Put some damn clothes on, and sit on the bed."

He leaves you utterly dumbfounded as he turns around as quickly as he came and heads to the connected bathroom, the thud of the lock making you jump a bit.

With a fast text Hongjoong's way saying that Joker isn't, in fact, rearranging your insides, he's acting weirder; you do as he instructed you and put on your clothes. They weren't meant to be seen by anyone else, they were for you to sleep in after he left.

He's pleased when he comes out of the bathroom and sees you in the pajamas. A large shirt and long sweatpants, you've even put your socks on. "Cute," he chuckles at the pattern on them, loosening his tie.

He wanted to touch himself while he was in there, the image of your body all wrapped up in white lace like a goddamn present still fresh in his mind — but he practiced self restraint.

He knows you're still tense, you're still afraid of him. Everyone is. Well, they are or they're just plain stupid.

"You in college?" His question, much like everything else he's done so far, catches you off guard.

"College? Uhm, yeah- yes. Yes, sir."

"Quit that."

"Sorry?" You holds your hands together in your lap, scratching your fingers.

"Calling me 'sir', don't do that." He rolls his neck as he takes his tie off, tossing it on the chair in the corner while he watches you.

"Sorry," you clear your throat, "what should I call you then? Joker?"

"Yunho." He half-smiles as he unbuttons his suit vest and lets it join the tie. "My name is Jeong Yunho." It feels good to say that.

Being 'Joker' to so many people feels powerful, but he doesn't want to be that to you. He wants to be himself. He wants to make you want him for him. Not for his persona or because you're afraid of what he'll do if you say no.

Even if it takes months, he'll make you want him.

Because the second he laid eyes in you, you were his. He could see the fire underneath your sweet, submissive mask. He loves fire.

"What school?" His questions keep throwing you through loops as you try to guess whether or not this is all a ploy to get your guard down. If he likes to catch people when they least expect it.

"Online," you hum, watching him just as closely as he watches you while he takes off his belt and kicks off his shoes.

"More flexibility, I imagine." He falls back onto the bed next to your sitting form and his weight makes you bounce a bit. Out from his pocket he gets a pack of gum, offering you a piece to which you confusedly shake your head.

You phone pings on the bedside table.

"You're hard." You say it like he might not have noticed, eyes flickering to the noticeable bulge in his slacks.

"I am, you're very pretty." His soft admittance makes your heart beat in a whole new way. Not thumping in fear, but fluttering with something unknown. "It will go away on its own."

You phone let's put another ping.

"You always have your ringer on when you're with a client?" He reaches across with his long arm and grabs it as it starts ringing.

'Hong' reads the caller ID.

"Jesus, learn how to answer a text!" He says through the speaker as Yunho answers it, letting you do nothing but watch uneasily at his unreadable expression.

"She's on the clock." He says into the microphone, fingers tapping the back of the device lazily and popping his gum.

"Joker! Hey, what are you doing to her? We put rules in place for a reason! Why am I getting an SOS?" Hongjoong is nothing if not protective of you and the other worker's wellbeing. He prides himself on taking care of you all. You especially.

"I haven't touched her. Don't worry, your best girl is just fine. She's just a little frightened, I think," he giggles as he catches you in the corner of his eye shrinking in on yourself.

"If there's a goddamn single scratch on her-"

"Yeah, yeah, toodles~" He hangs up quickly and turns it off before he can call back. He turns his head to you, slipping your phone into his pocket.

It's silent for a moment as you feel the emotions coming off of him — although you have no idea which ones they are.

Then, out of the blue, he asks, "so what do you do on your days off?"

ꕥ

After about twenty minutes pass, it seems he's finally ran out of basic questions to ask. They start getting more obscure and, unsurprisingly for a man such as himself, strange.

What superpower would you have? Did you ever set things on fire as a kid? You brush your teeth before or after you eat in the morning? Do you ever fantasize about getting revenge on those who've wronged you?

You were starting to get whiplash from trying to keep up, so you're thankful when he rolls over onto his side and faces you; still sitting up tensely with your back against the headboard, "I think I'll stop there tonight. We have a few more hours and there's something I want to do."

You knew it! You knew it! You k-

"Lay down and cuddle with me, pretty girl."

Wait — the fuck? You freeze, your breath stuck in your throat.

"I don't like to ask for things twice."

You slink down the bed until you're laying on your side next to him, and for some reason you have tears brewing in your eyes and blurring your vision. You're still sure that he's going to flip his act at any second. "How?"

He admits lowly, "I want to hold you." It feels strange to hear the criminal kingpin say something so soft. "You look so comfortable, like you'll fit perfectly in my arms."

You don't know what his game is — his angle. You can't figure it out.

Because in reality there isn't one. He's just doing what he wants, asking what he wants. There's no rhyme or reason, he's just doing what he feels like will please him; like he always does. And he knows it will please him deeply to hold you.

You look like a frightened deer: your chest rising and falling quickly, your body stiff as you lay next to him, your eyes either blinking too slow or too fast.

"Are you scared of me?" He knows the answer is undoubtedly yes. But he wants to see how you'll react. What you'll say.

"Yes."

The corner of his lips twitches upward. Most people would say no to try and please him, especially in such an intimate setting.

"Why? I haven't harmed you, have I?" He hums as he reaches and toys with a piece of your hair.

"Not yet."

He laughs, shaking the mattress a bit, "oh, doll~ You're so cute..." He sighs, his hands twitching for a split second before he finally caves and wraps his arms around you; yanking you towards him and closing the gap.

You panic briefly, sure that he's finally going to take what he paid for. But he doesn't make a move. He wraps his arms around you shockingly tender, one around your waist and the other around your shoulders; reaching up and petting the back of your head.

You start letting the tears that have been threatening your waterline fall. Well — you don't let them. They come whether you want them to or not.

"Put your arms around me."

You slowly move to do so, your tears dampening his button down shirt as he cradles your head to his chest. You hold onto his back lightly; and you hate that it feels so nice to be held. Not to be held down or stuck, but to be embraced.

The Joker has thrown you for loop after loop. Never, never, would you have thought this is how the night would go. You expected to be bruised and sore by now, but instead here you are being held like a precious, overpriced stuffed animal.

You start sobbing, and your choked noises come out even as you bite your lip.

"Shhhh," he coos, a large grin on his face as he rubs your shaking back, "doesn't this feel nice?"

You nod into his chest, your fingers twitching to hold onto him as he gently pulls your head back.

He smiles softer as you meet his eyes. He cups your cheek in his palm, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb and smearing your tears. "You're so pretty..." He bites his tongue as he wants to continue. He just broke down a layer of your walls, he has to be careful.

"It's been a long time since someone just held you, huh?" He pouts, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter.

You nod again, not trusting your own voice. Not even knowing what you would say. The Clown Prince of Chaos has you so confused.

"I thought as much... don't you worry, pretty girl," he gently guides your face back into his chest, hiding his gleeful expression as he can no longer hold it back. His brain is pushing him, nagging for him to get just one more thing before he's fully satisfied with his first night with you.

"I'll hold you until the sun rises —you just have to do one thing for me."

You nod quickly, probably too quickly, but you don't care. If he'll keep true to his promise and hold you like this — you'll take it. You don't care that he is who he is as the heat of his body warms your soul.

"Just say, 'please, Daddy'... and I will give you anything you want."

You pause for only a moment, swallowing the remainder of your tears. "Please, Daddy." You whisper into his shirt, "please, just hold me."

"Of course, I will." And he will. He'd have held you even if you didn't ask — but he's so glad he got you to.

The way your voice trembled ever so slightly as you asked for soft affection... it solidified the fact that he's wrapped around your finger. Coiled around your pinky like a snake in a matter of twenty four hours.

You do fit perfectly in his arms. It scratches a deep itch in his brain. You're so soft, especially as you start relaxing into him.

You're soft, you're pretty, and you have a flame deep in your eyes.

Yunho has to have you all to himself. He'd never forgive himself for letting you get away — so he's got to be sure that it doesn't come to that.

ꕥ

You have no Earthly idea how you managed to fall asleep.

Maybe it was his soft traces on your back. Probably your emotional distress didn't help you to stay awake. Perhaps it was his quiet humming or the heat of his body.

You must have been exhausted. Because you would never fall asleep in the same room as a client on any other day. Especially not if they were so high profile and had such a terrifying reputation.

And yet here you are. Blinking the sleep from your eyes and sitting up slowly as someone bangs on the door.

"Times up, buddy!" You rub your head at the sound of the man's voice carrying through the door.

Yunho is already up and out of the bed, fixing his tie in the body length mirror. He catches a glimpse of your sleepy face in the reflection and grins. "Good morning, sleeping beauty~"

You look down at your body quickly as you realize what you've done. He could have easily taken advantage of you while you slept. But the drawstring on your sweatpants is still in the same bow you tied them in.

"I didn't peek, if that's what you're worried about." He flicks his vest in the air, soothing out some of the wrinkles. "Sleep well?"

Another round of knocks comes to the door; ignored by both of you as you lock eyes.

"You didn't touch me?" Your brows knit together in what feels like disbelief and confusion and one big headache. "Why?"

"Because I know you didn't want me to." He says it likes it obvious, and really it should be. But your lines of consent and control are clearly blurred.

"But-" You stutter, searching for the words to describe what's going on in your brain. Trying to file all of the confusion into place. "But you paid."

"I did. And I got what I wanted." He leans his hands on the edge of the bed and leans forward, all the while you watch him dumbfounded. "How much does he give you, anyway?"

"Uhm," you hesitate. You aren't sure if you should be discussing payment with him. But the lift of his eyebrow makes you answer, "one third."

"Oh, that won't do!" He shakes his head quickly, getting his wallet from his vest pocket. "Here." He hands over two one hundred dollar bills.

"W-what?" You aren't supposed to touch the money, not until Hongjoong hands it to you. The Joker isn't doing anything by the book — and you can't believe you didn't see that coming.

"You were good company," he says as he forces the paper into your palm and closes your fingers around it. "And I think you deserve to be spoiled."

Your eyes widen a bit, looking between him and the money. "I didn't- I didn't earn this, Joker-"

"Yunho." He corrects you, "and, yes, you did. I'm very pleased." You're stuck in place as he leans forward, his nose almost touching yours. "Since our time is up, I'll have to kiss you next time~"

"Next time?" You breathe out in a soft pant, your heart beating a bit faster than you'd like to admit. "There's going to be a next time?" You sound almost hopeful, because this was the softest experience you've had in a long, long time.

"Without a doubt." He traces your cheek with his knuckle as he stands, letting his hand drop just as the door slams open.

"(Y/n)!" Hongjoong runs to you, giving the man a glare, "are you okay? Did he bruise you? Did he use a condom?" He tilts your head, checking you for marks, "did you-"

All of his questions go unheard as you watch The Joker saunter out of the room; whistling a soft tune as he lights a cigarette.

ꕥ

You walk into The Riddle Room at 11:45 sharp the next night and find Hongjoong sitting on the bench in the dressing room, biting at his nails.

"What's up with you?"

He jumps at the sound of your voice, immediately standing up. "Heyyy~"

"Nope."

His face drops. "Wha- I didn't even say anything!"

"Whatever it is, no. I don't like when you do that voice, it spells trouble." You groan as you shrug off your jacket, hanging it in your locker with your purse.

"Hear me out!" He pleads with big eyes.

"Put me on bar duty, I'm not doing it-"

"He said he'd pay you directly, almost a full cut." That gives you pause, looking over your shoulder at him as you unbutton your sweater.

"Who?" He hesitates a moment too long for your liking. "Hong, who did you pimp me out to?"

"Joker," he mumbles under his breath, looking around the room slowly to avoid your death glare. "I should get that light fix-"

You slam the locker door shut, "I thought we had an agreement!"

"He's basically fucking throwing the money at our feet! How can you say no to-"

"Like this! No! He's a damn weirdo, I was afraid he'd steal my panties or cut my hair or something. I don't want to spend another three hours in a hotel with that man!"

"You won't be..." He looks down at the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Hongjoong." You sneer, taking a step towards him. "What the fuck did you do?"

ꕥ

"I'm going to quit." You sigh as Hongjoong pulls into the parking lot of the hotel. "Seriously, I quit. I'm gonna t-"

"Don't be so dramatic."

"I'm not dramatic, I just don't want to end up with my head in a jar or some wack shit! Seven hours- what in actual, like actual, actual fuck is wrong with you? This is the damn Joker we're talking about!"

You hate Hongjoong so badly right now. He'd signed you up for an entire seven hour shift with the man. You didn't know who's stupider, him or you. Because here you are, despite your complaining and worries. Maybe because deep down you want to see what will happen. If he'll be nice again.

Seven hours, all in one night. That's three thousand five hundred dollars into Hongjoong's pocket. And if Yunho actually pays you even half of that directly, you'll probably do anything he asks.

That is a fuck load of money for you.

"This is the last time I ever want to see him, do you understand me? I don't care is he offers us ten grand each." Well — that's a bit of exaggeration. Ten grand would absolutely get you to do anything the maniac asked. But you genuinely want nothing to do with the man. He brings chaos wherever he goes and he takes joy in it.

"Deal." He leans and kisses your head, "gotta keep my best girl happy." He smiles lightly, feeling a bit guilty for sending you into a situation that you were clearly uncomfortable with, at least on the surface. But when he tried to deny Yunho when he asked for you again, he glared a deathly glare and offered him five grand up-front.

He can admit that the jokesters infatuation with you is... strange. When you told him that the man made you uncomfortable, he was sure that he wouldn't let him anywhere near you again.

But Jeong Yunho is nothing if not persistent and scary when denied something he wants. And for reasons unclear to either of you — it's you that the man wants.

"Go make that clown happy," he says with a pat to your head.

ꕥ

"You're late," Yunho hums from his place sprawled out on the hotel bed as you enter. He's dressed a great deal more casual than yesterday, black on black on black with his sweatpants, socks, and hoodie.

"Sorry, Joker. I didn't know you had-"

"It's Yunho to you." He sits up quickly and looks you up and down. You hadn't had time to do your makeup before your boss was dragging you out of the club. You're in your day clothes, jeans and sweater and jacket to try and fight off the Gotham winter.

You notice him staring, of course you do; because he isn't even trying to be sly about it. What would be the point? "Would you like me to change?" You flinch as he stands, you'd forgotten how tall the man is in just the short amount of time.

"Yes. You don't look comfortable. Do you have pajamas?"

"Are we not going to-"

"No." He laughs as you look at him ask if to ask why, raising your eyebrows. "Don't get me wrong, doll," he says as he takes your bag, setting it down on the chair, "you're goddamn beautiful, but I don't pay for sex."

You can't help the little scoff you let out. You quickly cover your mouth as his head whips around, mumbling out an apology as he stalks forward. "What?" He smirks, "you still think I'm going to fuck you while you're on the clock?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend you! It's just-" You look away from him quickly, "that's my job? I'm not quite sure why I'm here if you don't- if we don't, y'know..."

"Because I want you to be." He says simply, titling his head as he looks down at you. "Do you need more reason than that?"

"...yes?"

"You're pretty, you feel nice to hold. I've decided that I like you." He shrugs nonchalantly, purposefully leaving out the fact that the fire in your eyes has enamored him because he doesn't want to spook you further, turning back into the room and gesturing to your bag, "did you say you had pajamas?"

What? What the actual shit? Did he actually just say that? Was that his way of saying he has some sort of school boy crush on you?

"Uhm... yeah, I do."

"Good. Get changed, I want to sleep a bit."

He doesn't leave the room this time when you change, simply laying back on the bed and flipping through the channels on the TV while nursing a lollipop. You briefly thought about going to the bathroom to change, but decided against it incase he somehow found that offensive. It's not like he hasn't already seen you essentially naked.

When he beckons you into the bed, you're back into the awkward position you were last night as well; only this time you're thankful to have the television to look at.

"Do you have a favorite position?" He asks suddenly, making your eyes widen for a second before he clarifies, "to cuddle?"

"It's- it's been a while since I had someone to cuddle with." Not for many, many years. You can hardly remember anyone giving you such soft touches in bed.

"Me too, actually." He admits, and it makes you feel a little more comfortable. "Not since I was a child. But I love it." He smiles, genuine and unfiltered as he says, "want to know a secret?"

"A secret?"

"I sleep with a stuffed animal."

It takes a moment for the information to sink in — and then you're imagining The Joker climbing into bed at the end of a long day of wreaking havoc on Gotham and snuggling his stuffed animals. And then you're laughing.

And it's the most melodic sound he's ever heard.

You quickly push the laughter away, shaking the image from your head, "sorry," you clear your throat, "just- that's just one hell of a thing to imagine."

He's still in awe for a few moments, and you're starting to get worried by his silence when he finally speaks up, "I know which one we can try."

You gasp quietly as he suddenly grabs you, easily turning you onto your side to face away from him. Maneuvering you like a doll. He pulls your back flush with his chest, moaning softly as he locks his arms around your waist. His nose finds its way to your hair before he can stop himself, and a pleased hum bubbles in his throat at the smell of your shampoo. "Mmm~ I like this."

You do to, and you're mad at yourself because of it. His strong arms and broad chest feel so safe for no logical reason, his leg draping over yours doesn't make you feel like you're being pinned down; it simply feels like he's trying to get closer. And you let him.

"Sleep with me, baby." The new nickname has you melting further into his hold, your eyes growing heavy as his warmth seeps into you. You can't help yourself. It's human nature to seek affection — and you've been deprived of it so long that you absolutely revel in it.

"Please, Daddy-" It's his turn to melt, his forehead pressed against the back of your head with a gentle sigh. He didn't even have to coax it out of you. You really are perfect, he thinks. "-keeping holding me."

"Of course."

ꕥ

You didn't work the next night, having gotten a text from your boss that you were moving to day shifts. When you entered the bar at eleven in the morning the day after that, you were ready to rip him a new one.

"Hong!" You yell as you bang on the door to his office again, getting impatient. "Hey, I gotta talk to you-"

The door swings open and reveals Joker's wide smile, "hiya, doll~" You drop your arm back to your side, looking past him into the room and finding Hongjoong with his head in his hands. You have the sneaking suspicion that they just did a deal — with you at the center of it.

You push past the tall man and storm into the room, ignoring his pout. "What in the world is going on with you lately? Day shift? Me? Are you goddamn stupid, Hong?" You reach over and smack him upside the head.

Yunho's jaw drops a bit watching you hit your pimp and curse at him. His eyes start shining as he sees that fire in you less unfiltered; showing it as you voice your upset. "Day shift is so slow! I thought I'm your best girl? What the fuck?"

If you had been any other worker and boss, especially in Gotham, you'd probably have your tongue cut out by now for mouthing off. But not you and Riddler. He has a soft spot for you. Not soft enough to ignore the bag of money under his desk curtesy of the jokester in the doorway, though.

He thinks it might actually be good for you. And, again, if you were anyone else, he'd have fought the man harder when he bribed him to take him most earning worker off of the night shift. But you aren't. You're you. And he thinks you deserve a break.

This might not be the break you're wanting, but it's the one you're going to get.

"Are you seriously going to do this to me?" You ask a bit softer as he finally lifts his head and looks at you.

"...Yes. I'm sorry, (Y/n)."

Riddler gets slapped across the face, and he looks down while The Joker laughs quietly; still watching with fascination. "I'm so angry with you." You sneer, "I was finally going to start taking real classes, you know that. How am I going to do that when I'm working during the day? When I can't pay for them? I- Oh, Auntie is going to hear about this!"

His head snaps up as you turn on your heel and storm right back out of the room, shoving The Joker with your shoulder. They both hear the locker room door slam, followed by a muffled shout of frustration. Yunho turns his head to Hongjoong slowly, lifting an eyebrow. "Auntie?"

Hongjoong sighs, falling back in his chair. "Word of advice, Joker? Never work with your cousin."

He looks at him shellshocked for a moment before he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Get out of my office before I stab you." He groans, placing his forehead on the desk. He's starting to regret doing business with the Clown Prince of Chaos.

Yunho continues his laughter as he exits, closing the door with a sigh of amusement. He checks his watch before taking a look towards the locker room. You still haven't exited, but he's got time to kill while waiting.

When you head into the lounge room, you roll your eyes at the sight of Yunho's back facing you; sitting at the bar.

As you push the saloon like door with your hip, you speak up with a punch in your tone, "is this your doing, Joker?" You give him only a second long glare before you start pouring yourself a drink. "Has your paws all over it."

"Yup~" He leans his chin in his palm as he watches you, "think about it-"

"I should slap you, too."

He smirks at the thought, "go ahead." You tut your tongue at his evident excitement, lifting yourself onto the counter across from the bar. "Seriously, though," he shrugs, digging for his lighter in his pocket, "think about it. You can get on a good sleep schedule." He takes a long puff of his cigarette, "take those classes you were talking about."

"How can I do that when I'm working?"

"I'll pay," he says without hesitation, making you choke on your drink. "How long are the lectures? One, two hours? That's nothing."

You set your glass down next to you, wiping your mouth as you search his face for any clues to as what he's up to. "You'll- why?"

"Because I want to." That seems to be his go to answer. And, really, how can you argue with that? If the kingpin wants to do something, even if nobody understands it; it's most likely going to happen. He got you moved to days so he could spend more waking hours with you. And if taking classes will make you happy enough to put up with him, he's all for it with zero hesitation. "I'll pay for as many classes as you want to take. You just have to do one thing for me."

Here he goes again. You chew the inside of your cheek for a moment before nodding, "what?"

"Smile." It's simple enough. But it still makes you hesitate. You're used to so many commands. Lay down, kneel, shut up — why are his, of all people, so soft?

"Smile?" You repeat in disbelief. He nods, a small grin of his own playing on his lips as he watches the cogs turn in your eyes. "That's it? You don't want me to suck you off or something like a normal guy?"

He chuckles under his breath, tapping his metal finger accessory against his cheekbone; the look in his eyes saying 'do I seem like a normal guy?' "While I would love to see what you can do — I'm satisfied with this for now."

Is he serious? You ask yourself that a lot. For someone called Joker, he seems deadly serious when it comes to what he's saying to you.

You crack a smile.

ꕥ

A few weeks pass. You have a routine. You're staring to enjoy being on day shift.

You took Yunho up on his offer and he pays for you to take classes three days a week, you're technically on the clock. Just doing something completely different. He doesn't touch you — not like that.

He pays for your time more than just when you sit in the classroom. He likes to have you around when he's not busy with work. Likes for you to sit in his lap and comb his hair with your fingers as you tell him all about the lectures you're taking thanks to him. He doesn't care about the subject matter, he just relaxes into your touch and listens to your voice to calm his frazzled mind. He likes keeping his hand on your waist, or the small of your back.

The first time he gave you a gift, you cried. It was only a thick jacket, he said he was tired of seeing you shiver in 'that poor excuse of a coat'. When he picked you up from your class the next day, and he saw you coming down the stairs; bundled up in the gift — he knew he wanted to give you more things.

You're an expensive obsession, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even flinch. He's practically rolling in money. Crime happens to be profitable.

He can see you coming to life more and more each time he sees you. The fire is brighter. You are brighter.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday you have class. Yunho picks you up then and takes you to his club, saying he should know if his money is well spent when you ask him why he's so curious about your lecture. All he does is nod and hum softly in response while you ramble and rub his head.

Today is Wednesday, and it's freezing cold as you exit the building. You check your phone. One message from 'J' which reads 'Five minutes.' You bounce on your feet while you wait, chewing on a piece of gum to distract yourself from the bone chilling cold seeping into your legs.

Yunho likes when you wear skirts, and you like when he's happy.

"Hey, kid."

You whip your head to the side quickly at the unfamiliar voice, holding your purse tighter. You look the man up and down. "Can I help you?" He reaches in his suit jacket pocket, and you're immediately doing the same.

He holds out a police ID, you brandish a pocket knife with a diamond carved in the metal. Another gift from Yunho.

"Oh, shit," you flip it closed quickly, "sorry. You should know better than to spook someone, though." He waves it off, but he keeps his eyes on the small knife until it's back in your coat pocket.

"Are you Kim (Y/n)?"

You suck in a breath, debating on lying to the man — who clearly knows who you are by the way he asked. Not inquiring, more like letting you know. You shove your hands into your jacket, nodding, "one and only."

"I remember you from when your parents-" Your glare stops his words. Touchy subject, of course. "Sorry, a bit blunt of me." He holds out his hand. "Detective Bullock." You don't shake it.

"Is there some new evidence or something? I told you all to leave me alone years ago."

"No, sorry. I'm not cold case, i'm major crimes." He reaches into his back pocket, slower this time. He turns a photo towards you, the one on the top of the stack. "You know this man?" It's Yunho outside of The Riddle Room.

"Ehhhh," you scratch your head, "never seen him."

"Don't play games, kid." He takes the top picture away and reveals one of you and the man. "Want to try again?"

"Wow," you sigh, looking away and popping your bubblegum, "photoshop is getting crazy these days." Where the fuck is the clown when you need him? You search the street for his car, finding nothing.

"Is your cousin pimping you out to him?" You freeze in your spot, jaw tightening. "How much does he pay to have you be his eye candy?"

"I dunno what you mean, Bollocks."

"Bullock-" He groans, flipping to the next picture and looking down at it. "This is a personal favorite." You look in your peripheral, and then you do a double take, snatching the stack from his fingers to get a better look.

It's a photo of you and Yunho again. Outside of the hotel after you slept together — only slept. The man's large hand cupping your cheek, the metal over his index and middle finger catching the morning light. You'd never seen how he looks at you from an outside perspective. It's like he has stars in his eyes as he looks down at you.

"You following me everywhere?" You ask shakily, despite the way you try to steady your voice.

"The Riddlers number one lady suddenly starts spending time with The Joker, we want to keep an eye. So," he takes the pictures back, save for the one that you still look down at, "did they make some sort of deal? You as a barging chip?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"So tell me. I can get you immunity. I know what you do, if you give me something incriminating on Joker — I'll let you off scot free."

A car door slams. Yunho's voice booms. "Hey!" You immediately run to him, shoving the picture into your pocket. You jump off the last two steps and hug his neck.

"Mister J!" You'd taken up the nickname when he said how it was unfair he has so many for you, and he only has one. He was only joking, and so were you when you came up with it off the top of your head. But it stuck.

He wraps his arms around you tightly for a moment, glaring at the man over your shoulder. His hands slide to your waist and he pulls back, looking down at you. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"Go wait in the car for me, princess. You're gonna catch a cold." He squeezes your sides softly before sending you on your way. You hesitate for only a moment, looking over your shoulder at him as he stalks towards the detective. He's practically steaming with anger. Whatever he's about to say, it's probably better you don't hear. You don't want to be held liable. You get in the car quickly.

"How are you, Joker?" The man leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow.

"Fucking pissed, how about yourself?" Yunho gets right up on the man, only a mere few inches between them. "Are you that desperate?"

"Are you? Paying for a girl," Bullock whistles, "I didn't peg you for that t-"

"A man can't have a girlfriend? Huh? This is a new low, even for you." He spits with venom, the metal on his fingers digging into his palm. "She hasn't done anything, so stay the fuck away from her."

"Do you think I'm stupid? She's a prostitute-"

"I will cut out your tongue and gift it to her in a ribbon soaked with your blood."

His eyes widen a bit. He curses himself for not wearing a wire, but then — Joker hasn't been so quick to jump to verbal threats before.

They've been in a game of cat and mouse for some years now. The Joker always just slipping away. Never leaving enough evidence or paper trails to be solid in court. He's smart.

"Even you should know when a line has been crossed, right? This is the line. Cross it again and you will regret it."

Yunho looks the man up and down with disgust evident on his face as he turns away. "If I catch even a whiff of you around her again, I'll will make you pay."

Bullock can only watch, perhaps in state of shock, as the man makes his way down the stairs.

"What did you say to him?" You ask as Yunho slides into the car, slamming the door after him.

"Told him I'd appreciate if he stayed away from you." He says through gritted teeth, turning the vent towards you as he turns on the heat. His hands then immediately find his carton of cigarettes, an irritated sigh leaving his lips as he glances out the window towards the detective.

"You said that?"

"That's the PG version, yeah."

The sound of your soft laugh makes his racing mind calm down, and he watches in the corner of his eye as you buckle your seat belt. He doesn't bother, though. "Thanks, Daddy," you lean across and kiss his cheek.

It's chaste and quick, but it makes his heart jump into his throat. He's still thinking about it as he starts to drive away, and then for a good few minutes afterwards.

"Man, that fucking creep," you groan as you lean against the car window, "who sneaks up on a lady in Gotham of all places? I pulled my knife on him."

Yunho looks over from the driver side, his anger slowly fading in your presence. "You did?"

"Yeah, I thought he was going to rob me. I thought, 'fuck that'!"

He laughs, reaching over and resting his hand on your inner thigh; stroking your skin softly. "That's my girl."

ꕥ

"So," you hum softly as you rake your fingers through his hair later that day. You're straddled over his lap, his hand placed on your thighs; appreciating the softness of your skin. "You going to tell me what your deal is what that cop?"

"Mh, I don't like him." His bluntness makes you chuckle. He peeks his eyes open from their blissful close, looking up at you. "Why so curious?"

"He was trying to get me to turn you in-"

He sits up quickly, hands tightening on your legs, "what did you say?" He tilts his head, eyes flicking all over your face.

"I didn't say anything. Why would I?"

His eyes lock on yours. You seem to be truthful. "You didn't?"

"No," you continue combing through his tousled hair with your fingers, "I don't want my Mister J thrown in jail."

He laughs, relieved, as he leans into your touch again. "Atta girl~" He finds his hands sliding further up your thighs without thinking about it; and he even notices it before you do — too busy putting a small braid in his hair. He keeps them there. It's comforting as he decides to open up and give you a bit more information. "His name is Harvey Bullock. The detective."

"Mhm?" You nod, urging him to continue while you settle in his lap. The heat of your cunt almost makes him gasp. You don't even notice what you're doing to him.

He clears his throat, refocusing his brain, "I knew him when I was a boy. He tried to steer me away from crime, but it's what I'm good at, y'know? He's on some self redemption mission cause he thinks he's responsible for what I do, the self righteous fuck-face. He's been trying to get me for years, now. I'm always smarter though~" He slides his hands further up, and he can tell you notice now by the way you stiffen ever so slightly when he gives your ass a squeeze. "If you see him around, you let me know. Got it?"

"Of course, J," you swipe his fallen hair from his forehead gently. "Oh-" you lean and grab your jacket from the back of the chair you both sit on. "He had," you pull out the photo, "bunch of these. At least a few weeks worth."

He keeps one hand on your ass, the other pinching the photo to take it. "Hm," he smirks as he looks down at it, "cute. He should have gone into photography rather than police work. Maybe then he'd get somewhere." You chuckle a bit, shaking your head as you go to take the picture. "Put that on my desk, doll."

You look around it for a second, the flat surface doesn't provide many places to put it. You decide on propping it up against the bowl of lollipops. "Here?"

"Perfect. C'mere," he pulls you closer in his lap again. "I'm gonna ask you to do something now," he strokes your cheek with his knuckles, "and you can say no. It's past six, you can just go home. Remember that, princess." Whether it's from the stress of seeing you with the detective earlier or he's just finally getting plain impatient — he has to ask.

He looking at you so softly, so hopefully. You can't help but ask, "what is it?"

"Kiss me."

Your heart skips a beat before it starts thudding wildly. From the way he's groping your ass through your panties, you expected something more... vulgar. "Kiss?"

He nods, "just some kisses, baby. All of our clothes can stay right where they are." He can tell you're still a bit hesitant, but it fades as you lean forward and softly press your lips to his.

Both of your eyes fall shut, a blissed out hum in his throat. Your lips are just as soft as the rest of you. Your lipgloss smells like his favorite flavor lollipop as it smears against his lips with your slow movements. And it fills his gut with tingles at the fact that you're doing this. You aren't on the clock. You're kissing him because you want to.

You open up your mouth the second his tongue flicks against your lips. You lick at him, albeit a bit more held back than how he licks at you. He tastes like smoke and sugar and you never want to pull away.

When he takes your tongue into his mouth and sucks — you let out a soft whimper, hips grinding against his lap slowly. He moans softly into you, both hands gripping your ass and beginning to guide you along his growing bulge in a way that makes you melt. You grab onto his shoulders, panting softly as he pulls back.

"Fuck-" He groans, "you're so fucking hot." Whether he means in general or the way your heat seeps through your panties and rubs against his clothed cock — probably both. Your hips stutter, eyebrows twitching as you keep your eyes closed. "Are you needy, baby?"

You're used to so much more sex than you've been having. He's been hogging your schedule almost completely and this is the most he's ever touched you. "Y-yes."

"You want to cum on Daddy's lap?"

"Yes!" Comes your response as soon as he's done speaking, making him chuckle. "Just- just like this, please?"

"Just like this, pretty girl~ You can make us both cum like this, can't ya'?"

The thought of making him cum in his pants has you a little more excited than you thought it would. Nodding quickly, you spread your knees further and earn yourself a deep groan from his throat as you grind onto him deeper. "My eager girl," he moans while his head tilts back, basking in the pleasure and letting you set your own pace, "doing so good~"

His praise makes the dams in your eyes break, now crying freely into his neck while you grind against him. He smirks at the feeling of your tears wetting his skin, pulling your head back to look at you. "Why you cryin', baby?" He hums, leaning his hips up into you and making you gasp.

"Feels-" You try to sniff back your tears, "feels so good..."

"Aww, doll~ Humping my lap got you this worked up? So good you're crying for me?"

"Mhm," you reply with a pout, leaning into his palm as he uses his thumb to wipe your cheek.

"So precious," he grins as you try to use his palm to hide your tears, his member twitching underneath you. He pulls your head to his neck, leaning his head to the side, "mark me up, princess."

You don't hesitate to start leaving open mouthed kisses down his throat, grabbing onto the ends of his hair to steady yourself as you get closer and closer to your peak. You start sucking softly, your hips swirling when he groans; his fingers twitching on your ass, wanting to smack.

"Shit- just like that, baby..." A whine breaks off in his throat as he holds himself back, sliding his hands up your back instead and pulling you close. "Ah~" He lets out a particularly loud moan as you suck below his ear. "Mmh, you're gonna make me cum, princess~ So good, so perfect," he starts mumbling nonsense as he holds back his orgasm, desperate to wait for you.

"Fuckin' can't wait to ruin your pretty pussy. Gonna make you sob on my dick, baby~ Pound you so hard you can't talk, can't fucking walk the next day. Won't even be able to run away when I try to fuck you again, will you~? No~" His pleasure drunken rambling is making you soak your panties, whimpering into his heated skin with your jaw agape.

"T- tell me more." You pant, and he starts grinding up into you harder — like he's trying to fuck you through the layers of fabric while he hugs you to his chest tightly.

"Ha~" He laughs breathlessly, panting just as much as you, "you like that idea, doll? You wanna be fucking helpless beneath me while I have my way? Maybe I'll drag you to the bar and make everyone watch while I make you cum on my cock like a good girl-"

"Ah! C-cumming~!" You squeal as his filthy fantasies send you tumbling off the edge, hands searching for purchase and finding it by fisting his vest tightly.

"Fuck, fuck!" He grits his teeth, grinding into you roughly as he finally lets go and cums with you; his eyes rolling straight back into his head and his metal nail rings digging into your back to keep you as close as possible.

You breathe heavily as you hold onto his suit vest for dear life, body wracked with sobs from the emotional release that came with your orgasm. You've never felt that before — and you'd probably be frightened or confused if not for Yunho's rumbling hum of ecstasy providing you a sense of steadiness as you both float back down to Earth.

"Damn," he moans simply, easing his grip on you until you scramble and hug him tightly; wrapping your arms around his neck as you keep your face buried in his shoulder. "Shhh," he quickly wraps his arms back around you, cradling you to him, "don't worry, princess. I'm not going anywhere."

The soft strokes of his fingers while he holds you eases your worries. Not a thought in your head other than how nice he feels against you.

ꕥ

"Hiya, baby~" He greets as you enter his office, the slow music in his club briefly flooding the room before you shut the door behind you with a smile.

It's been a few more weeks. He's been a little more open with his touches, he's asked for more kisses; but other than that, things have remained the same.

"Hey, Daddy." You quit thinking it was weird to call him that pretty quickly. Just like his infatuation with you wearing skirts or sending him photos of your outfits. Because it makes him happy and happy means you're treated well. You're spoiled even. "How has your day been?"

He points to the liquor on his shelf, and that answers your question. You giggle lightly as you grab the bottle and two glasses. "You want me to play with your hair?" You ask softly as you pour his glass first, nearly filling it before sliding it to him across his desk. You only pour a few sips for yourself. You happen to be a lightweight, and he's the opposite. But he still insists on sharing with you when he drinks; even if you only have just a sip, it appeases him.

He rolls his chair back and stands, downing his drink and sliding it back to you. He taps his metal nail on the table and nods as he heads to the couch on the wall that he put in specifically for you. It didn't get much use from you alone, you were almost always in his lap.

You pour him another glass and carry it over, handing it to him with a smile as you straddle his spread legs. "Thank you, baby," he smiles back as he takes it with one hand, the other immediately finding your waist. "Tell me about your day."

"Same old," you shrug, tracing over a fresh bruise on the side of his head, "what happened?"

"Some asshole decided to slam my head on a wall when I came for payment." Your eyes widen, a pout on your lips. "Oh, don't pout," he coos as he brings his thumb to your lips, tracing them softly. He's never practiced self restraint so much as he does with you. There's been a million and one times where he's wanted to say 'fuck it' and do everything he can think of with your mouth. "Smile for me."

"You could have gotten hurt-" Why do you care? It's not like you're dating. But... it kind of feels like it. Especially in times like this where he looks at you like you're the Goddess who hung the stars in the sky. You put a smile on your lips; or maybe it comes naturally as he cups your face.

"Worried about me, doll?"

"In your dreams, Mister J."

"I must be dreaming, then."

ꕥ

You're more tipsy than you would like to admit. The world sways a bit as you get off of Yunho's lap to pour him another drink. "Easy steady, princess," he laughs softly as he places his hands on your hips.

He's just as bad as you are, even though it took him admittedly much more alcohol to get there. His ears are flushed pink and it's spreading down his neck, his tie hanging loosely from his tugging at it.

"I got it," you giggle as you shove his hands away gently. He watches you closely as you pour the drink, all the way until you come back to him and seamlessly climb back into his lap like it's your rightful throne. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

His gaze is always so intense, but there's something else in it right now. "What are you into?" He asks bluntly, blinking up at you while he sips.

"Like what?" He knows most, if not all, your hobbies and interests by now. What can he possibly me-

"During sex."

Your eyes widen to saucers for a moment, your mouth agape. "Uh-" Your years of experience take over, "whatever you want me to be."

He tuts his tongue, a sigh that smells like cinnamon coming from his lips. "No," he shakes his head, "you. What do you like?" He's held himself back from asking more intimate questions, anything to do with sex really, because even just thinking about it has the image of you in the little white babydoll dress popping up in his head or the sounds you made while you came on his lap replaying in his mind and his cock twitching to life.

But the alcohol is winning over his self control. He's really getting impatient.

"I like..." You look down, look at the walls, look at anything but his dilated eyes. You seem to be struggling to comprehend that he's asking what pleases you. You start with what you know he's into as well. "Being manhandled."

He set his glass to the side, both of his hands resting innocently on your waist; but his words are anything but. "More. I want to know what gets your pussy dripping."

You meet his gaze for a fraction of a second, and not a moment longer because it makes your heart beat even more wildly — the pure lust in his eyes. The carnal want he has just from thinking about what you're into.

"I like... being choked." You say it almost as if it's a question, like you aren't sure if he'll like the answer. His hands twitch on your sides.

"Yeah? What else?"

You feel like your heart is going to crack a rib with the ferocity with which it's beating. "Rough sex."

"How rough?" He asks quickly, his heart matching your owns rapid pace. He can already see you spread out beneath him, crying from pleasure while he chokes you.

You yelp softly as he pulls you up in his lap, landing your jean clad heat above the bulge in his slacks. "Do feel how hard you make me? Over simple fucking things. God —" He curses under his breath, letting his head loll back onto the couch. "Tell me. How rough?"

You falter for a moment before you place your hands on his shoulders, making yourself comfortable in the new position. "Really rough," you whisper, "I like to be thrown around. I like- well, I've never done it before but... I have fantasies about it-"

"Tell me." He has to squeeze your sides so he doesn't go feral and bend you over right here and now.

For some reason, his desperation for you has you all hot; you think the alcohol is definitely adding to it but you aren't stupid enough to blame it all on that. You have feelings for The Joker. And you know it's not right, it's not healthy. But you want more. You want to explore every part of yourself with him.

"I think I'd like it if you spanked me, or... slapped me maybe? You have such big hands..."

You bring one of his hands from your waist, and he holds it up for you as you trace his fingers with a ghostly touch. His pupils are blown wide, his cock straining against his pants. The cold metal of his sharp rings sends goosebumps up your arm. "They're so big and pretty." He believes he might lose the rest of his sanity as you praise something as simple as his hands. "They could do so much to me," you mumble, not even meaning to say it out loud but not caring once you have.

You spread your hand out to mirror his, and his breath hitches in his throat as he sees just how small your hands are compared to his own. "Fuck..." He lets out in a pant, lacing his fingers with yours and looking at you a bit frantically. "You're so damn perfect, doll. I can't wait to ruin you."

The corners of your lips twitch, "don't. Don't wait anymore. I want you, Daddy."

He has never believed in divine intervention more than when he looks at the close and sees it turn 6:01. You're off the clock and you finally want him.

"Fucking finally," he sighs with relief, going on to quickly grab the back of your neck and pull your face down to his, "quit your job. Be all mine, princess. I will give you the goddamn world if you want it. You know all you have to say i-"

"Please, Daddy," you have a light smirk as you roll your hips ontop of his, rough denim of your jeans grinding on his suit.

His eyes are flicking to every part of your face, always landing back in your lips. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes." His lips feel like heaven all over again as you press yours to them. His hand slides from the back of your neck to the front, resting against the column of your throat.

You blink your eyes open slowly, meeting his. His lips split into the largest grin you've ever seen, unadulterated manic glee evident as he looks up at you. "Tell me more," he hums as his hand traces down slowly, the metal on his fingers scraping your neck lightly. Not even enough to draw blood or leave marks, but it has you dizzy. "Tell me what you want me to do to you now that you're all mine."

"Fuck-" You whimper as he cups your breast through your thick sweater. "Every- everything, Daddy."

"Everything~?" He leans forward and gets his first real taste of your skin, leaving opened mouth kisses on your neck as his hands slide across your torso. "You want me to rough you up, pretty girl?"

"Yes," you pant softly as you wrap your fingers up in his hair, instinctively grinding down on him to lessen the pressure building in your lower gut.

He grips the bottom of your sweater and pushes it up with a groan of annoyance, "take this off. Let me see you." He leans back, spreading his legs and guiding your hips at a more intense angle as you pull it off quickly. "Lose the bra, too, doll~"

As soon as you unclasp your bra, a sudden wave of shyness overtakes you. You don't know how it's even possible to be shy anymore, but you are as his eyes flick from yours to your chest repeatedly. Maybe you're afraid to disappoint him. Maybe it's because this is the first time in a long time that you've been with someone you have an actual relationship with, no matter how strange it might be.

"Don't be shy, princess," he traces on your side with his metal nail — his name. Over and over again. But you're too flustered to tell. "Let Daddy see."

You gulp past the small lump in your throat and let the fabric fall, your nipples peaked from the way he grinds you against his bulge; the cold air making you whine a bit.

"Damn..." He licks his lips, staring unabashed. "Look at you~" He whistles as takes you in from every angle, tilting his head this way and that.

"Would you-" You waver, a moan breaking your voice, "kiss them?"

He doesn't have to be asked twice, he dives right in. Kissing every inch of skin on your chest: smooching, licking, nipping, sucking. When he reaches your nipples, he brings one of his hands up and rolls his thumb over the pebbled flesh while sucking the other; gently, at first. Then he hears the most delicious little whimper as his teeth graze your flesh.

He starts a steady suction over your nipple, flicking his tongue quickly and circling the other with his thumb. "Oh-" You gasp, holding onto his shoulders tightly for leverage as you roll your hips quicker, "oh god, Yunho~"

His hips act with a mind of their own, bucking into you as soon as his name leaves your mouth. He pulls away from your chest with a lewd pop. "Say my name again," he moans lowly before leaving a pointed lick to your wet nipple.

"Yunho!" You mewl as your head tilts back, hips stuttering and legs beginning to tremble on either side of him.

"Are you about to cum, princess~?" You let out a high pitched moan as he wraps his large hand around your neck and yanks you down, making you bend over him as you grind. "Are you? Tell Daddy."

"Y-yes! Please! I'm so close," you whine into his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he squeezes your throat for the first time. The noise you make is burned into his brain. Like you just came then and there because of the pressure of his hand on your neck. Like you're about to float away.

"Go ahead, baby," he hums deeply, his cock twitching under you; leaking so much pre-cum that there's a little wet patch forming on his slacks. "Make yourself cum on my lap again. Make yourself feel good~"

"Fuck!!" You shout as you come undone over him, your hips trembling and your fists grabbing his vest so roughly that he swears he hears a seam rip over your sweet sounds. He drinks in every twitch of your face, committing it to memory as he grips your hips tightly and guides you through it.

"There ya' go, that's it, pretty girl," he holds back a chuckle as you slump against him, hiding your face in your bundled up fists on his chest. "Catch your breath, doll. I got you. Daddy's got you~"

You shiver atop of him in the after shocks, sniffling quietly.

"You good, baby?" He asks softly as he tilts your head up, his eyebrows creasing together as he takes in your teary eyes.

"Very." You nod with a small, dopey smile. "Thank you, Daddy~" You lean and give him a kiss, hands sliding up his chest as loosening his tie enough to pull it over his head when you pull back.

He lifts you up off his lap, standing up and helping you get steady on your own two feet. "Take your clothes off." He says quickly as he starts removing his own, "everything but your panties."

You work fast, both of you watching and scanning each new inch of skin that gets exposed with burning lust. "You want me to fuck you, baby?" He leans to your level as he unbuttons his shirt, "want me to be rough?"

"Fuck, yes," you grin wildly, cupping his cheek and kissing him rougher than before. It's fleeting, but it makes him smirk when you pull back — that fire in your eyes is brighter than ever.

"C'mere," he grabs you by the neck, smirking as you lean into his grasp. "I'm going to fucking wreck you, I hope you know that."

"Do it-" The yelp you let out morphs into a moan as his palm makes contact with your ass. "S- damn!"

"You like that, baby?"

You nod quickly, rewarded with another smack to your ass. You jump a bit, a large smile on your face all the while. "Come on, Daddy," you yank him closer by his belt loop and expertly undo his buckle, sliding the belt off of his hips in one fluid motion. "Let me treat you for a change."

"Another day, baby-" You pout at him as he pulls you back up when you try to kneel, "I want to eat you out."

You pause, feeling a whole new wave of heat in your body. "W-what?"

"I want to eat you o-"

"Oh my god, please-" You grab at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him down to peck his lips repeatedly. "Please, Yunho, don't say that unless you mean it. It's been so long-"

"I mean it." He nods sincerely, "I've fantasized about making out with your cunt more times than I can count." He backs you up with his hands on your hips until your thighs hit his desk. "I want to spoil your pussy, make you soak my face~"

He looks down at you with dark eyes, chewing on his lip as he guides you to sit on the edge of the desk. "Yeah?" You breathe shakily as he spreads your knees, your throat suddenly dry despite the pools of saliva you keep swallowing.

"Yeah." He nods again, leaning down to kiss across your neck while he removes his rings. "You ever squirted before, baby?" His breath tickles your skin, his hands are hot while he caress down your thighs.

"No," you whisper, slightly hesitant but still letting him maneuver you however he likes; spreading your legs across his desk and tracing teasingly soft patterns in your inner thighs.

"Don't worry, pretty girl," he smirks as he pulls back, going on to kneel in front of you, "I can make it happen~"

"You can?" You swallow again, your heart in your throat as you take in the sight of The Joker on his knees for you.

"I bet so," he nips your thigh softly, making you jolt. "Ask me nicely, princess. You know what to say~"

You lift your hips towards him, and he quickly pulls down your panties — shoving them in his pocket before he slides you closer to the edge. "Please, Daddy, I want you to eat my pussy until I squirt- g-ah!!"

His mouth is so hot. He wraps his lips around your entire cunt and sucks. Slurping and drinking up all the arousal that's pooled up from his teasing; letting his tongue dive into you and twirl around to gather up your previous orgasm.

"Oh, good hell!" You cry, hands immediately wrapped up in his hair roughly to ground yourself. "Don't- don't fucking stop," you groan as you pull him closer, hips bucking into the sensations, "I swear- I'll kill you if you stop."

He moans into your cunt, lapping up and down your slit faster. He can feel the fire inside of you, he can see it as you look down at him. This is exactly what he wanted from the very beginning. To stoke your hidden flame until it burns so brightly that it consumes him.

He's making out with your cunt like his life depends on it — because with the way you're gripping his head, it might. You might keep true to your threat and kill him if he dares to pull away. He doesn't mind, because he wouldn't be stopping anyway.

He closes his mouth around your clit, making you wail at the sudden focused suction. You fall back on his desk, papers scattering. He presses closer, humming with amusement as your thighs close around his head — nearly smothering him in your precautions to make sure he doesn't pull back.

"J- oh, yes! Yes!" You nod frantically as you feel two of his fingers teasing your entrance, eyes closed to bask in the flood of pleasure that keeps coming.

His fingers are so long; they press right against your g-spot as he fucks them into you knuckle deep, immediately starting a punishing pace in the way he curls them. "Ha~" You pant out, laughing in shock at just how skilled he is, tears falling from your closed eyes as your peak grows closer quickly. "You fucker," he moans again at the way your frazzled brain lets things slip, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head, "you're gonna make me cum..."

The way you're absolutely gushing on his tongue and fingers; he doesn't doubt it. "You're — oh, god — you're gonna make me cum!" You yell as the realization dawns on you through the mind-numbing ecstasy of his hot tongue and his deeply curling fingers. He's about to be the first person to make you cum from giving you head. And it's going to be big, you can both tell by the way you sweat and tremble while grinding into his mouth. "Please, please, oh please- Daddy!!"

Your back arches off the wood, jaw slack and knuckles losing their color from how tightly you grip his tousled hair. He did make you squirt. And it's an entirely different type of euphoria washing over you as you soak his chin, his hand, his forearm, his chest even gets splashed as his roughly curling fingers send your release sloshing around lewdly.

Your thighs shake around his head violently as he continues to thrust and curl his fingers as your peak passes; working you right back up to another one. "Nghhh~" You moan unintelligible as you slump on his desk, bringing one of your arms up to cover your eyes as you sob from the overwhelming pleasure. But, you don't want him to stop even as your body starts aching from the intense sensation of another orgasm building up.

Much to his dismay, Yunho has to pull back to breathe. But his disappointment while filling his lungs is overshadowed by the sight of your pussy leaking and twitching around his fingers and the view of you lying across his desk in an absolute mess of tears. "Fuck-" he pants, the hot puff of air meeting your clit and making you jolt. "I could eat your pussy all damn night, pretty girl~"

The nickname makes you clench around him, wordlessly begging. You swallow with a fair amount of trouble, your lungs burning from the soft moans that just won't stop spilling from your lips and the sobs wracking your ribs. "D-Daddy!"

"Mh~ Yes, baby?" He reaches his free hand down, palming his neglected member with a deep groan.

"P-uh!" You gasp as he spits right onto your throbbing clit. "Please, Daddy, fu- fuck my pussy~" You moan through your tears, eyes still covered with your arm.

"Are you ready for that? I'm pretty big, doll, and I've only stretched you on t-"

"Yes! Stretch me on your cock, pleaseeee! Make me fucking feel it-" He's yanking you up in the next second, holding your dizzy body to his chest and letting your feet drag across the ground as he pulls you towards the couch.

"Oh, you're gonna feel it~" He grins as he tosses you to lay across the length of the sofa. "I'm going to reshape your cunt so it only knows me. Rearrange your fucking guts while I'm at it — would you like that, princess? I bet you would, you're just as much a freak as me~"

You nod dizzily as he crawls over you, not even bothering to take his pants off all the way, only pulling his stiff and leaking member out. "I would." You have fuzzy hearts in your eyes while he spreads your legs for himself again, letting one of them dangle off the couch.

"Mh? Tell me. Wanna hear you say it." A shiver runs down his spine as he grabs the base of his length, sliding his tip up and down your messy slit.

You wipe the tears from your face roughly, looking up at him with a sniff, "Daddy..." You trail off, too distracted by his warm cock head rubbing against your clit.

"Say it. Tell me how much you want me, you can do it~" His free hand slides up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and lands on your throat. "Fucking beg." Something in your brain snaps into place. Realizing this is what you've always wanted, how you've always wanted to be treated. Stern and rough but so sweet and spoiled.

"Ffffuck-" You shudder, completely lax underneath him and tilting your head back to expose more of your throat as you start doing what he asked.

You start begging. Like your fucking soul is at stake. And he watches close. Eyes dark and filled with lust, smirk planted firmly on his slick lips and ears burning as he takes in your downright filthy words.

"Daddy, please! Oh, god, please- give it to me! Fuck me~ Fuck me rough, I- I need you! Ruin my pussy! Make it yours! I need you to pound me until I can't think, for the love of- ahh!" You moan out, elated, as he sinks his fat tip into you; fluttering around him so nicely that he has to dig his fingers into your neck to control himself. You let out a choked sigh, your eyes flickering shut as he slides into you. Slowly. Savoring every inch as he stretches your gooey walls, carving you out to fit his thick girth. "S'good~"

Your slurred hum makes him crazy. His brain short circuits as he bottoms out inside of you, relishing the feeling of your cunt hugging him. "Fuck me..." He groans lowly, "you feel fucking perfect~"

"Thank you~" You mumble, lost so deep in your pleasure that you don't even know what you're saying thank you for.

He laughs breathlessly, leaning over and kissing you gently for a moment while he starts a slow, experimental thrust. "You're so wet, baby~" He breathes in your soft gasp as he bottoms out again, taking your breath as his own. "Have a listen," he put his thumb over your lips and quiets your moans; giving another painstakingly slow thrust.

Your slick walls are squelching as they work to accommodate his girth, filling the office with lewd, wet sounds.

"Open your eyes, doll," he whispers, leaning over you, "look at me." Your eyes are filling back up with tears already — it makes him throb inside of you. You try to blink them away, but they aren't going anywhere. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous... You can cry all you want, princess, I don't mind." He rubs your cheek bone softly with his knuckle, "makes me hard."

You start letting your tears free fall, relieved that he's not going to call you a cry baby or flip you over so he doesn't have to see. You always cry when things feel good. You've tried to train yourself not to, but it's something you can't help.

His brows push together, a moan breaking off in his throat. "Mm- I'm going to fuck you for real now, no more playing around." He cups your heated face, resting his forehead on yours as he looks deep into your eyes. "I'm gonna make sure your pussy remembers who it belongs to."

You don't even have the wits about you to scream or moan or do anything other than cry and look up at him in awe as he starts a brutal pace; your eyes soft with passion behind your tears and you jaw slack as he pounds into you.

Before you even know what's what, your back arches towards him and you let out a shaking yelp of, "c-cumming!"

"Fu- Goddamn, baby!" He hisses, gritting his teeth as you clamp down on him. Your cunt trembles around him, convulsing in waves with your orgasm as your eyes roll. He pins you to the couch with his body, hugging your head to his chest as he continues to fuck you through and past your peak.

It's then that you start making those noises that make him go even harder; as he overstimulates your poor pussy and glides against your g-spot. He can hardly hear your skin slapping against one another over your pornographic moans. Each of his thrusts pushes another up your throat, and you get some of your own from him as you shakily wrap your arms around him; scratching his back.

"Shhh," he grins as his hushing does nothing to slow the lewd flow of your moans. "Mhmm~ So good, doll- like you were made to take me. Don't you agree?" You nod into his chest furiously fast, grounding yourself with your nails in his back.

"Hm? My little pretty baby likes getting her pussy pounded?" You clench around him tightly again, his words going straight to your cunt. He pulls your head back to look down at you, slowing his thrusts; but they're still just as harsh. Snapping into you hard enough to knock the wind from your burning lungs. "You like it when I fuck your brains out?"

"Uh-huh!" You whine, your piteous voice wracked with pleasured sobs. He leans down and licks up a stripe on your cheek, moaning deeply as the saltiness of your tears meets his tongue. You slap at his back as his hips still, begging him to keep going even though you're a trembling mess.

"Uh-huh," he mimics you, "use your words, baby." He smiles darkly as he leans to lick at your other cheek as well.

"I li- I like it," you sniffle, trying to grind your hips under his.

"You like what? C'mon, doll, tell me exactly what's got your cunt soaking wet~"

His soft teasing has you pouting, crying fat tears that he licks right up. "When- ahhh," you whimper, "please... I love it when you pound me~ You feel s'good, Yunie."

His heart skips a beat. Then, another. Then, he's back to trying to fuck your soul out of your body and claim it as his own. You don't even register that you've given him a new nickname in your fucked out bliss, it came so naturally while praising him.

"F-uck," he stutters, his hands all over you before they grip your legs and pull them up over his shoulders, making you groan quietly at the stretch in your muscles as he folds you in half underneath him. But the discomfort is quickly aided by the fact that he's prodding your g-spot as he starts slamming into you again and making you see stars. "Say it again. Call me Yunie."

His tone leaves no room for argument, and you don't have any anyways. "Yunie!" You sob out, grabbing at anything you can reach to steady yourself. One of your hands lands back in his hair, the other reaching and grabbing the armrest.

"M- ah, ah!" Your eyes screw shut tightly, shaking your head as you squeak in a single quick breath, "Yunie, please! Daddy!" His entire body is tingling. He can't tear his eyes away from you for even a split second — he curses himself for even having to blink.

He cups your face roughly, keeping your legs folded up and squishing them to you with his torso, "look at me when I fuck you." His voice waivers slightly as he approaches his peak, plunging into you deep and slow and hard as he locks his eyes with yours; your hips ache from the force of his slamming into you and fucking you into the couch. "Whose girl are you?" He hums as he wipes some of your tears, reveling your fucked out expression.

"M'your girl!"

"You are~" He coos, his cock painful hard and begging for release but he wants more. "My pretty girl. All mine. If anyone else even thinks about touching you, I will fucking gut them."

You gasp sharply, gushing around him and shouting his name as you cum unexpectedly. His words, his unhinged possessiveness reaching an all time high as he ruins you has your head rolling dizzily in his hands, feeling like it's filled with nothing but cotton candy. "Y- P- please, Daddy..." You stutter and snivel, wrapping your arms around him tightly as your entire body shakes.

"Mhm~?" He moans in response, not even trusting his voice anymore as your overworked walls pulse around him; letting him feel your heartbeat. He wraps his arms around your head, cradling you to his chest softly again as he ruts into you roughly.

"Cum," you whimper, officially toeing the line between pleasure and pain with the amount of overstimulation he's putting you through. "Pr- pretty please? Cum inside of me-"

You yell in shock as he suddenly sits up and drags you with him, not an ounce of hesitation in him as he rolls off the couch and lands on his back — immediately thrusting up into you. "F-fuck! What the f — oh, shit~" You only have yourself together enough to chastise him for half a moment before your brain catches up to the new position and realize how he's deeper.

"You want my cum? Huh? Fucking take it then~" He grins up at you wildly, one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, keeping you bent over him while he plows into you from below. Pressing your forehead against his.

The millisecond that one of your hot, overstimulated tears falls and lands on his cheek; he cums. And he cums hard. Letting out a guttural moan and letting his jaw fall open as he pumps all of his release into you. Keeping you still on top of him with a tight grip as he wraps his arms around you.

"Fuuuck~" He pants as his hips finally still, his brain flooded with dopamine as he cradles you. "How the hell a-are you so damn perfect?" His warm hands softly rub your trembling back, a dopey smile on his lips as you sniffle and press your face into his neck. "Hey," he lifts your head softly, "don't hide, baby."

You look down at him with eyes full of stars and hope and tears. "Yunie..."

He wipes your puffy eyes with a tenderness that he didn't even know he had in him. "Yeah, princess?"

"Will you hold me for a while?"

"Of course I will."

ꕥ

The floor of Yunho's office is shockingly comfortable, but maybe that's because you're mostly laid on top of him.

You're on your side, snuggling into his as he lays on his back; menthol cigarette between his fingers in one hand and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder. He switched brands when you kept complaining about the smell. The menthol was cooling, calming. You didn't mind it nearly as much.

You're laid with your leg over his hips, tracing patterns on his chest as you watch the smoke billow into the air. The silence is comfortable. It feels safe. You feel safe.

Of all the places in the world, you feel the most content you've ever been right here. Body sore and eyes dry from the way you exhausted all of your tears, laid on the shag carpet of The Jokers office with his cum wiped off your inner thighs with his silk vest.

He hums of soft melody between puffs of his cigarette, copying the patterns you make on his chest back onto your shoulder to tell you that he's paying attention to you even as you're both quiet. You close your eyes, moaning softly as they rejoice in the well deserved break. "I like that song." You say softly, sighing blissfully before you hum; picking up where he leaves off.

He looks at you with a small smile, reaching up to the table to put his cigarette out before rubbing your arm that's draped over his torso. "Maybe tonight, I'll call ya' after my blood is drowning in alcohol, mm-mm," he whispers the song as he laces your fingers together.

He can't believe he's finally got you all to himself. He doesn't remember a time when he's been this happy in the presence of another person. "All I want, is the taste that your lips allow..."

"My- my, give me love," you giggle before peeking your eyes open and looking up at him, "who'd have thought that you like love songs, Mister J?"

"What? I have taste," he shrugs playfully, giving you a smile as he rubs up and down your back. "Aren't you getting cold, princess?"

"Mmh, a little, but I'm not ready to leave you yet. Is- is that okay?"

"Hm? You don't have to leave," he reassures you softly, planting a kiss to your head, "you can get dressed and stay, baby."

"Thank you, Yunie."

It was almost a mission to get off the floor, even with Yunho doing most of the work for you. He still had your panties in his pocket, and he wasn't giving them over. You're thankful you still keep your pajamas in your bag out of habit, because they're much more comfortable than your day clothes would have been in your fragile state.

He helps you into them, giving you another tender kiss to your head and pinching your cheek with an affectionate smile before you slap his hand away. "Couldn't help myself~" He laughs, finally zipping his slacks up before kicking up his shirt off the floor and catching it. "You feel okay?" He, in all honesty, has no idea what he's doing.

The only experience he has is a good handful of one night stands. He's never been with someone he actually wanted to keep around and therefore; doesn't know how to go about making you comfortable enough to do so.

"I'm more than okay." But you don't notice it. Because all of the experience you have is through your job — your ex-job. You were used to getting the job done and going on your way, taking care of yourself with the help of Hongjoong; who would bandage any bruises while telling you how proud he was. It made you cry a great handful of times. Like now.

"Princess," Yunho pouts, immediately kneeling on the floor infront of you and cupping your hands gently. He thinks you're so pretty when you cry — but only when he's the cause. "What's- what's wrong? What can I do?"

"I d- I don't know." You look down, holding his hands tightly, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-"

"Yes, you do." He can see it. He can tell. He can tell so much by your eyes, they give everything away. "You can tell me."

He gives you the time you need to breathe, and you're thankful for the moment to gather your thoughts. "I... hated my job. Not- not the actual doing it. But after, and the people..." He rubs his thumbs over your hands, his eyes soft and urging. "People who just got up and left. I wanted to strangle them. Leaving me alone after I did everything in my power to please them."

He waits for a moment to be sure you're done speaking before he does. "You don't have to go back. Ever. And I will never leave you, I promise you now. I will do anything you want." He cups your cheeks gently and makes you meet his gaze, intense as ever. "I will take care of you. In any and every way you need me to."

You swallow your tears, leaning into his touch, "but why?"

"Because I want to. I want to take care of you. I want to watch you thrive. I love the fire in your eyes, it makes me crazy." He doesn't think he's ever been so straightforward with anyone like this before. He might have felt vulnerable exposing his true feelings if you were anyone else. "You're mine now, right?" You nod into his hands, cradled like a fine china doll. "I take care of what's mine. So tell me; what will make you happy? What will set you free from that place?"

You think for a long moment, eyes drifting away from him. "Do you remember... when you asked if I ever fantasize about getting revenge on people who have wronged me?"

"Mhm?" You had said no, but you had hesitated. And he had noticed.

"I lied. I do think about it. I think about it a lot. There's a man..."

"And?"

"I want him to suffer like I have."

"Who?" He has zero hesitation. If you want someone gone, he'll make sure they can never show their face in Gotham again. If you want someone to suffer, he'll make them beg for death to just come already.

"Earnest Holmes." Your lip trembles. "He's the reason I was working at The Riddle Room."

Oh, he's going to die slow. That's what Yunho decides. In a split second, he's coming up with a million different ways to torture the man. He doesn't press you for the reasoning. All he needs to know is that you want him to hurt like you do.

"Give me two days, baby. And you will have his heart in a gift basket."

ꕥ

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danysdaughter · 2 days ago

Note

(first off, i adored come home to me so much)

can u pls do one where bucky and the reader knew each other before the hydra thing, but they both ended up in hydra's clutches, and instead of completely dehumanizing the two, zola programmed them to be some form of ally/handler situation, so when they both break out of hydra's clutches it gets very angsty and they argue/hate each other because they don't know if their bond was them or hydra-made. and then the ending's up to you.

no srsly, ur writing is literal art. its like fantastic in ways i cant describe.

i can die happy if u'll take this idea.

did I go a bit overboard? yes. do i have any regrets? no. I really tried to make it as you described, babe, hope you enjoy 💕

The Soldier and The Vixen

pairing | 40s!bucky x fem!reader & winter!soldier x fem!reader & post!tfatws!bucky x reader

word count | 14k words

summary | Once comrades bound by war and affection, two soldiers-turned-weapons are reshaped into monsters by Hydra, their humanity fractured and memories blurred.

Now free but haunted, they struggle to untangle love from programming, grief from guilt, and healing from the wreckage of who they used to be

tags | ANGST! ANGST! and more ANGST! graphic violence, torture, emotional trauma, brainwashing, PTSD, abuse, trauma bonding, psychological manipulation, non-consensual experimentation, abuse, power imbalance, gore, unhealthy attachment, angst/no comfort, miscommunication, mutual destruction (a bit too much?)

a/n | wowww, I am not gonna lie, I actually cried while writing this, also this fic explores dark themes with little to no comfort (we die like men)

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Village Outskirts, France, 1945

The earth was damp beneath your stomach. Rain must’ve come through earlier — you could smell it in the mud, the churned-up grass, the faint rot of old stone and war.

Through your scope, you watched two Hydra guards lounging outside a crumbling checkpoint. They were smoking and laughing about something in German, distracted, backs too often to each other. Sloppy.

You pressed the button on your radio once, holding it close to your mouth. “Movement. Two guards at the eastern entry. Smoking. Lazy. Easy targets.”

There was a short pause.

Then Bucky’s voice crackled through, “Fox, you always know how to sweet-talk a guy.”

You almost smiled. Almost, “Only the ones who talk less than they shoot, Sarge.”

A muffled laugh came through the line. Morita muttered something you didn't quite catch, probably teasing Bucky again. He was an easy target.

“You got him good,” Dum Dum grinned from somewhere behind you.

Steve’s voice cut in — level, steady. “Enough chatter. Fox, take the lead. We move on your signal.”

But you were already moving.

You didn't need backup for this. The hill rolled down into a slope that gave you full cover, and you slipped down it like water over rock. Quiet. Efficient. Knife drawn. You counted your steps with your breath. When the first guard turned his back, you were already there.

One sharp jab under the ribs. Drag him behind a crate.

The second didn't even turn in time.

Ten seconds. Two bodies. No gunfire.

You tapped your radio again.

“Checkpoint clear.”

As you were climbing back up toward the rendezvous, Bucky was waiting at the top of the ridge, crouched behind a low wall. He glanced at you, smirking.

“Miss me?”

You scoffed, brushing dirt from your sleeves. “I was gone ninety seconds.”

“That’s longer than I like you being out of sight.”

You arched a brow. “Is that concern, Sergeant Barnes?”

“It’s tactical observation, doll.”

There it was — the nickname again. You didn't bite. Bucky flirted with anything that had a skirt, and you were the only girl on the team. You’d learned not to take him seriously.

Behind you, Gabe whispered over the comm, “God, just kiss already.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Bucky turned sharply and pretended to check his rifle. He didn't say another word. You frowned, completely missing the flush rising in his cheeks.

You shook your head, then returned to the task. The rest of the unit fellin. You walked point. Bucky took his usual position at your flank, and the rest of the squad fell into formation like a well-oiled machine.

The village ahead was half-destroyed from past shelling. Stone walls broken down to the foundation. Trees blackened by fire. The kind of place where shadows hid snipers and death sat behind every door.

You spotted it first — a tripwire buried in the dirt, nearly invisible. You paused, raised your fist to halt the line, then rerouted them five feet to the left.

Dum Dum muttered, “You’ve got eyes like a hawk.”

“I’ve got better things to do than walk into obvious traps,” you muttered back.

You didn't make it twenty feet past the tripwire before you heard the explosion — further down, where another route would’ve taken you.

“Hydra knows we’re here,” you said into the radio. “Get to cover. Rooftops—snipers at twelve o’clock.”

The first shot cut through the air a moment later.

You hit the ground, narrowly dodging the bullet. Dust sprayed over your face. A hand grabbed your vest — yanked you behind a broken column.

Bucky.

He positioned himself between you and the direction the shot came from, body tense.

“I had it under control,” you whispered.

He didn't even blink. “Didn’t say you didn’t.”

He was still too close. Too steady. His eyes flickered to you, just for a second, like he was making sure you were still in one piece. You didn't notice. You never noticed.

You moved past him before he could say anything else.

Firefight erupted in bursts. The unit scattered into cover, returning fire. You darted through the alleys, knife flashing when you came across two patrols rounding the corner. Your blade slipped beneath ribs and across throats. You didn't flinch. You’ve done worse.

Bucky caught your eye across the street — both of you ducked behind separate walls. You tilted your head. He nodded once. You moved again, clearing a side stairwell while he took the main door.

“Tech’s inside that chapel,” Steve said over the comm. “Fox, Bucky, with me.”

You kicked the door open first. Bucky was right behind you.

He tossed a flash grenade — you shielded your eyes, waiting for the burst, and swept left as soon as it cleared. Two Hydra agents — you took one in the leg, knocked his rifle away, finished it with your knife. The second one came at you with a baton, but Bucky had already taken him down with a clean shot to the chest.

When it was over, the silence was louder than the fight.

The tech was here — something glowing with an unnatural blue pulse. You didn't go near it.

You turned to Bucky instead, breathless. Dust in your hair. Blood on your sleeve.

“Think this’ll finally get me a promotion?”

He was looking at you differently. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Maybe it was the way the light hit your face. Maybe it was the fact you were both still alive.

“You deserve a medal, Fox.”

You grinned, wiping blood from your cheek.

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

────────────────────────

Somewhere in the French Countryside, 1945

The mission had been hell, but tonight, the world was quiet.

The campfire crackled in the middle of a half-collapsed barn, broken beams overhead like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Outside, wind stirred through wheat fields. Inside, there was warmth — not from the fire, but from the laughter.

You sat with your knees pulled up, perched on an overturned crate. Your boots were still muddy. Blood on your sleeve had dried to a dark rust. Dum Dum had found a bottle of something vaguely alcoholic, and it’d been passed around in uneven sips.

Morita was telling a story — probably the fifth exaggerated war tale of the night — gesturing wildly with his hands.

“…and then this guy,” he pointed at Bucky with a dramatic flair, “says, ‘I got this,’ climbs onto the back of the Hydra truck barefoot, like a damn lunatic—”

“I didn’t think they’d be hot-wiring it in motion!” Bucky cut in defensively.

“That’s not even the dumbest part,” Gabe added, smirking. “The dumbest part is that he forgot the explosives.”

Laughter broke out around the fire. Bucky groaned and dropped his head back with a loud, sarcastic, “Thanks, fellas.”

You tried to hold in a laugh — and failed. He shot you a look, mock offended.

“You too, Fox?”

You shrugged, biting down on your grin. “Well. I was the one who had to double back and grab the damn charges.”

“She ran through enemy fire like it was a morning jog,” Steve added with a small, proud shake of his head.

Bucky nudged your shoulder with his. “Guess I owe you another one.”

“You’re keeping score now?” you asked, dryly.

He smirked. “Only when I’m losing.”

The fire cracked again, glowing warm across the faces of your brothers-in-arms. Everyone relaxed in a way they rarely could — backs against crates and sandbags, boots kicked off, dog tags clinking faintly as they leaned into one another’s stories.

Gabe tilted his head toward you, half-grinning. “Alright, Fox. What about you?”

You blinked. “What about me?”

“If you weren’t doing all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the barn. “If you weren’t dodging bullets and saving our sorry asses, what would you be doing?”

Immediately, you shook your head. “Nope.”

Cackling broke out around you. Morita leaned forward eagerly. “Oh, come on.”

“Not happening,” you said, waving them off.

“You gotta tell us now,” said Dum Dum. “That reaction alone just guaranteed it’s embarrassing.”

Bucky grinned beside you. “C’mon, Fox. We tell you our secrets. Like how Morita’s terrified of goats—”

“I am not—”

“—and how Dum Dum can’t wink without sneezing—”

“It’s a medical issue—”

“—so it’s only fair we get yours.”

You sighed, shaking your head slowly. “Fine. But if any of you ever breathe a word of this outside this barn, I will personally replace your shaving cream with gun grease.”

They leaned in, like children around a ghost story.

You looked into the fire, picking at the fraying seam of your glove. Then.

“I used to want to be a singer.”

Silence.

Then, chaos.

“No shit?”

“What kind?”

“Like on stage?”

“Do you have a stage name? Wait—please tell me it was Foxy somethin’—”

You groaned again, instantly regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

“It was just something I wanted when I was a kid,” you muttered. “Doesn’t mean I was any good.”

“But like, jazz club singer?” Dum Dum asked. “Torch songs?”

You didn’t answer. The heat in your cheeks did.

And then Gabe — bless him — decided to chime in, puffing his chest out like he had the perfect line.

“I mean… I just can’t picture you doing something that… you know. Girly.”

You turned your head toward him, slow and sharp.

“What?”

The fire seemed to go still.

Gabe blinked. “No—I mean—just like, you’re so good at, you know. The not-girly stuff. Like, killing people—uh—”

You raised a brow, voice flat. “So I’m in the military and that means I’m not allowed to be girly?”

Gabe opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “No! That’s not—I didn’t mean—like, you can, obviously—”

The others had lost it by now. Bucky had his head buried in his arm, shaking with silent laughter. Morita was wheezing. Dum Dum was crying.

You nodded slowly, arms crossed. “Uh huh. That all you got?”

Gabe looked around like someone might save him. No one did.

“I just meant… you seem so… sharp! And you don’t… I mean you never… like, dresses—not that I wouldn’t like if you wore one—not that you need to—”

“Dig up, Gabe,” Bucky offered helpfully.

You shook your head and pointed your canteen at Gabe like a knife. “One more word and I swear I will make you run laps in full gear tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Gabe said, finally surrendering to his embarrassment. “Thank you for your service.”

Once the laughter died down, Dum Dum leaned forward with a mischievous grin.

“Alright, Fox. Now sing us something.”

You stared at him.

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Just a few notes—”

“You’d have to drug me.”

“Well,” Bucky said, elbowing you gently, “I do still have some morphine left in my pack—”

You shoved his arm away with a scoff, but couldn’t help the flicker of a smile.

And as the boys erupted into more teasing, and Gabe tried to crawl under a tarp in embarrassment, you leaned back against the crate, warmed more by the people around you than the fire. You didn’t sing, not that night. But Bucky stayed next to you, quietly.

And he didn’t laugh when you said you used to want to sing.

He just looked at you like he really wanted to hear it.

────────────────────────

Moments After Intercepting Zola's Train— Alpine Forest Edge, 1945

The wind had sharp teeth.

It howled between the trees like it was mourning too. Snow swept across the ground in restless swirls, half-covering the train tracks already. Everything was white and still and wrong.

The wreckage lay behind you, steel twisted into the mountainside, black smoke curling up into the gray sky. Arnim Zola had been secured. Hydra’s tech recovered. It was supposed to be a win.

But Bucky had fallen.

The team stood in the brittle silence of it. Steve was turned half away, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch in his cheek. Morita and Dum Dum said nothing, eyes fixed on the ground. Gabe was pacing, too angry to stop moving, like stillness would make it real.

You stood near the edge of the embankment, where it dropped into a forest of pine and snow. Your lungs burned with cold, but you kept staring down, searching the white for anything — a shape, a shadow, hope.

Finally, you squared your shoulders.

“Cap.”

Steve didn’t answer at first. You stepped closer, louder now.

“Steve.”

His eyes flicked to you, red-rimmed and hollow. “What?”

“I want permission to go after him.”

Silence.

Then a bitter breath of disbelief. “Fox…”

“You know I’m the best tracker we’ve got,” you said, tone steady, firm. “I know how to read the land. If anyone can follow his path through that fall, it’s me.”

“There’s no way he—” Steve cut himself off. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “No one survives a drop like that. And it’s too dangerous. You can’t go alone.”

“I have to go alone,” you insisted. “A squad would slow me down. I’ll move faster on my own, quieter. Look—”

You crouched down in the snow and started sketching with your glove. “That ridge curves around. It’s a drop, yes, but if he hit snow, or an outcrop, or even slid—”

“Even if by some miracle he lived,” Steve said quietly, “he wouldn’t last long. Not in that cold. Not with the injuries he’d have.”

You stood again, breath quickening with urgency. “If he’s alive, he’s got a chance—but not if I waste time arguing.”

“Fox—”

“If I don’t, he dies. Hypothermia will set in fast — minutes, if he’s bleeding. I might not have long, but I might still have enough time. You give me two days. Just two. If he’s alive, I’ll bring him in. If he’s not…” your voice faltered, just for a second, “then I’ll bring his body home.”

No one spoke. The wind did.

You kept your eyes locked on Steve. Pleading without begging. Heart breaking but hands steady.

“I’ve gone on solo missions before. You know I can handle it. The Colonel trained me for it.”

His jaw flexed again. You could see the battle behind his eyes. Orders versus loyalty. Logic versus love.

And then his shoulders dropped.

“Two days,” he said hoarsely.

Relief hit you like a wave. You gave a quick nod, already reaching for your gear.

But Steve stepped closer, and his voice lowered — gentler, just for you.

“Keep safe out there… alright?” he said softly. “Seriously. And if you need backup, you radio. Doesn’t matter what time. Doesn’t matter what. I’ll come running.”

You paused, swallowing hard. The cold stung your eyes, but you didn’t blink.

“Understood, Captain.”

Steve looked at you for a long moment. Then, softer still — your name. Not your call sign.

“Come back.”

You stood at attention, gave a crisp salute.

“I will.”

Then you turned, and vanished into the snow.

────────────────────────

The snow had swallowed your tracks hours ago.

You ran anyway — boots crushing down through the icy crust of the forest floor, slipping sometimes, catching yourself hard against trees. Your lungs burned with each breath, white puffs turning sharp in the frozen air. You followed the slope of the mountain where the train had disappeared from sight — zig-zagging across ridges, checking every ravine, every indentation in the powder.

It was somewhere along a narrow ledge above a frozen stream that you saw it — the faint suggestion of disturbed snow, barely visible unless you were looking for it. A jagged slide mark. Something heavy had fallen.

Your heart slammed in your chest as you scrambled down the embankment, knees hitting ice, hands out to brace yourself. You moved quick, scanning, scanning—

Then you saw red.

You froze.

Blood in the snow — bright, brilliant, and far too much of it.

It streaked in uneven drags from the edge of a rock face down into the brush, and then—

Your breath caught.

Bucky.

He lay sprawled half on his side, unmoving. Snow clung to his lashes, his uniform soaked through. His left arm — what was left of it — hung at an unnatural angle, nearly torn from the shoulder. His mouth was parted like he’d tried to call out and never finished the sound. Blood had soaked the snow beneath him dark and wide.

You were moving before your brain caught up.

“Sarge?” you gasped, skidding to your knees in the snow beside him. “Sarge— Bucky—Bucky, come on—”

Your gloved fingers hovered over him for a split second, terrified to touch, terrified he’d be cold—

But his chest moved.

Faint. Shallow.

You pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, heart pounding as you felt it—

thud.

...thud.

Faint, but there.

Your voice broke with urgency. “Hang on, James. I’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re not gone—”

You dropped your pack, already pulling out your emergency wrap, trying to stem the bleeding. His skin was ice. His lips had gone pale blue. You leaned over him, shielding him from the wind, fumbling for your radio, trying to think past the adrenaline crashing like waves—

Crunch.

Snow behind you shifted.

You didn’t hesitate — one leg snapped out behind you hard, boot slamming into the weight approaching fast from your blind spot. You felt it connect — a grunt, a body collapsing in the snow.

You twisted, low and fast, grabbing your knife from your belt, coming up just in time to block the arm of a Hydra soldier lunging in. Steel clanged against steel. You shoved back with everything you had, pushing the fight away from Bucky’s broken form.

You ducked a strike, twisted the knife out of his hand, and drove your elbow into his face—

But then another set of boots crunched through the trees.

A second soldier tackled you from the side.

You hit the ground hard — snow exploding under you, your knife skidding out of reach. You twisted, managed to throw him off just long enough to scramble back toward Bucky—

Only for a third shadow to emerge from the trees. Then a fourth.

You swung out with your arm, striking one across the temple, disarming another. You were fast—a blur of movement, rage, and desperation—but even you had limits.

A rifle butt slammed into your ribs. You doubled over. Hands grabbed at you. You kicked out, catching one in the knee—

But something cracked against the side of your head.

A sharp, searing light burst across your vision— And then nothing.

Darkness took you.

────────────────────────

Hydra Facility — Undisclosed Location

Consciousness came back like drowning in slow motion.

First, the cold. It bit deep into your skin, sharp and metallic. Then, the ache — deep in your limbs, like your bones were filled with lead. And then the restraints.

Metal bands across your wrists and ankles. Another across your chest. Your head lolled to the side, sluggish from whatever they’d pumped into you — sedatives, maybe. Or worse. You blinked against the blinding fluorescence above, and the white ceiling bled into sterile silver walls.

Then you heard it.

A scream.

Your pulse lurched.

It wasn’t just pain. It was agony. The kind of sound that tore through a person’s throat, primal and ragged. The kind of scream that told you someone was being unmade.

Your neck turned slowly — every muscle protesting — and you saw him.

Bucky.

His body was arched against the restraints on a second slab just feet away from yours, eyes wide, back bowed, mouth open in a raw, broken scream.

There were wires threaded into his temples. Metal rods at his temples, at the base of his skull. Tubes and cables running into his chest. You couldn’t see what they were pumping into him — only that whatever it was, it was wrong.

“Bucky!” your voice cracked out of your throat, hoarse and half-broken. “James—!”

No response. He didn’t hear you. Or he couldn’t. His eyes didn’t see anything.

“Stop it!” you screamed at them instead. Your voice echoed against cold steel walls. “STOP—he’s not a test subject, you bastards, HE’S A PERSON—”

You thrashed, muscles seizing against the restraints, lungs burning, tears springing from your eyes without your permission.

Across the room, a man in a white coat calmly noted something on a clipboard.

A technician adjusted a dial.

Bucky screamed again — hoarse now. And then it broke off into choking. You watched his body convulse against the slab, chest heaving. His face twisted in confusion, pain, terror—like he didn’t know who he was anymore.

You didn’t care what they were doing to you. You didn’t care if your arms were bound or if the sedatives were still in your bloodstream.

You fought.

You fought like hell.

“Let him go!” you shouted, voice nearly gone now. “Let him go, you motherfuckers!”

Someone finally turned toward you — a man with cold eyes behind round spectacles. Calm. Curious.

Zola.

He stepped closer, glancing at your vitals on a nearby monitor. “Interesting,” he murmured in a thick accent, adjusting his gloves. “She is already… aware. So soon.”

“I will kill you,” you spat. “I swear to God—”

“Oh,” Zola said gently, “I think you will be quite useful to each other.”

And then the world tilted again.

Another needle. Another rush of cold in your veins. And the lights above you fractured into fragments.

The last thing you heard before the blackness swallowed you whole… was Bucky sobbing like a child.

────────────────────────

Time had stopped meaning anything.

It could’ve been days. Weeks. Months. You didn’t know.

All you knew was the burn.

Your veins felt like they were filled with acid — crawling fire under your skin, surging in waves that left your limbs trembling, your fingers twitching, your pulse racing like it was trying to outrun death itself. You’d stopped asking what they were putting in you. Every time they came near, you tensed out of instinct. But the sedation would hit before you could do anything.

They never said what it was.

You didn’t know it was the serum.

You only knew that afterward, your body would spasm uncontrollably. Your mind would short-circuit. You’d hear voices that weren’t there. Remember things that hadn’t happened. Feel your strength surge… and then vanish.

But worse than the pain… was him.

Bucky hadn’t spoken in days.

Maybe longer.

He lay still on the other slab, eyes open but unseeing, lips dry and cracked. His breathing was shallow. His face had gone hollow, sunken in the cheeks and under the eyes — like something was draining him from the inside out. They didn’t sedate him anymore. They didn’t need to. Whatever they'd done had left him... vacant.

His new arm — if you could even call it that — sat like a slab of cold iron where his left one had been. Crude stitches and blackened bruises ringed the place it had been fused to bone and muscle. You could see the puckered scars, raw and inflamed, where metal met skin. It looked like it hurt just to exist.

You doubted he could even lift it.

And yet… they’d called it a success.

Whatever that meant.

Now, finally — mercifully — the room had gone still. No needles. No voices over the intercom. No restraints being tightened. Just… stillness.

A few minutes. Maybe hours. You couldn’t tell anymore.

Your throat was dry. Your body, sore and exhausted. But you shifted — weakly — on the slab beside him, head tilting just enough to face him. The cold of the metal table seeped into your bones, but you ignored it.

“Bucky…” you whispered, voice rasping out like broken glass. “Sarge… can you hear me?”

He didn’t move. His eyes stared at the ceiling, unfocused.

You didn’t care.

You turned more toward him, trembling slightly as your fingers strained to reach across the few inches of space. You couldn’t touch him — the restraints didn’t let you — but you reached anyway, as if the effort alone could bridge the gap.

“I’m gonna get us out of here,” you murmured, voice cracking. “I swear. You’re not gonna die in here. I won’t let them take you like this.”

Silence.

You kept talking. You had to.

“You remember the fire escape outside our barracks? That stupid thing that barely held two people? You used to sneak up there and fall asleep. Said it was the only place quiet enough to think.”

Your throat tightened.

“You promised me, one day, you’d go back to Brooklyn. Fix that bike of yours. Open a little garage. Said I could come help out if I wanted to. You remember that?”

No response.

You felt your heart break, slow and jagged, like a fault line cracking open.

“Please, Bucky… just—just look at me. Just one sign. I need to know you’re still in there. I need you.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “You saved me. You always did. So let me do it now. Let me get us out. Just hang on. Please.”

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t have the water left in your body to spare. Just dry eyes, raw throat, and a heart held together by frayed sinew and willpower.

Your arm shook from the strain of keeping it extended.

And still, you kept reaching.

Even when he didn’t move.

Even when the silence stretched so long it pressed on your ribs like weight.

Even when your vision started to dim again from the drugs.

“I’m here, Sarge,” you breathed, barely audible now. “You’re not alone.”

The only sound was the soft hiss of the air vents above. The low electric hum from the lights. And the faint, hollow echo of two hearts still beating.

One stronger than the other.

But still alive.

────────────────────────

Hydra Conditioning Chambers – Months Later

You’d lost track of how many times they brought you in.

They stopped asking questions. Stopped pretending it was about compliance. This wasn’t interrogation anymore. It was reshaping.

It started with pain. Always pain. Electric currents through your skull, your spine, the base of your neck. Your nerves became war zones. Your teeth cracked from clenching. You screamed until your throat was raw, until the air itself tasted like metal and blood.

They were trying to make you forget. Rewire your instincts. Strip you of anything you and replace it with something Hydra. Something obedient.

Something empty.

It worked on Bucky.

At first, he resisted. He screamed. Fought. Raged.

But you saw the moment it broke him. You heard it — the silence that followed a round of electroshock so violent it left him convulsing, slack-jawed, frothing at the mouth. His eyes had gone glassy. His lips trembled, whispering things in Russian that made no sense to him — things they had fed into his brain on repeat. Words he didn’t understand but couldn’t stop.

“Зимний Солдат.”

Winter Soldier.

You heard the way they said it. Like it was sacred. Like it was done.

And you—

You were next.

But you wouldn’t break.

Not like him.

You bit down so hard during one session your molar cracked. They doubled the voltage. You passed out and woke up vomiting, body convulsing on the floor, your restraints slick with blood from split wrists. You couldn’t tell if the screaming in your head was yours or theirs.

Still, they failed.

Still, they couldn’t crack you.

You were fire in frostbite. And it drove them mad.

“Too resilient,” one of the German doctors muttered in frustration as he scribbled notes on a clipboard, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“Willful,” Zola corrected. “It’s in her nature. A Colonel's daughter. Born to take orders, yet somehow defies.”

“And yet she will yield,” said the Russian operative beside them, arms folded, watching you with reptilian calm. “We will make her. The лисица will hunt for us in time.”

Vixen, they called you.

The name they gave your file: sleek, lethal, deceptive. Born to track. Built to seduce and eliminate. A predator with a soft face.

You were their ghost soldier. Their shadow. Their whisper in the dark.

But only if they broke you first.

That session, they left you strapped to the chair, soaked in your own sweat and blood, nerves twitching like wires cut loose. Alone. Left to steep in the pain. Like Bucky had been.

You lifted your head an inch. Just enough to glance across the room.

He was there.

Sitting still.

Not restrained. Just… motionless. Eyes forward. Breathing shallow.

He didn’t even look at you anymore.

They had him.

And you were next.

Your throat burned. Your eyes felt too dry to cry. You weren’t sure your vocal cords worked. But still, out of nowhere — out of a deep, primitive place inside you that remembered being human — you sang.

Softly. Shakily. Croaky and cracked.

“I’ll be seeing you… in all the old familiar places…”

“…that this heart of mine embraces… all day through.”

It wasn’t a melody anymore. Just broken notes wrapped around splinters of memory.

Home. Whiskey laughs. Bucky smiling sideways when you called him “Sarge.” Steve saluting you for the first time. Dum Dum tipping his hat. Warm fires. Rations shared.

“In that small café… the park across the way…”

Your voice gave out halfway through.

But you kept whispering the words. Just for you. Just to remember.

Because even if they hollowed you out — rewired you, broke you — they couldn’t take that. Not all the way. Not yet.

You were still Fox. Somewhere under the blood and static and numbness.

You had to be.

Because if you weren’t… who would save him?

Years Later

They became Hydra’s ghosts. Whispers in the dark. Proof that monsters weren’t born — they were made.

When the war ended, and the world began to stitch itself back together, Hydra burrowed deeper. Quieter. Smarter. And in the vaults of ice and concrete beneath their hidden facilities, they began sculpting legends.

One of steel.

One of silk.

He was not subtle.

Where silence was needed, he brought screams.

Where compromise existed, he crushed it.

The Winter Soldier was Hydra’s enforcer, the blade they drove into the heart of history. He appeared across decades like a fracture — impossible to trace, impossible to stop. A phantom draped in shadow, eyes like glacier glass, grip like a bear trap.

He assassinated presidents. Ministers. Scientists. He sabotaged governments with the pull of a trigger. One shot — a bullet through a man’s skull, or through the spine of a nation’s future.

His missions were clean. Untraceable.

No witnesses. No evidence.

Only death.

Hydra rewired him with electroshock and Russian syllables. They hollowed out James Buchanan Barnes and replaced him with a weapon that did not question orders, did not feel guilt, did not hesitate. A ghost of a man with a new metal arm and no memory of mercy.

Cryogenic stasis kept him sharp, young, lethal. He lived in decades like they were days. A century’s worth of kill orders etched into his hands.

He never left survivors.

Unless Hydra told him to.

If the Soldier was Hydra’s hammer, the Vixen was their scalpel.

She bled behind enemy lines in silence, slipping through borders and barricades like a breath. She did not wear fear on her face. She did not leave blood in her wake — only secrets gutted open and missions left in ruin.

They called her лисица, the vixen, because she was cunning. Patient. Uncatchable. A whisper with teeth.

But it wasn’t always about killing.

She was Hydra’s infiltrator, a master of mimicry and seduction, of dismantling men without lifting a weapon. Where the Soldier brought force, she brought erosion — crumbling fortresses from within.

And to Hydra, she was a triumph of psychological warfare — what the Red Room would later attempt to replicate in their Widows. But she came first. She was the original phantom siren.

They used her face. Her softness. Her voice — when she remembered to use it — like a lullaby over a knife's edge. Where the Soldier was brute force, the Vixen was infiltration. Persuasion. Seduction when required, annihilation when ordered.

Her body was honed to perfection. Her mind, conditioned for silence and obedience — and yet, it never bent as cleanly as they wanted.

Not completely.

At first, it was small things.

Moments of hesitation. A flicker of something behind her eyes. The way her hands trembled after some kills — not with fear, but memory. Recognition.

She began humming to herself between assignments. Little songs from another life. She’d sit still in her stasis chamber before freezing, humming fragments of a tune they never taught her.

“We'll meet again, don't know how, don't know when…”

There were reports she disobeyed a kill order once. Let a target live because he had no evil in his eyes. They punished her for it. Re-conditioned her. Electroshock, isolation, more injections — but the slip had happened, and Hydra never trusted her fully again.

They realized she wasn’t like him.

The Soldier could be overwritten.

The Vixen resisted.

Not in screams or defiance. But in subtle, terrifying cracks.

Hydra scientists began to fear her — not for her violence, but her unpredictability. Her lingering humanity. That sliver of soul they couldn’t seem to carve out.

So they adjusted her protocol.

Where the Winter Soldier was deployed like a machine, again and again, the Vixen was locked away.

Preserved in cryo between missions. Thawed only when absolutely necessary. Only when no one else could do the job.

Only when they were desperate enough to risk the memories bleeding through.

They didn’t trust the leash they’d put on her. They only trusted the chain they wrapped around her throat.

And the serum? The serum wasn’t meant for kindness. It didn’t amplify goodness or nobility.

It magnified potential.

And under Hydra’s hands, that meant war.

The Winter Soldier's muscles knit themselves tighter. Bone density quadrupled. His reflexes reached inhuman speeds. Pain dulled. Healing accelerated. A shot to the chest became a stumble. A shattered femur became a limp for a few hours.

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

The serum made sure of that.

And when paired with the metal arm — the marvel of Soviet-German engineering — the Winter Soldier became a force no one could match. Stronger than ten men. Faster than bullets. Unbreakable.

A walking extinction event.

He wasn’t meant to survive.

He was meant to erase.

The Vixen, however… she changed differently.

Hydra never expected the serum to work the same way. She was smaller. Lighter. Delicate in the ways he was brutal. But she was no less a weapon — just… sharper. More precise.

The serum didn’t bulk her up. It refined her.

Her muscles compacted into long, lean coils of strength. She moved like liquid shadow. Fast enough to vanish between blinks. Quiet enough that her footsteps could barely be heard on glass.

But it was her senses that changed the most.

Hydra didn’t know what to make of it at first — the way she would flinch at footsteps down the hall before they ever echoed. She could hear things miles away — the tick of rifle safety on a distant rooftop, the soft breath of a man in a hidden hallway. She could hear heartbeats. Lies. The subtle shift in someone's pulse when they spoke told her more than any interrogation.

They tested her. Over and over.

She could feel sweat in the air.

Taste adrenaline on a man’s breath.

Smelled metal, blood, gunpowder — emotions. Fear had a scent. Anger tasted like copper.

Her eyes could track the fall of a snowflake mid-battle. Her balance was inhuman. Her touch, so precise she could disarm a man without waking him.

Hydra called it a miracle. Zola called it evolution.

She was a new breed of operative — not just fast and strong, but impossibly aware. And that terrified them.

Because if she chose to disobey, to turn on them…

Even the Winter Soldier could not stop her.

They never told her she could overpower him.

They couldn’t risk it.

So instead, they bound her.

Psychologically. Physically. Systematically.

They paired her to the Soldier — not as an equal. As a subordinate. A tool under his control.

Her handler.

Her shadow.

Her leash.

When she failed a mission, when she hesitated, when she lingered too long near a song or a memory — he was the one they sent.

No guards. No scientists.

Just the Winter Soldier.

He’d enter the chamber where she sat — barefoot, arms folded over her knees, breath slow. She never ran. She never fought. Not unless she wanted it to be worse.

And he would carry out the punishment.

His face never changed.

His hands never trembled.

His eyes never closed.

Sometimes it was his fists.

Sometimes it was the silence between them — worse than any bruise.

They trained her to submit to him on instinct. A single word in Russian, a glance, a subtle shift of his body — she would obey.

But it wasn’t fear.

It was conditioning.

They had threaded her loyalty into his silhouette. Turned the man who once bled beside her into a god she knelt for.

The only one who could touch her.

The only one she responded to.

────────────────────────

Hydra’s underground compound groaned with the mechanical cold of concrete and fluorescent hum. Sterile, sharp. The air reeked of antiseptic and gun oil — a scent soaked into every slab of metal, every breath pulled through narrow lungs.

They’d returned just an hour ago from an operation in Prague.

The Soldier had gone first, dragged down the corridor by two guards, silent and compliant. They always processed him first — quick, efficient. He was easy. Slumped shoulders. Dull gaze. Programmed silence. The memory wipe rarely took more than ten minutes anymore.

But she had lingered.

Stripped of her weapons. Her boots left sticky with blood. Hands twitching at her sides like she didn’t trust they were done. Her pupils hadn’t shrunk. Her breathing hadn’t calmed. She stared at the floor like it was moving beneath her.

And when they reached for her—

When gloved hands touched her arm—

She snapped.

No scream. No warning.

The first man’s throat tore open before the others knew her fingers had moved. His blood sprayed up her face — red mist over pale skin — and she didn’t stop to see him fall. She pivoted. Fast. Precise.

A whirlwind of fists and sharp bone and snarled breath. The second scientist’s head slammed into the wall with a crack, spine folded in an unnatural twist as he slumped.

Then the alarms began.

Boots thudded down the hall. Gunfire stuttered from two directions — panicked, wild — and only some of it came from her. The rest came from soldiers firing before they aimed, hands shaking, watching Hydra’s most elegant weapon unspool into a beast.

It was like she could hear the triggers before they clicked.

Bang. Duck. Slide. Elbow to temple. Gun lifted. Two shots — center mass. Next.

She didn’t pause.

Not until there was no one left moving in the corridor but her.

Fifteen seconds of silence.

The floor gleamed with blood.

She stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, smeared head to toe in scarlet. Her jaw twitched. Her eyes — still dilated — flicked up, wide, unblinking. Animal stillness. No longer in a mission. No longer in control.

Something had broken. Fully. Utterly.

In the surveillance room, a handler shouted.

“Отправьте солдата. Положите Виксен. Сделайте это сейчас—”

(Send in the Soldier to put the Vixen down. Do it NOW—)

Metal boots struck the floor.

He came with no hesitation.

The Soldier entered the corridor through the main blast doors, smoke curling from the edges of spent gun barrels. His face was blank. Cold. His metal arm hissed as it flexed, fingers twitching from a reset.

He stopped when he saw her.

Standing there like a revenant. Covered in blood, chin lifted, hair matted and damp. A raw tremble in her shoulders. Eyes glowing with something ancient, something nameless.

She didn't kneel. She didn't bow.

She just watched him.

The room seemed to shrink. Lights buzzed above them like flies. The blood beneath their boots had not yet dried.

His weight shifted. Right foot forward. Arm lowering slightly — coiled, ready.

Their eyes locked.

Like wolves before the first bite. No orders. No speech. No false names. Just… waiting. A battle written in stare alone.

Then he moved.

And so did she.

He lunged — fast, brutal. A fist like steel screaming toward her temple.

She ducked, slid beneath it, spun her heel into his ribs. He grunted, staggered — not from pain, but from surprise. She was faster. Not more powerful — not quite — but she was sharper. Tighter.

They wove through each other like old ghosts dancing.

His hand gripped her wrist mid-blow, twisted. She hissed, kicked at his shin. He blocked, slammed her into the wall. Her breath shot out. His arm pressed at her throat — but she rolled, broke free, slammed her forehead into his chin.

Crack.

He blinked, dazed for half a second.

She struck again.

Hard. Violent. Chest to chest, elbow to his jaw, knee toward his side — he blocked, shoved her back. They breathed in unison, rapid and harsh. His hair clung to his forehead. Her lip bled from the inside out.

Still, no words.

Just eye contact — burning. Challenging. Grieving.

The stalemate lasted three heartbeats.

Then the blast doors behind him hissed open again — dozens of Hydra agents storming the corridor with tranquilizers, guns, electric rods. The spell broke.

He made the decision.

He lunged — again — but this time not to strike.

Her back hit the floor hard, her limbs twisted beneath her, wrists already bruising. He was on top of her, pinning her down with the weight of a machine, his metal hand locked around her throat, thumb pressed against the pulse of her artery.

Her chest heaved, sharp and slow, like breath was foreign now. Like she didn’t care if she took it.

He should’ve done it already.

Should’ve squeezed harder. Should’ve watched her eyes roll back and her body fall limp like the countless others he’d ended. His expression was carved from granite — unreadable. His face spattered with blood that wasn’t his. But inside, something shook.

His fingers trembled.

It was the first warning.

She didn’t resist anymore. No kicks. No sharp elbows or desperate knees. No flash of canines, no snap of a snarl.

Just eyes.

Looking straight into his.

Open. Unblinking. Empty.

As if she wanted this.

As if the idea of dying — under his hands — was better than returning to the dark. To the chair. To the ice. To the silence.

That was the second warning.

A part of him flinched. Something far beneath the code, beneath the frostbite of his brain, beneath the echo of the Winter Soldier. Something warm. Ancient. Like a bone-deep memory of summer.

He tightened his grip.

He really did.

Muscles flexed. Metal joints locked. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached.

Her skin was warm under his hand. Her pulse soft — waiting.

And she just kept staring.

Her pupils enormous. Dark. Not afraid. Not submissive. Just… ready.

A flicker of her lashes. A twitch in her lip.

And that was when he realized — she didn’t want to fight him anymore.

She didn’t believe he could choose not to kill her.

And she might’ve been right.

Because how many times had his handlers commanded him to hurt her? Punish her? And he had.

With precision. With obedience. With terrifying force.

They’d made him the hand that carved pain into her again and again. Bones broken. Breath taken. Blood spilled — by him.

And yet… she always came back.

Returned to her feet. Returned to him.

The punishments never took her away permanently.

She was still his. Not in name, not in language. But in the way gravity belongs to the planet. She was the only thing he’d ever hurt that didn’t vanish.

And now — he was supposed to end her.

To kill her.

And the Soldier — the one they’d broken, rebuilt, erased a thousand times — felt something crack.

His chest stuttered.

His other hand gripped her forearm like he was trying to tether her to the ground, to him, to something real. His breath began to shake — fast, shallow. His vision swam. He could see nothing but her eyes now. No blood. No ceiling. No walls.

Only her.

Her eyes were the only thing in the world he never forgot.

His fingers began to slip.

His breath rasped in his throat, caught between fury and anguish, and something deeper — something scarier.

His whole body trembled now. His forearm bulged with the strain of holding back. And then — like something finally snapped — he let out a guttural, choked yell, half agony, half animal.

He let go.

His hand released her throat.

He struck the concrete beside her head — hard — the ground splintering with the force, a web of cracks blooming under his fist. The shockwave trembled through her ribs. Dust curled into the air. His breathing was ragged, hoarse, chest rising and falling like a man who’d just outrun death and failed.

He didn’t look away from her.

He leaned down — slow, deliberate — and pressed his forehead to hers.

Not soft. Not tender. But grounded. Desperate.

Like he was anchoring himself to the only thing that still existed in his mind.

His forehead was burning.

Hers was cold.

They stayed like that — a tableau of blood and breath and failure. She didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.

Their foreheads touching.

Their eyes still locked.

Breathing each other in like that was the only way they remembered what it felt like to be human.

And for the first time in all the years Hydra made them into things — weapons, monsters, ghosts — the Soldier’s silence didn’t mean compliance.

It meant defiance.

He would not kill her.

Not her.

Never her.

Even if he didn’t know her name.

Even if he didn’t know his own.

He knew this.

Her eyes.

Her breath.

And her blood beneath his hands.

The blood hadn’t even dried when the reinforced doors slammed shut.

Alarms were finally silenced — but the aftermath echoed louder. Metallic clangs as bodies were dragged. Snapped bones. Severed limbs. The dead Hydra scientists were scattered across the floor like discarded parts. The walls dripped with their arrogance.

She lay on her back, still breathing.

Eyes wide, unblinking, staring at the splintered floor where his fist had broken through. One hand loosely curled at her ribs. The other slick with blood — hers, theirs, it didn’t matter.

He hadn’t killed her.

And that, to the watching Hydra handlers, was the most terrifying detail of all.

They didn’t ask questions.

They just knew she had broken. Completely.

She had killed without permission. Reacted without instruction. Moved through a room of trained guards and armed scientists like they were made of glass.

No trigger words had stopped her.

No handler had calmed her.

Not even him.

Only exhaustion had slowed her.

Only his mercy had spared her.

And that — that was unforgivable.

When they came to sedate her, he was already there. Standing over her like a specter, silent and immovable. The guards hesitated. The doctors murmured. Not a single one would meet his eyes.

His hands remained at his sides, but his presence was a warning.

Don’t hurt her. Don’t kill her.

They could see it in the way his jaw locked, in the way his body coiled like a tripwire. His programming demanded obedience — but something deeper, older, more human, was watching them with predatory stillness.

They kept her sedated through every moment. Through the wipe that never took properly. Through the muttered arguments in clipped Russian and panicked German about what to do with her. Through the decision that the risk was no longer worth the reward.

She wasn’t the Winter Soldier.

She couldn’t be tamed by words and pain.

She was something else. Something worse.

And he watched it all.

Not understanding why his chest hurt.

Not understanding why he remembered her face when everything else turned to static.

When they lowered her into the cryogenic pod, he followed. Shadowed them down the sterile hall without orders. The guards gave him distance — he didn’t look at them, didn’t need to. His eyes were fixed only on her.

She didn’t stir.

The inside of the chamber was lined with reinforced polymer. Her restraints were reinforced. But her expression was blank. Breathing slow. Completely still.

He stood just beyond the edge of the fog as the lid began to lower.

No commands came. He didn’t need any.

He simply stared.

As if some part of him knew that she was the only thing that ever made him hesitate.

The only thing that ever looked back at him — even when he hurt her — and saw him.

And now they were taking her away from him again.

Not killing her. But erasing her again.

He didn’t move until the hiss of the cryo chamber sealed shut. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stood there as the glass frosted over, her face vanishing into the white.

That was the last time Hydra made use of the Vixen.

1989.

Until they could find a better way to control her —

A better cage.

A better chain.

They put her back to sleep.

And that’s where she stayed — frozen, ghostlike, remembered only by the monster who’d once been ordered to destroy her.

2024

Rain lashed the cracked windows of the safehouse, a forgotten building on the edge of eastern Europe that smelled like rust and damp wood. The small desk lamp on the table buzzed faintly, casting long shadows over the spread of maps, photos, and red string that looked like a conspiracy board torn straight from a nightmare.

In the center of it all stood Bucky Barnes, his metal fingers clenched tight around the edge of the table, knuckles pale against steel.

Sam Wilson stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed, surveying the chaos.

“You really think it’s her?” he asked, voice low and measured.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on a blurred photo — a grainy, static-frozen capture from a destroyed security feed. A woman with a mask over her mouth and nose making her face obscured, walking away from a warehouse swallowed in fire. But her posture, the deliberate stillness of her movements — he knew it.

“I know it is,” he said finally, like a fact carved from stone.

Sam let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Buck, we’ve been chasing shadows for six weeks. People say this is a ghost story. Urban legend. Vengeance incarnate. You sure it’s not just... projection?”

“She’s alive,” Bucky said, without even looking up.

The words fell like weight onto the room, pulling the silence taut. Sam studied his friend’s profile — the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes, the way his mouth twitched with restraint, with desperation.

“You say that like you’ve seen her,” Sam said gently. “But that pod in Belarus was dead. Power was out for years. She came out confused, probably didn’t even know what year it was. You think she’s operating on logic?”

“No,” Bucky murmured. “She’s not.”

He thumbed through a series of photos on the table — each one more brutal than the last. A scientist dissected in Munich. A financier found hanging upside down in Prague. Every man in the stack had once had ties to Hydra. However minor, however indirect. And each death had been executed with surgical precision. Silent. Clean. Gone.

Sam stepped forward, pointing at a red pin on the map. “Bucharest hit. Three Hydra affiliates. No alarms, no signs of forced entry. Security feed glitched for thirty seconds.”

“She’s learning,” Bucky whispered. There was no pride in it — only awe. And dread.

“She’s not just surviving,” Sam said, his voice edged with something colder. “She’s hunting.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. He nodded slowly, eyes flicking across the network of red thread. The ghosts of his past. And hers.

Sam hesitated before asking, “What if she’s not just targeting Hydra? What if she’s coming for you too?”

That stopped Bucky cold.

“She has every reason to,” he said after a long moment, the words thick with regret. “I hurt her.”

Sam was quiet. He didn’t need to ask what he meant. The history between them — the conditioning, the missions, the punishments — Bucky had carried them out without mercy. Not because he wanted to, but because they’d made him.

Sam hesitated before asking, “Then why keep looking for her?” His voice was soft, careful.

But something in Bucky snapped at that — not loud or explosive, just sharp. A quiet fracture under pressure.

“Because I have to,” Bucky said, voice low but rough, his hands bracing hard against the table. “Because she’s been frozen for thirty goddamn years, Sam.”

Sam blinked, standing a little straighter.

“I’ve been out for five. Five years free, and that’s not even counting the Blip. Or all the time Hydra dragged me out and used me,” Bucky went on, the words starting to slip faster, heavier. “And during all of that, I was hurting her. Again and again.”

His jaw clenched as he stared down at the mess of papers, eyes tracing her blurry silhouette as if it were some ancient ghost trying to speak back.

“She was always stronger than me,” he said, quieter now, almost like it hurt to admit it. “Mentally. She fought them. She never broke easy.”

He looked at Sam then, eyes rimmed in something not quite anger but something old and burning — a weight that lived in his bones.

“I owe her this,” he said. “I owe her the truth. And if she wants to kill me for it, I’ll let her. But I’m not going to stop until I find her. Even if she wants me to let her go, I will.”

But the truth was carved into his face. He couldn’t. He never would again.

────────────────────────

You sat on the edge of the couch like you didn’t know how to exist in a space this quiet.

Your eyes traced the seams between the floorboards, your hands folded neatly in your lap, unmoving. You hadn’t spoken more than a sentence since Bucky brought you there.

Not when he offered you a glass of water, not when he showed you where the bathroom was, not even when he—hesitantly—told you that you could have his room, while he slept on the couch.

You just nodded.

One, clean nod. Always polite. Always precise.

But not the way you used to be. Not the way he remembered.

In the 40s, you had fire in your voice. You had sharp comebacks, a cheeky grin that curled higher when you got under his skin. You could outrun, outshoot, outthink most of the Howlies, and still managed to hum a tune while cleaning your rifle.

Now, you barely ate. You hadn’t said more than a clipped “fine” or “okay.” You hadn’t looked him in the eye since you stepped inside.

Bucky still didn’t even know how he’d convinced you to come with him as he watched you from the kitchen, leaning his forearms on the counter, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. His metal hand creaked quietly against the granite.

“You want me to put something on?” he asked, his voice low, worn. “TV, music… white noise?”

You turned your head slightly, the barest flicker. Your lips parted, like you might speak, then closed again. You shook your head, slowly.

He sighed. Not in frustration. Just... helplessness.

“You used to yell at me for humming off-key,” he said gently, like maybe a memory would draw you closer to the surface. “Said I could scare off birds from miles away.”

No answer.

Just your stillness. Just your silence.

And that ache behind his ribs grew sharper.

He stared at you, at your hunched shoulders and distant eyes, and for the first time, truly wondered if this was how Steve had felt.

Always reaching. Always hoping. Trying to pull someone he cared about out of the fog. Trying to bring Bucky back from the brink, even when Bucky had forgotten who he was. Steve had never stopped. Not when everyone else had written him off as a weapon. Not even when he’d fought against him on a damn helicarrier.

Now here Bucky was—on the other side. And he finally understood just how exhausting, how heartbreaking it had been. Watching someone you knew still existed beneath the wreckage, and not knowing if you’d ever reach them again.

He wanted to say something else, but then your voice cracked the quiet—raw, broken, hesitant.

“I remember… my father’s voice. Not his face. Just… how he said my name.”

Bucky went still.

You didn’t look at him when you said it. Your head tilted slightly toward the window, where the last of the day’s light bled across your cheekbone like gold dust.

“I used to hum while I tracked,” you said. “To stay human.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare move. He just listened.

“I think I forgot how to feel warm,” you murmured. “Even when I’m not in the ice anymore.”

Your fingers twitched once, like your body remembered the motion of a weapon, or maybe a tremor from a distant past. The moment was fragile, stretched thin.

Bucky’s throat tightened. God, he wanted to tell you everything—that you weren’t alone, that he would wait as long as it took.

But he knew better. You weren’t ready for comfort. Not from him. Maybe not from anyone.

────────────────────────

It was a quiet afternoon. The sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains in pale streaks, painting long bars of gold and dust across the wood floor of Bucky’s apartment. The television was on, low volume, something benign playing that neither of you were truly watching. A news segment passed with a fleeting image.

Your eyes tracked the screen, not really watching. But then a flash of red, white, and blue passed across it. A helmet. A shield.

Your voice was flat when you spoke, cutting through the silence between you and Bucky like a knife. “I remember seeing him on TV. Cap.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away. You could feel his hesitation more than you could see it. His body shifted from where he sat across from you—still, guarded. You finally turned your head toward him.

“Where is he?”

He ran a hand through his hair, the metal fingers brushing just behind his ear.

“He’s gone,” Bucky said eventually, voice quiet.

You blinked once. Slowly. Processing.

“Gone?”

Bucky sighed through his nose. “Steve went back… after everything. After we won.” He paused. “He went back in time. Lived out his life. Came back… older. Real old. He passed away earlier this year.”

You stared at him. Not blinking now.

“So he left you behind.”

The silence after your words was sharp. Bucky’s brow creased. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. “He didn’t—he was just—”

“You mean he could’ve taken us both home,” you said, not cruel, just even. Hollow. “Could’ve brought us back. But instead we’re stuck here. In a world that doesn’t know us. Doesn't want us.”

Bucky shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.”

“He gave up.”

“He didn’t give up!” Bucky’s voice rose, sharp with something he hadn’t meant to let out. “He gave everything, you don’t—he did what he thought was right.”

You looked at him, head tilting slightly. That same detached focus, the way your eyes pinned him—not with malice, but with cold fact. You weren’t being emotional. You weren’t attacking. That was what made it worse.

“He was selfish.”

Bucky stood now. Tense. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching by his sides.

“Don’t say that,” he muttered. “You don’t get to say that.”

You stood up too, slow, unhurried. “He left you. After everything you went through. After everything we went through.”

“Stop it.”

“He took peace for himself and left us with the ruins.”

“That’s not what happened—he thought I’d be okay—he trusted that I could—”

“That’s not trust. That’s abandonment.”

“Stop it!” Bucky snapped, voice rough, cracking, fists clenched so tight his knuckles—flesh and metal—strained. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see how broken he was. What he lost. He earned that life.”

You didn’t flinch. Just stared at him, eyes dim but focused. “And what about what we lost?”

Bucky started pacing, running a hand through his hair like he could scatter the frustration from his scalp. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” you said, tone still maddeningly flat. “What’s not fair is waking up seventy years after your last memory and realizing the only people you trusted are either dead, ghosts, or decided to stay in the past.”

You turned, already walking toward the hallway, not angry — just done with the conversation.

“Don’t walk away,” Bucky said sharply, stepping after you.

His hand reached out — not fast, not forceful — just to touch your arm. Something gentle.

You flinched before he even made contact. The shift in your body was instantaneous — reflexive. A dodge like a breath, like muscle memory. Your spine stiffened as your arm slipped from his grasp, your eyes suddenly sharp.

“Don’t touch me,” you snapped, voice cold and loud and carved out of something ancient.

Bucky froze. His hand still hovered in the air. He stared at you.

You weren’t looking at him anymore. You weren’t really even here. Your eyes had gone somewhere else, farther back. You were breathing too fast, too shallow. Your body stiff, locked down.

And that was when Bucky understood. Really understood.

It wasn’t about him.

It was about him.

The one with the metal arm who used to drag you through concrete floors when you disobeyed. Who'd wrap his hand around your throat when your eyes held too much rebellion. Who struck you, again and again, because someone ordered him to.

Even when Bucky had been free for years, the ghosts still lived in his hands.

And you… you still saw them.

His hand dropped. Guilt flooding every inch of his face.

“I didn’t mean to—” he tried, voice lower now, thick in his throat.

You didn’t answer. You just walked past him, through the narrow hallway, closing yourself into his room, he had given you, without a word.

Bucky didn’t move for a long time. He just stood there. One hand pressed flat over the other. Like he could keep himself from reaching again. Like he could pretend it hadn’t happened.

But the truth was branded now—burning beneath the surface of his skin.

He hadn’t earned your trust.

And maybe he never would.

────────────────────────

You didn’t want to go.

That was the first thing you made clear, arms crossed, jaw set, suspicious eyes watching Bucky like he might lead you off a cliff instead of down the D.C. Metro escalator. You hadn’t asked where he was taking you. He didn’t tell you, either. Just said, “It’s important.” You didn’t like the way that word made your chest tighten.

The museum was too bright.

Too open. Too filled with noise and breath and movement. Everything felt too fast and too slow at once. Your boots echoed on the polished floors, steps cautious and silent like instinct, like old habits that had never really died.

Bucky stayed near but didn’t try to touch you — not since that day. He led you quietly, nodding at the security guards like this was something he did often.

You hated how many people were looking. Even when they weren’t.

When you entered the exhibit, the air shifted. Cooler. Calmer. Reverent.

A bronze plaque on the wall read: Captain America and the Howling Commandos. Beneath it — sepia photographs. Names. Artifacts behind glass. There were curved helmets, worn boots, faded letters.

Bucky paused beside you.

“This was the first place I came after I got out,” he said, voice quiet, like it didn’t want to disturb the ghosts on the walls. “Didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t even know who I was, really. Just… remembered pieces. Faces.”

Your eyes traced the familiar ones. Dumb Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Montgomery Falsworth. Jim Morita. Happy grins and tilted hats and the smell of gunpowder you could almost still taste.

Then you saw it.

Your own memorial.

It was set apart, just slightly — not grandiose, but longer than the others. The image they’d chosen was one you didn’t remember being taken. You were young — about twenty two— perched on a wooden crate in fatigues rolled at the sleeves, head turned mid-laugh, hair slicked back but wind-loosened, fingers curled around a rifle too heavy for your frame. Your expression was too soft for war. Your eyes too alive.

You blinked at it.

Above the frame was your name, carved in brass. First Lieutenant, Tactical Reconnaissance. Grey Fox.

And beneath it, the words Presumed KIA, 1945. Missing in Action. Last seen on mission in the Austrian Alps.

You felt your throat tighten and couldn’t explain why.

“Why is mine longer than the others?” you asked, quietly, too still.

Bucky glanced over at you, then at the plaque. “Because you were a big deal.”

You gave him a look, skeptical.

He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “Only woman in the Howling Commandos. One of the first women to serve actively alongside combat troops. You were kind of… a symbol. They said your service helped inspire the Women’s Armed Services Integration Act in ‘48.”

You scoffed, faintly. “So they threw me on a wall.”

Bucky smiled, just barely. “They honored you. You meant something to people. Still do.”

You stepped closer to the glass. The uniform behind it was familiar. Yours. The same patches, same leather. There was even your knife — the one Howard Stark had gifted you before that last mission. The one you lost in the snow.

You didn’t remember losing it.

Didn’t remember dying.

Your voice was flat. “They thought I was dead.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “They did.”

You turned to him. “Did you? After Hydra.”

Bucky didn’t look away. “For a while.”

Something in you curled tighter, like a spring wound too far. “When did you remember?”

He shifted, brow furrowing. “Not right away. It was all… fragments. Flashes. And even when I saw your face, I didn’t know if it was real. Steve had to tell me. He said you’d come after me — that the day I fell off that train, you went looking.”

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t—” you started. “I don’t remember that.”

“That’s okay,” he said softly. “I don't either.”

You looked back at the photo — that too-young version of yourself, all spark and reckless pride, before Hydra carved you hollow. You felt something stir in your chest — not grief, not quite. More like the shape of grief, wrapped around something else. Something you didn’t have words for.

It should’ve been easy to keep walking.

To follow the curved path of the exhibit, to drift past the tributes like a ghost among glass and old light. But your steps faltered when your eyes caught it — the photo.

It wasn’t a combat shot. Not a press photo or wartime propaganda. It was a quiet moment. Just the two of you. The Colonel stood in uniform, hat tucked under one arm, and you beside him, barely twenty. The background looked like the docks, water glittering, your dress hem catching the wind like a flag. He had one hand on your shoulder, firm but gentle. You were laughing — head tipped toward him, eyes squinting in sunlight, mouth open in mid-word.

Your stomach turned.

You hadn’t seen his face in decades. Not like this.

People always assumed a man like that — a military father, a colonel — would be stern. Emotionless. Cold. But he wasn’t. He was exacting, yes. Fierce when it came to protocol and discipline. But when it was just you and him? He was warmth and humor and the smell of clean shaving soap. The only one who called you by your full name and somehow made it sound like affection.

He was your favorite person in the world.

You reached out before you realized what you were doing — fingertips hovering above the glass, as though you could touch the edge of the photograph and fall through it.

Beside the picture was a framed newspaper clipping. A headline in bold type:

“Decorated Colonel Honors Missing Daughter in Public Address”

— November 3rd, 1945

Your throat clenched.

You hesitated. Then stepped back.

“I can’t,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to read it.”

Bucky glanced at you, then down at the plaque. “Want me to?”

You nodded once.

But He stepped closer, eyes scanning the plaque. His voice was low, a little rough.

“To say that I lost a soldier would be true. But to say I lost just a soldier would be a terrible injustice.”

“My daughter — the one you knew as ‘Grey Fox’ — was many things. A tactician, a tracker, a fighter more ruthless than most men I’ve commanded. She earned her place in the Howling Commandos not because of her name, or mine, but because she earned it. Day after day. Battle after battle. She was sharper than steel, braver than men twice her age, and she never ran from anything — not even fear itself.“

“She was stubborn from the start — wouldn’t follow the rules if she thought they were wrong, wouldn’t back down from any fight worth having. And yet she was kind. She was soft in the way only the strongest people are. She made people better just by standing beside them.”

“They’ll tell you she was tactical, skilled, a leader. All of that is true. But I want people to remember who she was when the orders were done. She liked swing music. Had too many pairs of shoes. And twice as many dresses. Spoke her mind without apology and carried a silver locket with her mother’s photo, that she thought no one ever noticed.”

You felt it then — the sting behind your eyes. The tears building, slow and traitorous. You turned your head away, lifting your hand as if the simple motion could shield you from what the words were doing to you. But they kept coming.

“And though the world may mark her as lost — let me be clear. My daughter is not forgotten. She lives in every fire lit in the dark, every brave voice in the silence, every young girl who believes she can stand in a place no one thought she should.”

“She gave everything to her country. And I don’t know how to say goodbye to her. I don’t know how to let go of my little girl—”

Then his voice cut off.

You waited. One breath. Two.

And when the silence stretched too long, you asked quietly, “Why’d you stop?”

Bucky didn’t look at you. He kept his eyes on the plaque, jaw locked. “That’s where it ends,” he said softly. “The article says he couldn’t finish the speech. He—” Bucky hesitated. “He walked off the podium, too choked up.”

You turned toward him slowly, scoffing.

“No,” you murmured, voice thick. “The Colonel never cried.”

It came out too genuine to be anything but memory. Something certain. Like gravity.

You shook your head, pressing your hand to your eyes as the tears spilled freely now, silent and hot, streaking down your cheeks without restraint. There was no sobbing. No sound at all. Just that kind of grief that closed in around the chest, so dense it felt like the world had narrowed to a pinhole.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, voice breaking on the edges. “For reading it. For bringing me here.”

Bucky stood beside you, hands flexing at his sides. He didn’t reach out. Couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to — but because he knew you wouldn’t let him.

And maybe, in that moment, standing in front of a monument to a life you couldn’t remember and a love you’d buried somewhere deep — that was enough.

────────────────────────

You sat at the window again, the late morning sun slicing through the thin curtains like a scalpel. You didn’t feel it. Couldn’t, really. You were aware of the light, the way it bled over your hands resting on your knees—but it didn’t feel warm. Just… distant. Like everything else.

Bucky was in the kitchen, fumbling with something—probably another attempt to make coffee the way you liked. You didn’t tell him he never got it right. He tried too hard. He always had.

The silence between you two was the loudest part of this place. Even when he tried talking, even when he looked at you like you were a wound he couldn’t cauterize. It made your skin itch.

He thought he owed you. You knew it. That was what this was. This apartment, this half-life, these careful touches and softer tones—this was guilt. This was his penance.

You didn't know who you were anymore, not really. The world had moved on. Your war was over but still echoing in your blood. Bucky was the only familiar thing left, and even he felt warped—like a shadow of something you couldn’t remember clearly. You used to laugh with him. Tease him. Steal his rations and call him pretty boy. Now… you couldn't even meet his eyes for longer than a breath.

You weren’t stupid. You knew trauma bonding. You knew conditioning. You knew how Hydra twisted wires until they sparked like emotion, cracked whips until loyalty sounded like love. What the Vixen and the Winter Soldier had wasn’t a bond. It was survival.

This thing between you and Bucky—whatever it was, whatever it had once been—it was born in the dark, bred in pain, sharpened by orders and obedience. Hydra’s hands were all over it. You felt it every time he looked at you too long. Every time he brushed your arm and you flinched.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And he was too deep in his guilt to see it.

He was helping you because he had to. Because he’d hurt you. Because he'd bruised you in those white walls and watched handlers drag you by your hair. And this… this domesticity—it was the last bullet in his gun, a way to sleep at night.

So you stayed quiet. You stayed small. You tried not to think about the way he used to make you laugh just by cocking an eyebrow. You tried not to remember how you’d watch his reflection in puddles during missions, not because you were tracking him, but because you felt safer when you knew where he was.

That was all conditioning. It had to be.

It had to be.

────────────────────────

She sat at the window again. She always sat at the window.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, palms braced against the counter. The coffee machine groaned, spitting out something bitter. He didn’t look at it. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

Her profile was the same. Sharp. Still. But her shoulders—he remembered them being straighter. Her spine taller. Now they curled inward, like she was trying to fold herself into nothing. And it gutted him.

She hadn’t smiled in weeks. Not the way she used to. Not with that smart-ass grin that used to crinkle her nose and make the whole damn camp warmer. Back in the barracks, before the frost, she used to razz him about his hair. Called him “Sargeant Shampoo” once. He’d laughed so hard he dropped his tray.

That was real. It was. He knew it in his bones.

But she didn’t believe it. She thought he was helping her out of guilt. That their bond was a Hydra artifact. And Bucky could barely look at her without wanting to scream.

Because if that wasn’t real—if her laugh wasn’t real, if her hand in his wasn’t real, if the way she used to stay up for him when he came back from solo missions wasn’t real—then nothing was. Then he wasn’t real. Then everything he'd clung to in that white noise void of the Winter Soldier—every memory, every flicker of light—was a lie.

And goddammit, she wasn’t a lie.

She was the reason he didn’t put a bullet in his own head when the voices got too loud. She was the reason he hesitated in ‘89. The only one who ever fought him like an equal, and the only one who made him feel like he was more than just a loaded weapon.

She thought this was guilt.

Bucky had been guilty a long time. That was nothing new. He could live with guilt. What he couldn’t live with was this—this chasm between them, this damn wall she kept her heart behind. Like he was just another ghost from the operating table.

He closed the distance between them slowly, cautiously. She didn’t look up. Just stared at the sky, as if she was waiting for the war to start again.

“I know what you think this is,” he said finally, voice low. “You think I brought you here because I feel sorry. Because I’m trying to make up for what I did.”

She didn’t say anything.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” he continued. “I remember you. Not just in Hydra. Before. You—”

His voice cracked.

“You used to make fun of how I tied my boots. You once saved our whole squad by yourself. You—You were kind. Brave. And we were real.”

That made her flinch. He saw it in the way her fingers curled.

“I never hurt you because I wanted to,” he said. “I hurt you because I wasn’t me.”

She looked at him then. Her eyes were glassy, but not soft.

“And what if I’m not me?” she asked.

Bucky didn’t have an answer.

He watched her rise, walk toward the bathroom, close the door without a word. He could hear the faucet turn on, even though she never washed her face until after dark. He stared at that closed door for a long time.

And somewhere in his chest, something cracked.

────────────────────────

“This isn’t working,” you said, voice low, raw.

You stood in the middle of the living room, your arms wrapped around yourself as if you were trying to hold your own ribs in place. The quiet stretched, thick and suffocating, like it had weight. Bucky stood across from you, like always—close, but never quite close enough to make it feel real again.

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of the words. As if you’d just spoken in a language he forgot how to understand.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but he already knew.

You didn’t look up at him when you said, “I don’t think we should be around each other anymore.”

The silence after that was devastating. You didn’t mean for it to sound like a kill shot, but it landed that way anyway. He staggered where he stood, barely, but you saw it. Like your words had stabbed him clean through and now he had to pretend it didn’t hurt.

His breath hitched. His jaw clenched. “We can still try,” he said, desperate, his voice cracking like splintered ice. “We’ve come this far. Don’t walk away now. Please.”

Your heart fractured. You wanted so badly to feel what he felt, to be what he needed, to believe this could still be something salvageable. But every moment you were around him, it was like being underwater—your body drowning in silence, your mind screaming against the weight of ghosts.

“I don’t know how to be around you without... without being afraid,” you whispered. “Of myself. Of what this is. Of what it means.”

“You’re not afraid of me,” Bucky said quickly, eyes wide with something that looked like grief. “You never were.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you corrected softly. “I’m afraid with you. I don’t know how to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. I keep waiting for the white walls to come back. For someone to scream an order. For the part of me that was me to vanish again.”

His mouth opened, but no words came.

You looked defeated. Not angry. Not cruel. Just tired—of yourself, of this world, of the weight you both carried. The kind of tired that lives in the bones.

Bucky took one small step forward. Then another.

“Just stay,” he begged, broken. “I’ll be better. I’ll—”

You shook your head. “It’s not you.”

He stopped.

“It’s what’s left of me.”

And then—because you didn’t want to leave him without at least one last thing—you opened your arms.

You let him touch you.

His hands trembled as they slipped around you, pulling you in like you were something sacred, something breakable. Your arms went around his neck, slow, unsure. His chin rested against your temple. Your heart raced and calmed at the same time, a contradiction of longing and fear.

You stayed like that longer than you should have. And when you finally moved to pull away, his hands reflexively tightened around your back. You stilled at the pressure—not rough, not painful, just… desperate.

A sad, shuddering sigh left your lips as you rested your forehead against his collarbone. You let him hold you a little longer.

Then, when you pulled away enough to meet his eyes, you looked at him like you were looking through time. As if you saw the boy from the barracks, not the broken man standing before you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “that I couldn’t save you.”

Bucky’s eyes welled with tears, his throat working around something he couldn’t speak.

“I promised I would,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “Back when they took us. I swore I’d get us both out. And I didn’t.”

His hands loosened. Just slightly.

“I’m also sorry,” you said, voice trembling now, “that I don’t know how to be okay.”

You leaned in, pressing a single kiss to his cheek—a soft, lingering goodbye that clung to him like a fingerprint burned in time.

When you stepped back, his arms dropped, slowly, as if his body refused to let you go even though his mind knew you were already gone.

And Bucky—he didn’t cry. He just stood there.

Frozen.

Watching you walk toward the door like he’d watched so many things slip through his fingers. Like he had all the strength in the world but none of it could stop the fact that this time, he was losing you not to Hydra, not to death—but to your own will. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

You left him standing in the center of that apartment. Alone. Still reaching.

Still waiting.

Still loving you like it might make a difference.

Welp, if you've actually reached the end and want to read something that will make you feel better, I recommend, Come Home To Me

also:

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

317 notes · View notes

bittenbyenhypen · 2 days ago

Text

his replica, my ruin (p.js)

they say imitation is flattery. but i never asked permission.

pairing: stepbrother!jay (park jongseong) x reader (y/n)

wc: 8.6k

genre: slow burn | slight angst | smut = minors dni!

tags: stepbrother!au, stepcest, post-breakup tension, bickering, enemies to not-exactly-enemies, taboo, clone-a-willy, use of pet names, dom-jay, sub-reader, p in v, no protection, masturbation

a/n: lowercase intentional! first time writing smut so please, don’t be too harsh 😓

i didn’t expect the sound of the front door to make my stomach twist, but it did. loud. sharp. final.

jay was home.

♰ "∘ .╰♯₊⊹

i kept my eyes on my laptop, pretending to be absorbed in the show playing quietly, but every second ticked like a countdown. his footsteps thudded through the entryway, not light and careless like they used to be when he’d come back from school breaks—but heavier now. tired. like someone who’d been carrying too much for too long.

he didn’t say anything when he saw me on the couch. just kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the stairs with a loud thud. typical jay.

“nice to see you too,” i muttered.

“didn’t ask for a welcome party,” he replied, brushing past me on his way to the kitchen.

there he was. park jongseong, stepbrother extraordinaire. back under the same roof we hadn’t shared since high school. now he was older, broader, moodier… and freshly dumped. did i mention sexier…

i stood, following him to the kitchen where he was already raiding the fridge like he hadn’t eaten in days. “don‘t touch the pasta,” i warned. “it’s mine.”

jay looked over his shoulder with a scoff. “you always label your food like someone’s dying to steal your sad little leftovers.”

“you do steal them.”

he pulled out a gatorade instead and shut the fridge with his hip. “relax. i’m not that desperate. yet.”

his tone was sharp, like he wanted to be mean just for the sake of it. i knew that tone. it was the same one he used when my mom married his dad, when we were suddenly siblings, and his entire life flipped. it had softened over the years… until now.

i crossed my arms. “so, how long are you staying?”

“until I figure it out,” he said, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long sip. “don’t worry, i’ll stay out of your way.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

he leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, mirroring me like it was some kind of contest. “didn’t realize i needed to clear my schedule for you, y/n”

i opened my mouth, then shut it. there was no winning with jay when he was like this. defensive. snappy. hurt.

“when is dad supposed to be home?” jay questioned, surprising you because you though he alerted the pair.

“they’re in europe, so they won’t be back until next month.”

jay signed, feeling a sense of relief.

“so what happened?” i asked finally, keeping my tone soft. “with her?” the tension rising in the air was thick.

his eyes flicked away. “don’t.”

“come on. you were with her for three years.”

“and now I’m not.” he tossed the bottle cap in the sink, his jaw tightening. “what do you want me to say? that I’m devastated? that I miss her? that I gave her everything and she threw it back in my face?”

i blinked. that was more honesty than i expected. and yet… he didn’t sound sad. just pissed.

“i want you to say something real,” i said. “not just hide behind sarcasm.”

he stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “you don’t know the first thing about real, y/n. you sit here with your pens and your playlists and your color-coded leftovers like the world can’t touch you.”

i flinched. not because it was true—but because he wanted it to hurt.

I lifted my chin. “at least I’m not pretending i’m fine when i’m clearly not.”

he paused. something in his expression cracked for a second. barely noticeable. but i saw it.

then, just like that, it was gone.

jay sighed and turned away. “i didn’t come back to fight with you.”

“no, you came back to sulk. and crash in your old room like nothing changed.”

he looked over his shoulder. “everything changed. that’s the problem.”

the silence stretched thick between us. tension. hurt. unsaid things.

i reached for a plate from the cabinet and slid it toward him. “there’s leftover garlic bread, too. heat it up for like 30 seconds.”

jay blinked. “you’re feeding me now?”

“i’m feeding you so you don’t keep snapping at me and acting like it’s my fault your relationship went to shit.”

he muttered something under his breath but grabbed the plate anyway. heated the bread. sat across from me like it was all part of the plan.

a few minutes passed in near silence before he asked, without looking up, “you think i’m a dick, don’t you?”

i glanced at him. “no.”

jay raised an eyebrow.

i smirked. “i think you’re acting like a dick. big difference.”

his lips twitched, just slightly. “guess you’ve always been good at reading me.”

“i live to call you out.”

he didn’t respond right away. just stared at the slice of garlic bread like it held the secrets of the universe.

“i really thought she was it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“i know,” i said softly.

we didn’t speak after that. but we didn’t need to. for once, it felt like maybe we weren’t on opposite sides of everything.

just two people who knew each other too well, but not at all at the same time.

and maybe that was the beginning of something real. even if it started with shared silence, burnt bread, and the same old bickering that had always meant more than we let on.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

it started small.

a towel left on the bathroom floor.

his shampoo on the wrong side of the shower.

the way he left the cabinet doors open like he’d never lived with another person before. maybe you’re just trying to get used to having another person in the house, because you hardly see your mom or jay‘s dad…

“you’re trying to drive me insane,” i muttered one night, tugging open the fridge and nearly knocking over his suspiciously large protein jug.

jay leaned against the counter, fresh out of a shower, hair damp, skin flushed from the heat. he didn’t even flinch. just sipped from his bottle and gave me that annoyingly amused smirk.

“maybe i like watching you unravel.”

i slammed the fridge door shut, narrowly missing his arm. “you’re a menace.”

“and you love it.” i felt the blood rushing to my cheeks.

his voice was low. casual. but there was something in it—a thread pulled tight with something unsaid. something almost dangerous.

i didn’t respond. i didn’t want to respond. not to him standing there with water still clinging to his collarbones, chest rising slow and steady like he knew i noticed.

he must’ve caught the shift in my eyes, because his grin twitched.

“what?” he asked.

“nothing,” i lied.

he stepped forward, too close, studying my face. “you’ve been weird.”

“i’m not weird. you’re weird.”

he arched a brow. “real mature.”

“real shirtless,” i shot back.

he glanced down at his bare chest like he’d forgotten. “you’re the one staring.”

i tried to shove past him, but he didn’t move.

“you always do this,” i hissed, voice tight. “you poke. you push. and then when someone gets too close, you act like they’re the problem.”

something flickered in his eyes. “you’re not just someone.”

the silence between us cracked like a match being struck.

i didn’t know what to say to that—what he meant by that—so i stepped back, muttering, “put on a damn shirt.”

he let me pass this time.

but later that night, i couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d said it.

“you’re not just someone.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the next day, it got worse.

i walked into the laundry room and—boom—there he was. shirt off again. leaning over the dryer, pulling out his clothes, muscles moving in a way that made my brain momentarily short-circuit.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “do you even own shirts?”

he didn’t look up. “they shrink when you do laundry at satanic temperatures.”

“you’re supposed to separate lights and darks—”

“i didn’t realize i was getting a lecture from martha freaking stewart,” he cut in, straightening to his full height.

and i hated that it made my heart skip. that smug look on his face, the little glint in his eyes. i hated that i knew his voice better than my own lately. hated that i noticed how his hair curled when it was wet. that I kept remembering the words he didn’t say.

“you gonna keep staring,” he asked, stepping toward me again, “or are you gonna hand me a hanger?”

“you wish I was staring.”

“i know you were.”

there was no space between us now.

just the warm scent of detergent, the dryer’s low hum, and the sound of my own blood rushing to my ears.

his fingers brushed mine as he took the hanger from me—on purpose. a soft, deliberate touch that made heat coil low in my stomach.

“thanks,” he said, voice low.

i took a step back, heart racing. “whatever.”

that night, i lay awake.

i could hear him moving around in the room across from mine. footsteps. a drawer opening. water running in the sink. even him still carrying boxes up from his car.

i rolled over. buried my face in my pillow.

he wasn’t just back in the house; he was under my skin.

and i hated that it didn’t feel wrong. not really.

just… dangerous

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

jay has been procrastinating… especially with moving all his boxes into his room. i’d like to think it was karma that when jay was halfway up the stairs a box slipped from his arms.

“shit!” he barked as it hit the floor with a heavy thunk, scattering smaller items across the hallway.

i peeked out of my room just in time to see him crouch down, shoving a few things hastily back inside. a book. socks. a sad, old hoodie i vaguely remembered from our high school days.

“you good?” i asked, stepping into the hallway in my oversized sleep shirt.

“yeah, i got it,” he muttered, not looking at me.

but there was one thing he hadn’t noticed.

one thing that had fallen just slightly into the doorway of my room.

a box… i picked it up and my breath hitched.

something… unmistakably shaped.

i blinked. looked again. oh my god.

it was a toy.

I shut the box with a snap, eyes wide, brain blank. what the hell?

“you missed something,” i called out lightly, trying to keep the crack out of my voice.

jay looked up—and froze.

his eyes locked onto the object.

his face turned an unreadable shade. “don’t open that,” he said, voice sharp.

but it was too late. i’d already opened it back up, fingertips brushing the silicone as i picked it up—carefully, like it might detonate. i was reveling in the sudden shyness of my stepbrother in front of me.

“is this…?” i trailed off. side eying the object in my hand.

he looked away, jaw tight. “a gift. it was supposed to be for her.”

“oh.” my throat felt dry. “so… it’s supposed to be…”

“yeah.” short. clipped.

i swallowed hard. “damn.” it was big, as i looked at it a little longer i started to imagine-

that made him glance at me—sharp. “what?”

“nothing.” i straightened up quickly, the toy still in my hand, like i’d forgotten how to function. “i just—didn’t think you’d let someone make a mold of your—uh. yeah.”

jay moved toward me, hand outstretched. “give it.”

i did—but not before our fingers touched.

his eyes flicked to mine.

we both froze.

the air between us went tight. dense. something electric curling just beneath the surface.

his voice dropped. “y/n.”

“sorry,” i whispered. “i just—”

“don’t apologize.” his eyes were unreadable again. “just… don’t go snooping in my stuff.”

“i didn’t! it literally landed into my room—”

“yeah, well maybe keep your door closed if you’re that sensitive.”

i narrowed my eyes. “maybe keep your dick replica packed better.”

he stared at me for a long second—and then, inexplicably, smiled.

“not my fault it wants to find you,” he said, voice low.

and then he turned, taking the box into his room, leaving me stunned and breathless in the hallway.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i stared at the ceiling. my body hot. my thoughts worse.

i shouldn’t have imagined it. but i did.

i shouldn’t have touched it. but i wanted to.

and when i closed my door, slid under the sheets, and let my hand trail slowly down… it wasn’t the toy i was thinking about.

it was him.

his voice.

his smirk.

the way he’d said, “not my fault it wants to find you.”

and that’s when i realized—

it wasn’t just the toy i’d taken back with me.

it was the way he looked at me when i touched it. his gaze felt hungry, like he is going to pounce any chance he gets.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i tossed and turned for what felt like hours.

my room was too hot. or maybe that was just me. every time i closed my eyes, it came back into focus.

that box.

that toy.

his voice.

“not my fault it wants to find you.”

ugh. what kind of stepbrother says something like that?

what kind of girl lets it take up space in her head all night?

the clock glowed 2:47 AM.

i should have just gone to sleep.

but i didn’t.

instead, i slipped out of bed quietly, the hardwood cool under my feet as i crept down the hallway, careful to avoid the creaky third floorboard. i paused outside his door, breath held, listening.

nothing.

no movement. no light. just the sound of his low, steady breathing on the other side.

i reached for the knob.

not locked.

it was almost worse that way. almost like an invitation.

the room smelled like him—clean, masculine, faintly woodsy from the cologne he used too much of. his jacket was slung over the back of his chair. a half-folded hoodie sat on the edge of the bed. and that damn box… was tucked neatly into the corner by his closet.

i hesitated.

this was stupid. this was so stupid.

and yet… my fingers curled around the edge of the lid, heart racing like i was about to do something criminal.

i cracked it open slowly.

there it was.

the toy.

i stared at it for a moment, biting my lip; i exhaled.

i shouldn’t touch it. not again.

but then i remembered how warm his hand had felt brushing mine. how smug he’d looked. how his voice had dipped low like he knew this would get to me.

maybe keep your door closed if you’re that sensitive.

i swallowed and reached in. picked it up.

it was… heavy. it’s about 8.5 inches with two prominent veins flowing up the side of the shaft. i trace my fingers along the ridges.

realistic. unfairly so.

god, i whispered inside my head. what the hell is wrong with you?

and then—

a floorboard behind me creaked.

my stomach dropped. my blood ran cold.

i froze, the toy still in hand.

another creak. closer this time.

“y/n?”

jay’s voice was gravel-rough, sleepy—but alert.

i didn’t turn. i couldn’t.

his voice was behind me now. right at the doorway. there was no escape…

“you really snuck in here. for that.”

i turned slowly, clutching the toy behind my back like i could hide it.

he looked at me, messy-haired, shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his hips—and smirking, just faintly.

caught. red-handed.

his voice lowered.

“you could’ve just asked.” the words shot right to my core.

my mouth went dry. “i—i wasn’t going to—”

“you weren’t going to what, y/n?”

the space between us pulsed. my skin burned. my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

he took a slow step forward. “you were thinking about it all night, weren’t you?”

“i couldn’t sleep,” I whispered.

“same.”

his eyes flicked to where my hand was hidden behind my back. he tilted his head, almost amused.

“do you want it?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. “or do you just want to know if it’s really that accurate?”

i couldn’t speak.

he leaned in, breath warm against my temple. “go on then. take it.”

and just like that—he stepped back.

left me standing there, trembling, heart hammering, desire tangled with something darker. something wrong. something so right.

i didn’t know what was worse—that i’d been caught… or that he hadn’t stopped me.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i slid into my room, heart pounding in anticipation. the dildo modeled after jay's impressive… felt heavy in my hand as i closed the door.

i bit my lower lip, fingers trembling slightly as i gazed at the realistic silicone. my other hand reached down to slip between my legs, already feeling the heat and dampness building there.

our rooms are situated on a shared wall - he couldn't possibly miss the sound if i got myself worked up. the thought alone made me shudder with naughty excitement. perhaps this is payback for all the girls he would bring home in high school…

i stripped my clothes and tossed them aside carelessly. i slid onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows. my pussy was slick and swollen, aching for touch. spreading my legs wide, i pressed the toy's tip against my slick entrance.

a soft moan escaped my lips as she slowly pushed the thick head inside, stretching herself open.

he was big. the weight and size of it in your hand cannot compare to the feelings of being stuffed right now.

i started imagine it was jay's hard cock plunging into me, claiming me, filling me so deep and perfect.

"ohh... jay..." she whimpered, not caring if he heard her.

i began to pump the toy in and out, increasing the pace as my pleasure built. my moans grew louder, more wanton, echoing off the bedroom walls. one hand pinched at ny nipple while the other worked the dildo vigorously, fucking myself just like she imagined jay would.

"mmm, yes! fuck me with that big cock," i cried out, wishing it was really him pounding into her needy cunt. i came with a shudder, juices gushing out to coat the silicone. still trembling with pleasure, i froze at a light knock at the door.

i’m not answering that… i just act like i’m asleep. eventually i do nod off~

one thing i know for sure…

i need the real thing.

i need him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the morning after my late-night heist, i tried to play it cool.

i acted like i hadn’t touched something i shouldn’t have. like i hadn’t been caught holding my stepbrother’s most intimate secret. like i hadn’t gone back to my room and…

well.

the kitchen was quiet when i walked in, oversized sweatshirt hanging just past my thighs, socks padding softly on the tile.

jay was already there—of course—leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just cracked open my sanity the night before.

his gaze flicked to me, unreadable.

“morning, thief,” he muttered.

i flushed instantly. “don’t start.”

he smirked. “didn’t say anything.”

“you didn’t have to.”

he turned back to his coffee. “you always this grumpy in the morning, or just when you get caught?”

i moved to the fridge, ignoring him. mostly. “you’re lucky i didn’t rat you out to mom.”

he scoffed. “you’d have to explain why you were in my room first.”

i froze with the fridge door still open, the cold air biting at my bare legs. when I turned, he was closer—mug in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“i was just—curious,” i mumbled.

jay’s brow arched. “is that what we’re calling it?”

he brushed past me to grab the milk, his shoulder nudging mine.

too warm. too close.

“accidents happen,” i added.

his mouth quirked. “sure they do.”

his hand lingered at the small of my back just a moment too long as he stepped away, and i nearly dropped the carton i was holding.

the silence stretched—thick, strange, charged.

jay finally cleared his throat and grabbed a spoon. “you wanna help me move the rest of my boxes later?”

“i thought you got them all.”

“apparently not.” his tone was casual. too casual. “there’s one in the garage. pretty sure it’s got some personal stuff in it.”

i stiffened. “is it going to traumatize me?”

“only if you’re into that.”

i rolled my eyes, but my pulse wouldn’t stop racing. “fine. i’ll help.”

we didn’t say much after that, but the silence between us felt anything but empty. his shoulder brushed mine again when we reached for the same cabinet. his fingers grazed mine when he passed me the spoon. every tiny contact lit something beneath my skin.

like he was daring me to remember.

and I did.

every look. every word. every goddamn second from the night before.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

by the time we made it out to the garage, i was wound tight.

the last box was buried under old holiday decor. he tugged it free and popped the lid.

i expected more… questionable content.

but it was mostly old clothes, some photo albums, a few stray records.

he handed me a jacket to fold and paused with a crooked smile when his hand brushed mine—again.

“you jump every time I touch you,” he said softly.

“i do not.”

“you do.”

he took a step closer, voice quieter. “it’s cute.”

i stared at him. “why are you doing this?”

his smile faded slightly. “doing what?”

“this… thing. the tension. the touches. the jokes that aren’t really jokes.”

he looked down for a second, like he hadn’t expected me to say it out loud.

when he looked up again, his expression was serious. “i don’t know. maybe i missed being around someone who sees through my bullshit.”

i blinked.

that wasn’t the answer i expected.

he took the jacket from my hands slowly, knuckles grazing mine again.

and for a second—we just stood there.

too close.

too quiet.

and yet… not touching.

not yet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the storm came in hard and fast—like it was trying to make up for a month of calm skies in one violent evening.

thunder cracked through the house like a whip. rain slammed against the windows, drowning out the sound of the tv. and then, just as jay walked back into the living room from the kitchen—darkness.

a full, heavy blackout.

“shit,” i muttered, curling tighter into the blanket i had wrapped around me. “did your dad pay the electric bill?”

jay was already at the window, peeking through the blinds. “it’s not just us. whole street’s out.”

“great.”

the dim blue light from his phone glowed faintly, painting sharp shadows across his jaw. he was wearing that loose, gray long-sleeve shirt that always hung low at the collar and clung a little too well to his chest and arms. i hated that i noticed.

“could be a while,” he said. “you want me to start lighting candles like we’re in a romance novel?”

“only if it ends in someone getting laid,” i muttered, half under my breath.

his head snapped toward me, one brow raised. “what was that?”

“nothing,” i said quickly. too quickly.

jay’s smirk stretched. “didn’t sound like nothing.”

i rolled my eyes and shifted on the couch. “whatever. just sit down before you get electrocuted or something.”

the power still hadn’t come back when the house dipped into a chill. the kind of cold that sneaks in through floorboards and makes every bit of skin feel too exposed.

jay reappeared with two candles and a single, thin blanket.

“i didn’t know we were preparing for the apocalypse,” he muttered. “this is the best i could do.”

he plopped onto the couch beside me, so close our thighs brushed. i shifted away instinctively, but he followed with a look that said don’t even try it.

“i’m not cuddling with you,” i warned.

he draped the blanket over both of us. “you say that now.”

“i’ll kick you.”

his voice dropped, lower now, teasing. “you’d have to straddle me to reach. that sounds dangerous.”

my heart jumped. “jay—”

“what? just being practical.”

we sat in silence for a beat. the rain hit harder. the room was cold.

and our bodies were… warm.

his thigh was solid against mine, like he hadn’t skipped a single gym day during his entire relationship. his shoulder bumped mine slightly as he leaned back, stretching an arm behind me on the couch. not quite around me—but it might as well have been.

“still cold?” he asked, voice just above a whisper.

i didn’t respond.

because the truth was, i wasn’t. not anymore. not with him this close. not with his scent thick in the air and his breath brushing my cheek every time he leaned a little too near.

he turned to look at me, one arm lazily slung along the back of the couch.

“you know,” he said, voice lower now, almost lazy, “you’re the only person who makes me feel anything lately.”

i turned to him slowly. “what do you mean?”

his eyes flicked down—to my lips, to my bare thighs under the blanket, back to my eyes. and it wasn’t playful now.

it was real.

“i mean… i haven’t even thought about her since i moved back,” he said. “not once. not even when i should’ve.”

i swallowed. my voice was barely a whisper. “and now?”

his jaw flexed. he leaned in closer.

“now i think about you when i shouldn’t.”

i sucked in a sharp breath, and before i could answer—before i could even think—the thunder cracked again.

i jumped.

he caught me.

a hand, firm and steady, on my waist.

and suddenly he was closer than he had ever been.

our noses nearly brushed. the blanket slipped lower. i could feel his body heat like a flame beneath my skin.

“you okay?” he murmured.

i nodded, barely.

his hand was still on my waist, grounding me. his fingers lingered. not leaving. not anymore.

and neither was the tension.

it filled the room like smoke—hot, breathless, dangerous.

i didn’t move.

neither did he.

i should’ve pulled away. should’ve said something sharp or sarcastic—something to cut through the heat.

but I didn’t. i just stared at him, heart racing like a warning bell I chose to ignore.

jay’s eyes searched mine, and for once, he wasn’t smirking. there was no teasing. no edge. just something tired and raw.

��you don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly.

he exhaled hard, like he’d been holding it in. “losing someone… and then coming home to someone who makes you forget why you were even sad in the first place.”

my breath caught. “jay…”

his thumb brushed the bare skin at my side, just a graze. just enough to make my voice catch.

“i was with her for three years,” he said, voice low. “and I don’t think I ever really felt her. not like this. not like I feel you when you’re in the same room.”

my stomach twisted.

“you piss me off,” he added, a bitter chuckle escaping. “you leave lights on. you steal my hoodies. you roll your eyes like i’m the dumbest person alive.”

i looked down, sheepish.

“but then you say things like ‘are you okay?’ when you think I’m not listening. or you sit next to me on the couch like your body doesn’t fit unless it’s leaning into mine.”

his fingers flexed gently on my waist. my pulse roared in my ears.

“i didn’t come back here to feel something else,” he said, more to himself than to me. “but you—y/n, you make everything fucking louder. the silence hurts more when you’re not around. the house feels colder when your door’s closed.”

i swallowed, my throat tight. “then why do you push me away?”

he looked up, his eyes dark and honest. “because I shouldn’t want this. because you’re the one line I’m not supposed to cross.”

i blinked fast, my chest tight.

“then why are you still holding me?”

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at me, like the words burned before they ever reached his lips.

finally, his voice dropped to a whisper. “because you feel like home.”

my breath hitched.

something in the room shifted—something deeper than lust, more dangerous than want.

“you could’ve told me,” I said quietly.

“i was scared.”

I nodded, barely. “me too.”

he moved then—slowly, carefully. his forehead met mine, breath shared.

“i’m not a good guy,” he whispered.

“you’re better when you’re with me.”

his lips hovered over mine, but didn’t press.

not yet.

“i want this to mean something,” he said. “even if we’re fucked up. even if it’s wrong.”

i nodded, barely able to speak. “it already does.”

the silence between us had weight.

his hand was still on my waist—strong, steady, claiming in a way it shouldn’t be. i could feel every ridge of his fingers through the thin fabric of my shirt. feel his breath warm against my cheek. the storm outside had faded to a distant rhythm, but the storm inside me was just getting started.

i should’ve moved.

he should’ve moved.

but neither of us did.

instead, i whispered, “jay…”

his name sounded too soft coming from my mouth. too familiar. too yearning.

and he heard it.

because his eyes flicked up, meeting mine with something raw. something I didn’t recognize.

our eyes met again, voice rough. “i can describe what it’s been like. living with you again. hearing you in the shower. seeing you walk around in those little shorts. watching you pretend this whole thing doesn’t make your skin burn.”

my breath caught.

“jay—”

his thumb brushed against the hem of my shirt. just a graze. just enough to make my stomach flip.

“i’ve wanted you,” he whispered, “for years, y/n.”

my heart stopped.

he said it like it hurt. like it tasted like sin on his tongue. but he didn’t stop.

“back then, when i was with her? i’d come home and hear you laughing down the hall. and all i could think was… why the fuck isn’t it you in my bed?”

i sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.

“i tried to stop,” he said. “tried to bury it. but then I moved back in, and you were right there—so fucking warm, so close, looking at me like you hate me, and i just…”

he shook his head, and his hand gripped my waist tighter.

he pulls back to scan his eyes over my moonlit expression. “i want you to tell me to stop,” he said lowly. “because if you don’t…”

my legs were already pressing together. my pulse was out of control.

“i won’t stop, y/n.”

i stared at him, heart racing.

his lips were inches away. hovering. waiting.

one more breath and they’d be on mine.

my voice barely worked. “what if i don’t want you to stop?”

his jaw flexed.

something behind his eyes snapped.

he surged forward—not kissing me, not yet—but his forehead pressed to mine, our noses brushing. his hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, warm and possessive against my bare skin.

“i want to ruin you for everyone else,” he growled. “you know that, right?”

i gasped.

he slid his hand higher, just under my ribs, dragging heat in his wake.

“i want you to remember the way i touch you. i want you to think about me every time someone else tries to.”

i couldn’t breathe. couldn’t move.

“say it,” he whispered, lips brushing mine now. “say you want this too.”

“i do,” i breathed. “i want you.”

and that’s when his mouth crashed onto mine.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

his lips were on mine—hot, hungry, controlled in the way that meant he was anything but.

jay kissed like he was trying to shut himself up.

like he’d said too much already, and now his mouth needed to do something else—like taste, claim, ruin.

but when i whimpered into the kiss—just barely—he pulled back. breathing hard. his forehead still against mine, both of us trembling.

“not here,” he rasped.

my eyes flicked up. “what?”

he licked his lips. “not on the couch. not like this. i want…”

he stopped himself. eye dark, jaw tight.

“you want what?” i whispered.

“i want to remember it.”

my breath caught.

he stood first, tugging me up with him. and without saying anything else, he led me up the stairs and down the dark hall—his hand wrapped around mine, warm and sure. thunder cracked again, but it was distant now. nothing compared to what was building inside my chest.

jay’s door clicked shut behind us.

everything was still.

the room smelled like him—deep, woodsy cologne and clean sheets and something masculine I couldn’t name. getting flashbacks to the night that he caught me sneaking in. i was barely breathing when he turned to me again.

he didn’t rush.

his fingers found the hem of my shirt first, tugging it gently up and over my head. he dropped it to the floor like it was sacred. his hands came to rest on my waist again, but this time slower, deliberate—like he was learning something for the first time.

“you’re real,” he said softly, like he still couldn’t believe it.

i reached for his shirt next. my fingers shook. i didn’t want it to. i wanted to be calm. i wanted to be enough for this moment. but his skin under my palms made my head swim.

jay let me pull it off, and his body lit like sculpture in the candlelight—lean and strong, every line of muscle carved by tension and time and regret.

“you’re shaking,” he whispered.

“i’m nervous,” i admitted.

he cupped my cheek with one hand. “so am i.”

then—softly—he kissed me again.

not frantic this time.

not like before.

but like he had all night to learn me. like he’d been waiting to. his lips moved with mine slowly, deliberately, like he was tasting every second. like he wanted to remember every breath. and I kissed him back the same way.

when we tumbled onto the bed, he caught me—pressed me into the mattress like a secret, hands braced on either side of my head.

he hovered there, just breathing.

then, “tell me to stop.”

i didn’t. i pulled him in instead.

the flicker of the candle on his nightstand lit his eyes with something almost unholy as he pulled back. “say it again,” he whispered.

my throat tightened. “say what?”

“that you want me.”

he didn’t sound smug. not cocky or teasing. just needy. like the words mattered more than he wanted them to.

i swallowed, fingers twisting in his sheets.

“i want you,” i said. then louder, more certain: “i want you, jay.”

his breath stuttered out of him like I’d hit something deep.

“god, you have no idea,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine again—hotter this time. hungrier.

i gasped when he kissed down my jaw, biting lightly beneath my ear, then dragging his tongue across the sting. my hands clutched at his back, nails scoring into skin i‘d only ever seen in glances before. he was everywhere—heat and weight and the scent of rain still lingering in the air.

“you make me crazy,” he growled against my throat. “you walk around this house like you’re not mine to look at. like you’re not already under my skin.”

i whimpered when he ground his hips into mine, slow and punishing.

“i used to hate you,” i breathed, voice breaking. “hated that i thought about you when i shouldn’t.”

he froze for half a second—just long enough to make me think I said too much.

but then he was kissing me hard again, devouring the words right off my tongue.

“you think- I didn’t?” he panted between kisses. “you think I didn’t hate myself for it? you in those damn little sleep shorts… that laugh that gets under my ribs… you’d slam your door just to piss me off, and all i could think about was how much i wanted to slam you against it and hear you say my name.”

my whole body flushed, hips arching instinctively against him. the pressure between us made me bite back a moan.

“jay—”

he growled my name. “say it again. say my name when you sound like that. say my name the way you said it when you fucked yourself with my cock.”

he heard everything that night…

“jay-”

“fuck.”

he yanked my leg around his waist and finally, finally ground down—hot, hard, deliberate. i gasped, nails raking down his spine.

and then—softer, broken—he stilled.

“i’m not good at this,” he said, his voice quieter now. “i’ll fuck it up. i’ll say the wrong thing. i’ll want you when i shouldn’t.”

i cupped his jaw, guiding his eyes back to mine.

“i want you anyway.”

he blinked, something like hope cracking through the storm behind his eyes.

“then hold on,” he whispered, mouth brushing mine. “because i’m not going to be gentle.”

“good,” i whispered back. “i don’t want you to be.”

jay didn’t kiss me again right away.

he looked at me—like he was making sure I was still there, still his, still saying yes without a single word. my heart thrashed in my chest under his gaze. his fingers traced the line of my hip, then gripped it hard, stilling me under him.

and then? he snapped.

rough hands pushed my legs wider, dragging me flush against him like he needed it to breathe. he ground down hard, swallowing the sound that tore from my throat as his mouth finally crashed back onto mine. his kiss was brutal—teeth and tongue, not asking, just taking.

jay’s hand slid up my side, under my bra, knuckles grazing, controlling. when i arched into him, chasing more, he pinned my wrist above my head with one hand, his fingers wrapping around mine like a shackle.

“keep them there,” he growled into my neck.

my breath hitched. “what if i don’t?”

his eyes flicked up. wild. dark. amused.

“then i’ll make you.”

he rolled his hips again—once, slow and rough—and i felt how badly he wanted this. how much he’d held back.

“i think you like being told what to do,” he murmured. “is that what it is? hm?”

“jay—”

“you act like you hate me,” he panted, teeth grazing the shell of my ear. “but your body says something else. you’ve been begging for this since the minute i came back.”

i couldn’t breathe. couldn’t move.

my hands twitched—reflexively wanting to grab him—but i remembered what he said. keep them there. that one command pulsed through my skin like a brand.

“you’re shaking,” he whispered. “good.”

he let go of my wrist, only to drag both his hands down—bruising over my ribs, my hips, squeezing every inch like he wanted to memorize it in pressure. he manhandled me like he needed to feel me struggle a little. like the fight made it mean more.

and i gave in.

let him flip me under him. let him press his weight down until my breath caught. let him drag his hand up the inside of my thigh, stopping just short of where i wanted him most.

“say it again,” he growled, lips brushing my neck.

“jay,” I whimpered.

he bit down, just enough to make me gasp.

“louder.”

“jay—please—”

he kissed me again, this time slower but no less desperate. fingers tangled in my hair. my thighs tightened around his hips. our bodies locked in a rhythm that wasn’t quite there yet, but promised everything.

and just before everything melted into heat and noise and blurred lines—

he whispered, “this changes everything.”

i whispered back, “i don’t care.”

that’s the words he was hoping to hear. he back away and repositioned himself. he was facing my core. he looked up at me with a glint of hunger behind his eyes.

“i heard everything that night,” he smirks as he snakes his hands around my hips to pull my closer to the edge of the bed. making me squeak.

“fuck, I love thinking about you getting off on a dildo molded from my cock. feeling the thick head spreading your lips wide open, stretching you out. imagining the way your cunt would flutter and clench around the shaft as you fuck yourself with it, trying to take it deeper.”

he slips my pants off and pulls my underwear to the side.

“god- i want to feel your breath on my neck, stomach, between my legs… it’s driving me wild.”

with that command, he plunges his tongue deep. instinctively i squeeze my thighs at the intruder.

“little sister tastes so sweet-“ he adds as he licks a stripe up to my clit. bringing me back to reality for a second, but in my surprise his words turned my on even more.

“it wasn’t enough, was it?” he questions.

“because no matter how big and realistic it is, it's still just a piece of plastic. it can't compare to the feeling of my thick cock splitting you open, feeling me twitch and throb inside you as i fill you up with my cum.”

“please-“ i whined lowly as he plunged into my center. i could feel him nipping at me, signaling jay’s interest had piqued.

"i can't stop thinking about you either," he admitted, voice low and rough with desire. "about sliding into your tight little cunt and making you scream for me."

he got up suddenly and started to remove his buckle with no haste. he was just as desperate, if not more, as i am.

i look pathetic as jay stares at me. i’m already fucked out with him barely touching me.

“did you imagine the way i would grab your hips and hold you down as i pound into you, making you take every last inch?”

i hide my face when all of his words are traveling right to my core.

“jay, please just fuck me. i can’t take it any longer.”

“that’s what i thought, you need to be fucked by the real thing, need to feel my hands on your body and hear my voice in your ear. know that it's me inside you, claiming this pussy as mine.” the words melt off his lips as he removes his boxers.

he’s…

huge

and it looks exactly like the toy you have hidden under your pillow.

"tell me you need your big brother's cock."

“jay- mmh- i need you- i need your cock.”

“that’s it baby. spread your legs for me. fuckkkk, you're so wet for me," jay groaned, pushing in just the tip and then pulling back out.

"stop teasing and just fuck me already!" i demanded, trying to pull him closer.

jay reaches over to his bedside table, and i make a split decision. i want to feel him deep, nothing in between us.

“stop,” i grab his arm. he looks at me shocked, “i want to feel every inch, nothing in between.”

jay also came on the spot, he had to take a breath to contain himself. he leaned down and planted a deep kiss on my lips.

“ok baby, promise to look me in the eyes,” he said with smirk.

jay grinned wolfishly and thrust his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. we held eye contact what felt like forever. i was being split apart.

i threw my head back with a choked cry, feeling utterly stuffed full of him. "oh fuck jay! yes, yes, yes!"

he set a fast, punishing pace, slamming into me over and over again. The wet sounds of our coupling filled the room as he took me hard in HIS bed.

"so tight," he grunted, angling his hips to hit my g-spot with every thrust. "gonna fill this pussy up."

my pussy clenched around him as i started to come apart. he pulled out, leaving just his tip inside of me.

"i'm going to breed you so fucking good. pound this tight pussy until my cum is leaking out of you." with that filthy promise, he surged forward, burying himself balls deep in one hard thrust.

i cried out at the delicious stretch, nails raking down jay's back as he set a brutal pace, fucking her into the mattress.

"fuck yes, take it!" jay snarled, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside her. "milk my cock, baby. i want to fill this cunt to the brim."

i was lost to the pleasure, meeting his thrusts mindlessly as ecstasy built within me. "don't stop, oh god, right there! I'm gonna- AH!"

jay snarled and bit down on her neck possessively, fucking her through her orgasm. he could feel himself getting close too. "that's it, cream on my cock. fuck, i'm gonna nut deep."

my orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave and i clamped down around jay like a vice.

"Y/N!" he roared, slamming into me one last time before painting her insides with his hot seed.

“jay- baby, please more,” i say, not yet feeling complete. jay wonders if he just wondered into the bed of a sex beast. he chuckles, heaving slightly trying to catch his breath.

“is little sister always so eager to spread your legs for me, because nothing else can compare to the feeling of your stepbrother's cock stretching you out?” he questioned, feeling you squeeze him.

i nod my head letting little whimpers out.

jay then flipped me over onto my hands and knees, feeling disappointed at the loss of connection between the two of us. i felt his seed spill out of me as he smacked my ass hard enough to leave a pink handprint.

"time for round two, baby girl. you’re going to ride me like the horny little slut you are."

he flipped us again, reversing their positions, until i was straddling his hips, his thick shaft nestled between my wet folds.

"let's see how well you can take control," he said with a challenging smirk, his hands settling on my hips.

i bit my lip, tentative at first as i positioned myself over his cock. slowly, i sank down, letting him stretch me open inch by glorious inch. "ohhh fuuuck..." i moaned, eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to his girth once again.

“look at me when i'm filling up your greedy little cunt," jay commanded, gripping her hips firmly. "i want to see the pleasure on your face as you bounce on my dick."

my eyes snapped open, meeting his intense gaze as i began to rise up and sink back down. i found a steady rhythm, boobs bouncing with each movement. "mmmm, you feel so good," i gasped, clenching around him.

"fuck yes, just like that," jay growled approvingly, guiding my movements with his hands. "ride me faster, show me what a desperate whore you are for my cock."

i whimpered, complying with his demands as i picked up the pace. the wet sounds of our fucking filled the room, mixing with our moans and cries. jay's hands moved to my ass, spreading my cheeks wide as he thrust up to meet my movements.

"you're being such a good little cumslut for me," he praised darkly. "i bet you can't wait to have my baby in this pussy, can you?"

"please, I need it!" i begged shamelessly, feeling myself start to unravel. "fill me up jay! fucking cum in my pussy. breed me like the naughty girl i am!"

"that's it, scream for me baby," he urged, snapping his hips up harder. "loud enough for the whole fucking street to hear what a needy little whore you are for your stepbrother's cock."

"OH MY GOD!" i threw my head back with a wail as my second orgasm crashed through her, cunt fluttering and milking jay's cock. he kept pistoning, fucking me through my high. he followed moments later, snarling his release as he pumped her full of his hot seed. feeling so full.

they collapsed together in a sweaty tangle of limbs, both gasping for breath. jay pulled me into a filthy kiss, tangling his fingers in her hair. "my perfect little cumdump," he rumbled against her lips.

jay rolls off me, his naked body glistening with sweat as he sprawls out on the bed. his eyes gleam with a mischievous spark.

"fuck, that was hot. i can't believe we just did that, baby. bet you never thought your own flesh and blood could rock your world like that."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the room was quiet now.

only the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional crack of thunder still rumbling outside. my skin was still buzzing, my breath finally starting to slow, but my heart… not so much.

jay hadn’t moved in a while.

he was still half-draped over me, chest pressed to my back, his arm curled tight around my waist like he wasn’t ready to let go. his breath warmed the curve of my shoulder, slow and steady against the skin he’d once bruised with his mouth.

i turned my head slightly. “you still alive?”

he didn’t answer right away. just hummed low in his throat and nuzzled closer, his nose brushing the back of my neck.

“barely,” he muttered. “you killed me.”

a small laugh escaped me. quiet. nervous. soft.

then i felt it—his hand sliding up from my waist, skimming over my ribs until it found my hand and laced our fingers together.

gentle. like he’d never gripped me too tight. like he wasn’t the same person who’d just pinned me down and made me come undone.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice a low rasp in the dark.

that got me. the softness. the checking in.

i nodded. “yeah. you?”

he exhaled into my skin. “…no.”

i blinked, twisting slightly to look at him. “what?”

jay met my gaze, barely. his lashes were low, and for the first time all night, he looked… tired. raw.

“i’m not okay,” he said again, quieter this time. “because i know what i just did. and i know i can’t take it back.”

i searched his face. “do you want to take it back?”

silence.

his thumb brushed slow circles against the back of my hand. he stared at our fingers, still linked between us.

“no,” he admitted. “but i want to do it right.”

he shifted closer, pulling the blanket higher over both of us, tucking it around my shoulder like a habit. something in him had shifted. his movements, his breath, his touch—they were all different now. still firm, still possessive—but quieter. more deliberate.

“i don’t want you thinking this was just tension,” he murmured. “or a mistake. or something i’ll ignore in the morning.”

i stared at him, chest tightening. “and what if i already know that?”

he met my eyes then, really looked.

something flickered across his face—something like relief, tangled in guilt and hope.

“you still feel like home,” he whispered. “even now.”

and somehow, that wrecked me more than anything he’d done with his hands.

i shifted back into his chest and let him hold me. let myself believe—for the first time in a long time—that maybe this wasn’t just a mistake waiting to happen.

maybe this was what came after.

“i guess you can keep my replica… even though i already ruined you…” we both chuckled in unison.

bittenbyenhypen, 2025

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #park jongseong #enhypen #enhypen jay #x reader #enhypen x y/n

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whisperedmeg · 1 day ago

Text

QUIET PROOF ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part v

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: a morning ambush from spencer’s friends tests a bond still forming. when doubt creeps in, love answers — not loudly, but clearly.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

w/c: 2.7k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, vague talk of intimacy but nothing explicit, jj and garcia being cutie nosy bffs, reader gets insecure and anxious and spirals a bit, spencer is a reassuring sweetie pie

a/n: this one goes out to all my fellow anxious girlies with a words of affirmation love language. as always, appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed this series so far 🫶🏼

series masterlist

I woke to the faint weight of sunlight brushing my face through the thin curtains, soft and gentle like a secret only the morning knew. For a moment, I laid still, feeling the steady rhythm of Spencer’s breath against my back, the warmth of his body curled close. Something had shifted between us overnight — I could feel it in the quiet spaces, in the way he hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t spoken, yet didn’t quite let himself relax, either.

Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to. The air between us hummed with a tentative understanding — maybe hope, maybe fear — and I wasn’t sure which of us would break the silence first.

I traced lazy circles on his arm. His hand found mine, fingers curling around mine with a softness that made my chest ache in the best way. I smiled into the quiet, this small bubble of peace we’d started creating together.

Things started to lean toward something more — a brush of lips, the slow heat of skin meeting skin — when suddenly, there was a loud knock at his front door.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling away and scrambling out of bed. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m sorry.”

He padded quickly across the room in just his boxers, trying to finger-comb his hair into something less Einstein-like. From the other side of the apartment, voices drifted in.

“Hey, Spence,” a woman called through the door. “You’ve been kind of off the grid lately, so we thought we’d drop by.”

“And by ‘drop by,’ she means ambush,” another voice added, singsong. “Hi, boy genius. Don’t mind us. We just want to make sure you’re still alive.”

Spencer winced. “It’s JJ and Garcia,” he whispered, looking like he might spontaneously combust. “They’re my colleagues. I haven’t, um, told them… about you.”

I silently thanked some invisible force of the universe for convincing me I should wear shorts under his t-shirt last night instead of just my underwear.

“I figured,” I said, sitting up and clutching the sheet tighter. “Do you want me to, like, hide under the bed, or should I just pretend I sleepwalked into the wrong apartment?”

His face crumpled into a smile — nervous, but genuine. “I don’t want to hide you. Just… maybe wait a second before you come out.” He finished pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before walking out of the bedroom.

He walked to the front of his apartment and unlocked the door. “Morning,” he said, and I heard the practiced calm in his voice. “Everything okay?”

The more colorful blonde woman — Penelope Garcia, I guessed, based on photos he’d shown me — didn’t even pause. “Define okay. We’ve texted, we’ve called. You didn’t show up to our standing monthly brunch on Sunday!”

“I’ve just… been here,” Spencer said, clearly trying not to panic. “Taking time.”

The other woman, who I assumed had to be JJ, narrowed her eyes. “Time for what?”

That was when I moved. I wasn’t sure why — I could’ve stayed hidden — but something in me didn’t want to. Maybe it was the warmth still clinging to me from the way Spencer had held me all night. Maybe it was just that I liked knowing where I stood. So I stepped quietly into view, hair still a mess, heart thudding like a drumline, blanket wrapped around me like a fluffy shield. “Um. Hi,” I said, voice soft and a little shy and awkward, but steady.

Garcia froze mid-expression, her mouth hanging open before she clamped it shut. JJ blinked once, then tilted her head.

Spencer stammered out an awkward laugh. He ran a hand through his hair and introduced me, motioning for me to come stand next to him.

JJ’s eyes flicked from me to him, then back again. “Nice to meet you,” she said, visibly recalibrating. Her smile settled into something kind. “Sorry to barge in like this. We didn’t know Spencer was seeing someone.”

Garcia, clearly never one to resist a dramatic pause, took a breath and beamed. “You are a vision. Spencer Reid, I did not see this plot twist coming. When on earth did you find the time to meet someone?!”

I laughed, a little startled by how easily they both made space for me. “Sorry for the surprise. This is not how I usually meet people,” I said as I gestured towards my overall messy appearance. “And definitely not how I planned on meeting Spencer’s friends.”

“Trust me, it’s not even in the top three weirdest ways we’ve met some of Spencer’s acquaintances,” JJ teased.

Spencer groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Do you guys want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Garcia said, already stepping inside and handing JJ her purse. “I also want answers, but I’ll wait until we all have some caffeine. I’m not a total monster.”

JJ followed her in with a smile. “This won’t be an interrogation, by the way. We’re just… protective. He’s family.”

“I get that,” I said, glancing at Spencer, who gave me a quick smile over his shoulder as he started pouring water into the coffee pot. “I’m the same way with people I care about.”

We all made our way to the kitchen, where I perched on a stool, still wrapped in a blanket like some kind of toga-clad guest on a morning show. Garcia was already scouring Spencer’s cabinets for mugs.

“So,” she began, “how did you two meet?”

“I’m a nurse,” I replied. Once her blank stare made me realize that my response didn’t actually answer her question, I cleared my throat with an awkward laugh. “At, uh, Millburn. I’m a nurse in the infirmary there.”

That made JJ glance up from where she was doctoring her coffee. “Really? That’s how you two met?”

I nodded. There was a pause — not an uncomfortable one, just a moment of absorption.

“Huh,” Garcia said. “Well, that’s a meet-cute I did not see coming.”

Spencer made a small coughing sound and handed me a mug like he needed to redirect his awkward energy somewhere.

JJ looked at me for a second longer. “That couldn’t have been easy. For either of you.”

“It wasn’t,” Spencer chimed in. “But that part is over now.”

JJ leaned back against the counter. “I’m glad you had someone looking out for you in there,” she said to Spencer.

“I did,” he said quietly. “She’s the one who got me moved out of gen pop, actually. It was her medical report that convinced the warden to put me in protective custody.”

Both women looked at me with something resembling awe and gratitude in their expressions, then we moved along to sipping our coffees.

There was another short pause, broken when Garcia pulled her phone out of her purse and wiggled it dramatically. “Okay. So. About that reinstatement news.”

Spencer groaned. “Penelope…”

“I didn’t break into anything,” she insisted, holding up her hands. “I just… peeked. And word on the encrypted street is, you’re about two weeks away from an official decision. And it’s definitely looking like it’s leaning positive.”

Spencer looked stunned for a second — hope and fear battling quietly in his eyes. He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly.

JJ stepped closer, resting a hand on Spencer’s arm. “Whatever happens, we’re here. Okay? You’re not alone.”

“I know,” he said. His voice cracked a little.

We finished our coffee slowly, the conversation drifting toward lighter things — Garcia’s latest side project (something involving 3D printed dog collars?), JJ’s boys (Spencer’s godsons, I learned) and their ever-expanding collection of Nerf weapons, and the absurdity of trying to explain to anyone outside the BAU what their job actually was. They asked me more questions about myself, but it didn’t feel like an inquisition. It felt like they genuinely cared to know about this new mysterious person in their friend’s life.

Eventually, they stood to go, giving Spencer gentle hugs and me a warm goodbye.

Garcia leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Take care of our boy, okay?”

“I will,” I said, meaning it.

And when they were gone, when the door closed behind them, I looked at Spencer, finally releasing the breath I’d been holding since they first knocked.

“I think they like you,” he said.

I smiled, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with joy. “I like them, too.”

And I liked him. More than I knew how to say. But maybe, for now, this was enough.

—

It had been one week since JJ and Garcia had shown up on Spencer’s doorstep, bright-eyed and suspicious and exactly as wonderful as I’d hoped his friends would be. One week since I stood in his kitchen in a blanket toga, answering soft but pointed questions over coffee. One week since Penelope squeezed my hand and told me to take care of “their boy,” and JJ gave me a look that said she saw me.

In the days that followed, everything had both shifted and stayed the same.

Spencer had his final psych eval with the Bureau. I worked more shifts at Millburn. And each night, I came back to him — or he came back to me — and we made a quiet ritual out of not saying too much about what any of it meant. We kissed until our lungs burned, explored each other’s bodies with hands and mouths that knew how to be reverent. There were moans and whispers, and the dizzying pleasure of being skin-to-skin. But still — no sex. Not yet. Sometimes he’d stop suddenly, forehead pressed to my collarbone, murmuring that he needed a minute. I always gave him one. Sometimes two.

It wasn’t unspoken. But it also wasn’t discussed. It just… was. That boundary had become part of our rhythm. He didn’t rush, and I didn’t press. We were building something with our hearts and hands before letting our bodies finish the story.

Tonight, we laid tangled on his couch, a half-watched documentary playing quietly on the screen — something about extinct languages that I could only follow for about five minutes before getting lost; classic Spencer fare. He was behind me, his arm looped around my waist, and I was tucked back against him like a comma in the sentence of his body. He traced shapes into my hip bone like his fingers were thinking out loud.

But for some reason, my mind wouldn’t still. A silly, passing comment he made earlier about how nice of a person I am tugged at the taut wires in my brain. I stared at the blue light of the TV and tried to focus on the narrator’s voice, the familiar cadence of academia. It was useless, though — my thoughts had already started spiraling.

Spencer always called me beautiful. Kind. Wonderful. Nice. But those words were just broad strokes. They didn’t feel anchored in who I was, not really. He hadn’t said why he liked me, just that he did. And part of me — the part that had built walls and lived too long inside my own overthinking — started whispering dangerous little questions.

What if I was just… convenient? What if I was the safest thing he’d had in a long time, and he was mistaking that for something else? Sure, he looked at me like I was something precious. But that didn’t mean he knew me.

Maybe everything he thought he felt for me was just transference. Maybe I was just the person who kept him from unraveling in prison, and now he didn’t know how to let go.

I felt my body begin to tense. My breathing grew shallow. My chest ached with the weight of my own unworthiness — a feeling I thought I’d outgrown, but apparently not.

Behind me, Spencer shifted.

“Hey,” he murmured, pausing the documentary. The room fell into a soft hush. “You just disappeared. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said automatically, eyes fixed ahead. “Just thinking.”

His hand brushed my side. “You’re shaking.”

I hadn’t realized I was. My throat tightened. “I don’t want to ruin this,” I whispered.

“You won’t.”

“I just… sometimes I think maybe this isn’t what I think it is. Like maybe you only feel any sense of attachment to me because of what I was to you in there.”

Silence. My shame filled the space between us like smoke.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady. “Please look at me.”

I turned, hesitantly, until we were face to face. His eyes searched mine like they were scanning for injuries — soft, deliberate, full of that quiet panic he always tried to hide when someone he cared about was hurting.

“I know it’s stupid, I know I shouldn’t think like that, but… you’ve never actually said what you like about me. You just use words like kind and wonderful, which are very nice things to be called, obviously, but they’re not… they’re not me, not really. I’m terrified this is all just gratitude disguised as something more. Or that one day you’ll stop being grateful and realize I was part of the damage.”

By now my voice had begun to shake, and I was blinking fast. Spencer moved instantly, sitting me up and kneeling in front of me, both hands on my thighs.

“You’re not part of the damage,” he said, and his voice was low and sure. “You’re the reason I made it out of there still believing people could be good. You didn’t just help me survive. You made me want to.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“I didn’t fall for you because you were kind to me in prison,” he said. “I fell for you because you notice things other people don’t. You read people like I read books — not just with interest, but with care. You’re perceptive. Sharp. You ask good questions. You make people feel seen.

“I fell for you because you see me, exactly as I am. And you don’t ever flinch. You don’t try to fix me or save me. You just… stay. Even when I pull back. Even when I don’t know how to move forward.”

His voice caught for a second, then steadied again.

“You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be. You make these little under-your-breath observations that always make me laugh. You help people like it’s instinct, not obligation. And when I panic, you don’t panic with me. You just breathe, and wait, stay, and let me come back.”

Tears pricked hot at the backs of my eyes. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to interrupt.

“I fell for the way you carry things quietly, like your own heart has had to do the heavy lifting too many times but never hardened. I fell for the way you always ask me what I want instead of assuming. And how when you touch me, it never feels like I owe you anything — you touch me simply because you crave my closeness and want me to feel wanted. I fell for your stubbornness, and your calm, and the way being with you feels like home, no matter where we are.”

He paused, eyes locked on mine. “So yeah. I fell for you. I’m grateful for the way you helped me when I was in Millburn, sure, but it’s more than that. I like you. I want you.”

I stared at him, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. “You fell for me?” I asked, barely more than a whisper.

He nodded with that pure, honest softness only Spencer had. “I did,” he said. “I do. I'm still falling for you. Every day.”

I let out a shaky laugh that was halfway to a sob, my chest cracking wide open. “Good,” I whispered. “Because I’m definitely falling for you, too. So much so that it terrifies me — good terrified, though.”

His expression softened in a way that made my whole body ache. Like my words had knocked something loose in him — or maybe settled something that had been rattling too long.

For a long, quiet moment, we just looked at each other. Breathing. Shaking a little, together.

Then he leaned in slowly, resting his forehead to mine. “You’re not something I’m clinging to. You’re someone I’m choosing.”

And I believed him.

ᝰ.ᐟ

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risfics · 1 day ago

Text

title: you're a star, girl.

pairing: jason todd x reader

characters: jason todd, reader, dick grayson (literally has a small cameo).

tags: smut, facesitting, shaking orgasm, squirting, reader is AFAB, doggystyle, creampie.

summary: jason has you sit on his face and grayson catches something in the manor cameras.

a/n: I cannot believe it's been so long since I've posted on this account, omfg, my bio still had 22 years old on it when I'm now 24. Isn't that crazy? I looked through my drafts to see if there was anything worth finishing and posting, and happened to find this beautiful gem.

A lot has changed since I've been gone, so I'll be updating different things.

Anyways, here's a small treat and I hope y'all enjoy it!

xoxo,

Ri.

Jason sits on the floor of his room, his broad back resting against the border of his bed. He watches you, starving, his green eyes giving a barely perceptible glow inside the darkness of his room-a lasting effect from the Lazarus pit.

Moonlight shines through a big, glass window, and you bathe in it while undoing the button of your jeans; you slide them off, pushing the denim to the side with your foot, and make your way towards the big man in front of you.

Jason's hands shoot up from his side, massaging your thighs, as he looks up towards your face from where he sits You give him a small smile, and bring your hand towards his face, caressing it gently. He leans into your touch for a moment, closing his eyes while exhaling, relaxing. He brings you closer, and lifts his head to leave chaste bites and kisses on your thighs.

His breath brushes across your skin, raising bumps along the way, and you exhale, your back arching slightly. Jason’s hand makes its way to the center of your thighs, gently caressing your core with his fingers that are rough, but so gentle and careful while touching you. Your hips move involuntarily, searching for more friction from him. He lets out a small sound akin to a laugh.

“You’re so needy today, aren’t you?” He asks, a mischievous smile overtaking his face. His fingers slip under your panties, feeling your slit and its wetness. He lets out a theatrical gasp. “And you’re so wet for me too, oh.” He lets out a laugh while you let out a sound of frustration.

“Jace, stop teasing me, please. Three weeks ago you were on a mission, and then last week my period happened, and now we’re staying at your dad’s house for a family emergency; I’ve been so patient and so good.” You say, a hint of agitation tainting your voice. He sighs, nodding.

He knows how frustrated you feel; in fact, he’d seen it. Every time he went on an off-world mission, he would check the apartment cameras during downtime, and it’s safe to say that he found you rubbing your clit, fingering yourself, and even dry humping things mercilessly during some of those check ups. He’d been pent up during that time too, rubbing one or two off, talking to you through the camera's microphone, asking you for certain positions, views, and angles. And while that was fun, it wasn’t the same as fucking each other breathlessly in person.

“Please, Jace.” You plead a second time, your voice small and whimpery.

With that, he slides your underwear off immediately, not bothering to take it off completely, just keeping it at your feet. His face dives straight for your cunt, his lips grazing your clit, licking it, before engulfing it completely with his mouth. You let out a small squeal, your toes curling as you feel the warmth of his mouth wrap around your bundle of nerves.

His tongue moves back and forth gently, and you move your hips matching his rhythm. You let out small moans, the sounds of him sucking you filling the room; his saliva and your wetness mingled, staining his chin. His pace picks up, and you feel your stomach tighten; you move closer to the bed, your legs somewhat resting against it for balance, while Jason repositions himself under you, using his arms to hold you from behind.

You begin rutting against his mouth, moving at an almost animalistic pace. Your cunt travels from his mouth, to his nose, and back down. He feels himself wetting his briefs, a dark spot forming against his jeans as he expertly takes breaths in the small moments you relent. His nipples become hard, as his skin rises, and one of his rough hands travels slowly to his pants, kneading his impossibly hard and wet bulge.

Groans leave your mouth, and at some point you grip his hair to keep yourself steady. He lets out muffled moans of his own, drunk in your pleasure; getting you off is one of the things that makes him so hard, it makes him feel satisfied, like the overtly obedient priest to a starving, ravishing god.

Suddenly, the knot in your stomach tightens, until it unfurls itself. You let out a loud sound as you hit your climax, shaking, while a small trickle of liquid squirts out of you. You nearly fall over the bed while riding out your climax, if it hadn’t been for Jason's strong hands keeping his grip on you.

Jason laps up the water coming from you like a man with an unknowable, unquenchable thirst. He feels his bulge ready to burst, his member unfathomably hard, and he knows that the minute he puts himself inside of you he won't last for five fucking minutes. But then again, that's exactly how you like it whenever he makes you cum first.

After the shaking subsides and you feel yourself calm down, Jason places a small kiss against one of your legs and stands up. He comes up behind you, pressing his hard member against you, his jeans rubbing against your ass cheeks. You let out a small smile, and slowly crawl on to the bed, your head resting against his thick, comfortable pillows. You arch your back, separating your legs, as one of your hands reaches for your cunt, spreading it wide open for him to see.

He stares hard at your entrance, the color, and wetness of it beckoning him closer, pulling at him like undeniable gravity. He unbuckles his belt, and does away with his jeans, barely pulling his underwear down.

Jason wants to descend on you like a mad dog, stick it in and out without a human thought running through his mind, but he's too rational, too gentle. He's aware of his size, his thick girth, and the way it can hurt you if he's too rough too quickly. And Jason doesn't want to hurt his baby, no, he wants to savor her, to have her moaning sweet nothings at him and have her coax him into a mind breaking orgasm.

So he grazes the tip of his member against your cunt, slowly, gently rubbing it up and down your folds. He prods the entrance a bit with his head, and he notices your toes curling in anticipation, a small smile taking place on his face. He slips a small portion of it in, and earns a small, sweet whimper from your lips.

And god if it doesn't take everything in him to not push it in completely, but he doesn't want this to end quickly, he needs it to last, needs it to go on for longer. It's been nearly four weeks since you've fucked, and it would make him terribly upset to have it end in a matter of minutes, you have to understand him, he thinks.

He slips it out, groaning in the process, feeling the edges of his self control slowly slip away. You let out a small whine, as if hurt, and you feel your pussy clenching around nothing. He stares at you, your beautiful back, your pussy, your puckered asshole, and he thinks about what a feast he's been given this night.

After what feels like an eternal minute of nothing, Jason comes back again and fully inserts himself this time. He wins himself a loud, choked gasp from you, your tight cunt clenching around him as you let out a groan. He lets out a controlled breath, and slips out completely again, rubbing his dick against your folds before diving back in fully.

You feel his head connect against your cervix, a familiar, and pleasurable pain when he's being gentle and teasing like this. And each time he does it, you gasp, and ram yourself back into his hips. His balls slap against your cunt, and you bite your lips hard at that feeling. He holds your hips, pacing himself, keeping himself controlled, but lets you play with him a bit.

Your back works against his torso, your ass hitting against his pelvis, giving him that much needed friction, and giving yourself that ecstatic sting you so desire. Doggy style has proven to be a bit painful for you, a bit too deep for your enjoyment due to his largeness, but if you're in control, then you've both found it better and fun. He feels you clenching your cunt, the tightness of it inebriating him. His face is sweating, his mouth is slightly agape, and then he slips out completely again.

His strong hands grip your sides and legs as he gently flips you on to your back. You stare up at him, at his beautiful and scarred face. His green eyes go small as he gives you a closed smile, his cheeks flushed, and his forehead is sweaty. You smile back at him, knowing he craves physical closeness now, that he wants the sweet loving he's been missing.

Your hands reach for his face, bringing him down to yours, and your lips catch his in a passionate kiss. Mouths melting together, tongues dancing fervently against one another as he slips in again effortlessly. You feel your cunt filled, expanding at his girth, and you gasp into his mouth. But it's not painful in this position, it's so much better for you this way.

Jason's eyes stay on yours as he thrusts himself inside of you, his balls slapping against your cunt from how deep he is, and you feel your eyes begin to water at the pleasure, at his face clashing against yours, at the kisses.

"I love you so much, Jason." You speak breathlessly as he rams into you, stickiness and sweat keeping you tethered to him. He looks into your eyes, nodding, and placing a kiss on your lips.

"I love you too, s'much, baby." He says, as his gasps are getting louder now, as his pace quickens.

You grip his hair, and bring your mouth close to his ear.

"Come inside me, please, fill me up and make me feel warm from inside." You whimper, and he groans, his eyes closing, his pants growing quicker.

"M'baby, don't-" He begins to say, shaking his head, but you close your legs around his waist, and he whimpers. "Fuuuck," Jason groans feeling himself deeper, feeling as your cunt closes around him willingly. Your hand sneaks its way between your bodies, finding your clitoris, and you start rubbing it as he thrusts deeper in you.

His mind is blank now, all he wants is to leave his seed inside of you, to fill your cunt up with the one thing he shouldn't, but you asked for it, and for the first time he wants to throw caution to the fucking wind. Screw it if your period comes late, if your belly grows-fuck it-it'll be a permanent marker of your love for each other, of him being your man and you being his woman.

He feels his body start to tremble, his arms shaking impossibly hard, and you start moaning loudly now, feeling yourself nearing your own climax at the ministrations of his hips and your merciless fingers' movements.

He shudders loudly, and then lets out a loud moan as he finally climaxes. You feel your cunt become warm as ropes of his cum fill you, and soon after, you feel that little vase of pleasure finally spill all over, crashing down on you and making your body convulse for the second time.

Jason and you are a mess of moans and pants, and you're full of tears as your second orgasm completely overtakes your emotions. He kisses you gently, wipes away the tears, and reminds you that he's here and that you're alright. He loves you, he says. He loves you so much, and he's happy with you.

As you slowly calm down, you stare at him, and you let out a sheepish laugh; you feel embarrassed, shy at your outburst. But it's not the first time, and Jason is used to it by now, and it's something he loves about you; the innate connection between your mind and body. Often, his mind and his body are at odds, pushing and pulling away from one another.

He smiles, and gives you a kiss on your lips.

In the Batcave

Grayson is bored out of his mind flipping through different security channels, landing once again at the one in the manor. He changes from cameras, looking into different rooms, and then comes upon Jason's room.

His eyes grow wide as he watches your shuddering, trembling climax on his brother's face, liquid darting out of your-

He punches the button to change channels, his face completely flushed and a huge grin overtaking him. He laughs, his belly hurting, and then he feels it. The blood rushing from his main head, to his second one. He lets out a long breath, the memories of an impossibly warm someone flooding him.

He looks at his phone to his right.

"I should call her." He sighs. He's been spending so much time in Gotham, away from the Titans tower, covering for his father while he's on some important JLA business trip, that he also hasn't been able to have any fun for a while.

He grabs his phone and dials her number.

"Hello, boy wonder." A sultry voice answers.

"Hi, baby." He greets her, his voice sounding a little breathier than he intends it to. "I miss my stargirl so much." He says, lightly grazing his bulge. A chuckle comes from the other end.

"I can get there in twenty minutes. Don't finish before then." She teases.

"Without you? Never." He smiles to himself and the call ends quickly.

#ri likes to write things #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #minors do not interact #smut #jason todd x reader smut

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orangepeelknives · 2 days ago

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it's time to talk about leno 😈

first of all an abriged timeline of what we know about the alleged beef (creds to @moondoggiestyle for the reference, also some of my own additions):

may 29, 2024: will signs with the sharks

summer 2024: leno and gabe both remain at BC

oct 31, 2024: will scores his first nhl goal, leno posts about it

jan 20, 2025: sharks play the bruins in boston, all the bc buddies attend including leno

jan 21st, 2025: leno's bday - no post from will, though in previous years he did post, and typically posts for everybody's bdays

jan 24-24th, 2025: BC beats BU in back to back games. leno gets a hatty in one of the games, his first. wait for it...

jan 28, 2025: jersey bet. that's fucking right. those were the games - leno's five point weekend - after which mack shows up to walk ins in will's fucking tarp. credit to @aquilotti and @loganes for this diabolical realization. so who cares about leno's hatty when INSTEAD we can talk about mack in will's jersey! SICK and TWISTED!

jan 29, 2025: mack and leno follow each other on insta, leno has been up in mack's likes, mack not so much. according to rumor, mack follows leno first, leno follows back right after (ty @loganes again!!!)

feb 10, 2025: the beanpot, bc and bu play each other, leno and gabe are on the team, mack and will attend together in fucking matching black outfits, bc loses to bu, will and mack fuck off to arizona to reenacg magic mike or whatever

march 17, 2025: will's bday - no post from leno, posts from all their buddies (voter, gabe)

march 31, 2025: leno and gabe both sign to their respective nhl teams, will reposts both posts, leno is the only buddy to not get commentary on the repost

april 4, 2025: leno scores his first nhl goal (empty net 🙄), no post from will

extremely early may: mack uses leno's number 9 for his initial team canada jersey number, THEN doubles down and adds will's 6 (insane btw)

may 7, 2025: gabe's bday - posts from both will and leno

may 29th, 2025: leno makes his farewell bc insta post and completely leaves will out of it

also let it be noted all year will has been all up in gabe's comments, nada for leno

now, for part 2 - the insta post

5 slides

slide 1: the cover photo and also the most insane photo to have possibly chosen. leno and gabe exactly mirroring the pic of mack and will that will posted on the second slide of his year one sharks dump. i dont wanna cornplate too hard yet before i get the facts down, but it's a clear duo picture. hes saying this is my guy! not a whole pic of the team, not a pic of just leno, no it is a duo pic with gabe that is quite literally an exact copy of will's duo pic with mack

slide 2: leno in the middle of posma and powell. posma is a senior, powell is a grad student, both older, neither of them appear to be in will's in crowd

slide 3: line pic with gabe, stiga, hagens, and gustafsson. interesting to me that he doesnt tag hagens here and instead waits for slide 5, which....see below

slide 4: walk in pic with will vote. from insta we know that will, gabe, leno, and vote were kind of a squad, and will leno and vote also all lived together for the development program. unsuprising inclusion.

slide 5: an absolutely insane pic of leno literally lying on toppp of james hagens and grinning. hagens was a freshman and was essentially will's replacement in the gabe will leno line. warning for early cornplating but in my head this is like The Replacement Pic.

finally part 3, i put on my little tin hat and run around in the wild going insane.

‼️warning‼️ cornplating starts here 📌

okay. leno posting for will's first goal - first of all, leno stand uppppp, second of all, w the way that boy has been acting all up in insta likes, i dont think it's fair to assume that no falling out has happened yet. and if it has happened, it was likely leno at fault because why would he be gassing will up if he was mad?

then to january, leno attends the sharks game, but the NEXT DAY, will doesnt post for the bday. meaning sometime in fall '24, there was an initial conflict. leno still shows up with all the boys, but he isnt in the group pic, and he isnt getting posted. this further solidifies my theory that in at least the initial conflict, wherever it started from, leno was at fault.

just a week later, mack and leno follow each other. the sharks were in between a home game and a game in seattle, so it's likely mack and will were together in san jose that day. okay, so what happened here? between the weird boston/bday tension, and then will's new number one guy following will's old number one guy on insta?? hmmm

now - the beanpot. will and mack show up together to watch a game extremely important to leno and gabe, a game that very much matters to will's two best friends, and they show up in fucking matching black outfits, zero allegiance showing. mack is reading the lineup, waving a bu flag, will not so much. whats more is as far as im aware we have no evidence of will actually hanging out with his bc boys after the loss or while he was in boston at all. im not saying they didnt, but they didnt post about it! says something idk what but something!

no will bday post - silence is loud. he reposts leno's signing - he's being polite, but the distance is clear. will is notttt the type to be reserved about showing affection for his friends and fam, but not even an emoji....cold war happening

then jerseygate: mack stealing leno's fucking number, no good explanation at all. THEN adding will's number too! so clearly will isn't even upset about it! mack is clearly involved in the will and leno war, at first one could speculate that he played a part but this is like direct involvement now. mack and will on one side, leno on the other. mack's out here wearing their matching numbers at worlds like he's fuckinh achilles dragging hector's corpse around, leno's gotta feel mocked, erased, and not chosen. he’s being publicly overshadowed, his identity stitched onto someone will now loves more.

the insta post now, no will. he's erasing him. and the hagens pic?? unreal. reads like, “you replaced me? i replaced you" except wayy more pathetic unfortch

so my main questions:

the mack following - who followed who first? leno, in some kind of testing the waters move? or mack, likely at will's prompting, or out of his own insanity? and why now? why not before or after the game, which is when they wouldve met up? they had a back to back and played the preds next day so ig wouldve been like coffee or something quick outside the locker room, but still.

‼️info update that mack followed leno first, leno followed right after. SINISTER given that this is occuring the DAY after jersey bet gate, where mack wears will's tarp to the rink based on a bet on games that leno carried. SINISTER!!!

the beanpot - i feel personally that the vibez took a turn for the worst here, but were already bad before. some kind of blowup? a real actual fight? was mack and leno following eo indicitive of some attempt to smooth things over, but then the scab got picked open at the beanpot? again with the way that leno has been grovelling via instagram, feeling like it's a him problem. but ALSO if leno did do or say something it wouldnt be entirely his fault or entirely too bad, given that it doesnt appear that sides have been taken within the core group. maybe leno said something? possibly about or to mack? possibly just to will? who knows! but after this, leno is no longer inner circle and will makes it clear. leno's sitting in a locker room somewhere refreshing will's story after his first nhl goal, and it's crickets.

post beanpot - has will been freezing leno out entirely now? and what role is mack playing, is he actively leaning into it? all signs point to yes.

the way i see it, there's obvi endless possibilities, but my general mentally made up delulu timeline is this:

summer '24: will blindsides (to some extent) gabe and leno with leaving bc, leno takes it as a slight or a betrayal. he made sure to talk a LOT abt how happy he was that he stayed another year at bc, in this context it reads as trying to rub it in. tension is created, but nothing friendship ending yet

fall '24: something happens. will's probably drifting, pulling away, busy with the sharks and his new best friend mack. maybe leno's making comments, being passive aggressive, trying to ice will out a little bit out of hurt, jealousy, whatever. maybe he goes a little too far, will doesnt take it well, leno grovels a little.

winter '24: by jan, it's cooled off a little, things are still tense. leno goes to the game, but the whole group is going, he cant NOT go, but they are almost certainly fighting or almost certainly have a fight here bc no leno bday post the NEXT DAY?? in my head theres a few scenarios, obvi have zero basis in fact, but i love a hypothesis so maybe something like will bringing mack along to a meetup, or texting mack while hanging w bostom boys, leno feels overlooked and replaced all over again right in front of his salad, says something nasty? who knows but it was enough for will to not post his bday! at the beanpot, there had to be something, some kind of fight, because its been a full on ice out ever since.

spring '24: will is done, checked out, he's picked mack over and over. leno is crashing out holed up in PLD's house shaking like a rabid dog. now he just wants to hurt will back, but at the same time he wants will back. he wants will to pick him but he wants will to feel as abandoned as he does.

anyways. anyways!!

#lean #wsh #mack #sources #!!!!!

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war-sword · 1 day ago

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a different blizzard

summary: you're on patrol with Ellie when a snowstorm unexpectedly hits. you smoke weed to pass the time. words: 6,033 a/n: whoa. so if you're already my follower: hi, IM BACK, but i'm so sorry because i am pivoting. like fully fully. so, if this is NOT your speed i will 1000% respect you unfollowing me or whatever. but if it is, then god bless you and you're really a soulmate follower. if you are new- hi and welcome! if you would like to be tagged in future ellie fics please just send me a message or reply to this post! cw: this fic is explicit

read on ao3

Earlier in the afternoon when you’d looked at the thermometer and read 10 degrees, you knew you’d be frozen to the bone by the end of patrol. You felt the burn from where the icy wind had cut across your cheeks, flushing now that you were in the basement of the lookout building. Your bare fingertips could feel the fire on your skin even in their frigid state.

Ellie slides Shimmer’s bridle off and hangs it on a piece of metal that juts out from a crumbling wall. “I’m sure I look even worse.”

“Windburn?” You ask, examining Ellie’s cheeks as she walks your way, headed for the bales of hay that were stored in the room behind you.

“Yeah,” she replies over the grind of rusty metal hinges. Your own horse, Minnie, pushes her shoulder against you as she tries to follow Ellie into the room while making hungry horse sounds.

“Oh, rude!” You shove back against Minnie, who grunts as she relents and takes a few steps back. You pull off her bridle as well, while Ellie throws hay out of the room into separate piles for the horses. Gentle chewing noises fill the room to join the muffled howling of the wind outside in an ambient symphony.

The blizzard that had come on wasn’t unexpected, but you and Ellie had gotten so caught up on your supply run that you’d failed to return to Jackson within the critical window before the snow started falling in earnest. The closest lookout was within short radio distance, so at least people knew where you were. But as you make your way up into the higher levels of the lookout you knew you had made the right choice to stop: the entire world outside the windows is blinding, solid white. “Jesus.”

Ellie shoves her hands in her pockets and makes a face at the snowstorm, gazing out the big window in the main room. You discard your backpack and saddlebag next to the table and flop onto the ancient couch. “I was originally thinking just dinner, but now I’m thinking breakfast, too.” Ellie turns back towards you, a sideways smile on her face and brow up. “You wouldn’t happen to, uhh…”

“...Have anything?” You finish, reaching into the saddlebag closest to you, drawing out a pouch familiar to both you and Ellie. Her smile grew.

“I’ll make the beans.”

Ellie looks on excitedly as your practiced hands roll the joint, a skill you’d honed by rolling up tobacco for friends and delicately pulling apart a scavenged bible whenever you were lucky enough to get your hands on some real bud. Between you lie the remnants of your dinner; deer jerky, homemade crackers with soft cheese and, of course, canned beans that Ellie had seasoned. She scraped the bottom of her can and licked the spoon while she watched you work. Smoking was how you’d first found yourself looking at Ellie a little differently, and she brought that time up now. “I’m thinking of the first time I really had fun on Halloween,” she says, chin in hands and eyes bright watching the joint take shape.

You’d snuck away from the party that was taking place at the Slate’s house, the one later at night that was for older kids and adults who didn’t have small children to entertain. You’d only had a pinch left in your supply, and so, naturally, were being insanely stingy and had gone off alone to roll your joint in the shed tucked in the back corner of the property. Ellie, Dina and Kat had burst in on you mid-lick of the paper, which had resulted in a comical 30 seconds of you sitting there with your mouth open.

The immediate embarrassment was short lived, however, and you ended up packing the weed they’d brought for their own meager bowl with yours into the joint. It ended up being decent, and from the amazing high and best halloween party experience in your whole life you learned the power of ‘matching’. While seemingly obvious, in the small social ecosystem of Jackson, knowing who was who with weed was difficult. Being secretive was essential. You only smoked with your best friend. Well, until a few months ago when you two had a huge falling out. Since then, Ellie became your smoking buddy.

You look up and smile at her, unscrewing the very bottom compartment of your grinder. It let out a squeak as the underused threads resisted. Ellie’s eyes lit up even brighter. “Ooh, when did I become so special?”

You gently tap the kief from the very bottom of the grinder evenly along the joint, scooting it into place with the edge of your nail. “You’ve always been special,” you joke, looking away innocently for a moment to lighten your reply.

Truthfully, you wish Ellie was more than your smoking buddy.

Much more.

It didn’t help that smoking with someone was quite an intimate experience if you let it be. Of course, it was sometimes just hitting a pipe at a party or smoking someone’s offered leftovers. But with Ellie, those little things came with late nights spent at her place or yours, sharing food, and–like right now–spending cold Wyoming nights tucked close for warmth. The smoke would hardly leave each other’s personal space. For you, Ellie had always been such a comfortable fit. You never felt awkward if you were dressed in five mis-matched layers with your hair poking out of a toque like you were a kid, or if either of you were fresh off hours of patrol in the saddle, fighting infected in the wilderness. And the talks, of course. On good days it was divine to waste hours away together, listening to Ellie’s records or playing video games. You’d need to smoke on your worst days too, finding Ellie in the gun room or in the food hall after dinner to ask to meet up later, when your family pissed you off or whatever work shift you’d done that day had been horrible. She’d always listen, no matter what.

So what? It was impossible to not develop a huge, fat crush on Ellie Williams. One could only take so many midnights cuddled up under a shared blanket with a pretty girl as you clung and giggled together in the haze of a shared high.

Much like the drug you shared, denying yourself her presence would have made life so, so bland and unbearable. Which was why it was worth it to practice torturous self-restraint so you could keep seeing Ellie and share in these small moments, rituals, without upsetting the delicate balance. You’d already lost someone recently who you hadn’t even been dating; just somehow fucked up being just friends. There was no way dating Ellie was in the cards.

Now, you’re stuck with her overnight in one of the only lookouts that doesn’t have a heating stove of any sort. A joint and a tangle of blankets on the floor to share for warmth isn’t your brightest, but you’re sure as fuck about to do it.

After a brief discussion of where best to smoke, as opening a window was simply not an option with the negative temperatures outside and hardly any warmer indoors, you agreed the small bathroom was the hotboxing location. First: it was non-functional, and therefore not likely to be entered if you left the door closed if second: you opened the window later, above where the tiling ended in the shower tub, and left it that way for the room to air out the next day after the storm had passed. The walls of the room were already rotting in the corners, and with the tiles some water and wind wouldn’t make it any worse for wear. If someone happened to notice, then hopefully not much damage would be done to the structure.

You fiddle with the filter end of the joint while Ellie piles your jackets and every cushion and throw the lookout had to offer into the tub. “Impressed?” Ellie turns your way, still crouched on the ground with her elbow resting on the edge of the tub, looking goofy and proud of herself.

“Very much so.” You chuckle and get in the tub, clutching the joint in one hand and your lighter in the other.

You tuck your limbs up together in the bathtub, grumbling and kicking each other playfully as you settle in facing one another. You flip the top of your lighter and spark it, bringing the flame up to the end of the joint. “This is a luxury, if you think about it,” You say once the joint hits smoothly and burns evenly. You tap the ash off in a dirty corner of the tub and pass it to Ellie. “Being trapped in a blizzard?”

“No–a whole joint for two people, dumbass.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Sorry I’m not a mind reader.” She hit the joint, sucking in extra air through her teeth and coughing on the way out. “The kief in this is definitely a luxury though. You can feel it.”

“Like I said, you’re special.” When you took the joint back, you delicately put your lips around the cardboard where her’s had just been, unable to not think about it.

After passing the joint back and forth for about ten minutes, you felt the high settle into your muscles. Into your nerves, lighting your senses up. Your legs that were tangled with Ellie’s found themselves pulling closer, and her foot gently moving across your calf sent it jolting. Then her hand was there, steadying you, pulling you in closer. Smoke came out of her nose as she laughed, your fingers pressing as you passed the joint between you, the smoke curling in the air slowly. The literal haze softened all of Ellie’s edges, making her look soft and glowing and perfect.

You feel a sore spot forming as you shifted against the faucet poking into your back, so you leaned forwards into Ellie’s space. “I can’t sit this way, it’s too uncomfortable,” you complain.

Ellie widened her legs and opened her arms, ushering you in. The joint dangled from her lips as she smiled while you gave in to all your urges and settled into her chest, deciding you could indulge yourself just this once. Ellie offered, after all.

You watch from a new, tantalizing angle as she inhales on the joint by just closing her lips all the way around it, smoke pouring out of her mouth on the exhale while she settles you up against her. She offers the joint to your lips where your head rests on her shoulder. “Mmm, much better,” you sigh, and your lips brush Ellie’s calloused fingers as you take your hit.

Your heavy eyelids flutter and you look up at her face, her green eyes in the dim light of the bathroom reflecting the joint glow as golden. Her gaze flits over your face, jumping from feature to feature, and then her other hand reaches up to gently brush your hair back from your forehead. You can feel every follicle of hair shifting, so delicately moved by Ellie’s touch. A shiver runs through you, making you cough. You squeeze your eyes closed, hoping Ellie didn’t see them almost roll.

“Cold?’ Ellie questions, taking the joint away from your mouth and back to her own. She takes a few drags in a row, filling her lungs with fresh air in between.

“‘Lil bit,” you say, half lying. It is cold as fuck here. You stretch like a cat around Ellie, getting out all the tremors building in your muscles. Ellie offers you the joint again, but you shake your head. “No more, I’m fried.”

“What about re-fried?” Ellie jokes, bringing up dinner from earlier. You groan in frustration and try to roll out of the bathtub. Ellie’s arm that isn’t occupied with the joint wraps around to pull you back. “Noooo!”

“Noooo, you! I’m sick of your corny jokes.” I love your stupid ass, corny jokes. I mean, if a man said that shit it would be so stupid. But you make it… cute. “Unhand me!” Please, never let go. Actually, put that shit out and let’s go get on the bedrolls. “I’m fried and cold! Can we go back where it’s warmer?”

You still as Ellie puts out the joint on the side of the tub and places it in the soap divot in the wall for safekeeping. Getting up is harder than anticipated, and the two of you clumsily gather blankets and cushions and squeeze through the tiny doorway, stale smoke following on the way out. You abandon your cushions haphazardly and throw yourself down on the bedrolls previously laid on the floor; with the sleeping bags insulating you from the ground it would be warmer, and easier to share body heat under the blankets. Together. Of course.

“This was dumb, we should’ve just smoked in here,” You mumble into the floor.

“Shhh,” Ellie soothes, and your muscles feel so leadend you just lie there while Ellie throws the blankets at your feet before joining the heap on the floor. Ellie begins to pull off her layers right in front of you, and you don't bother to turn your gaze away. A sliver of her stomach appears above the hem of her pants as she pulls off her hoodie to strip to her undershirt. Warmth licks through your body from bottom to top, catching on your heart and hitching your breath on the way up. You imagine sliding your fingers, then your tongue, over freckled, scarred skin. Your arm twitches.

Ellie moves to get under the blankets, but your hand catches her wrist as she tries to pull the blanket up. “No pants.” Your hand travels of its own accord down to the waistband of her jeans, just barely brushing her skin. It feels like all you can bear, all your very cells can take before they glued themselves and never leave. You hook your finger in a belt loop and pull back with some of your weight, pulling Ellie in closer, just as much as you dare. Slowly. Also falling away, but gripping on even tighter. “They’ve got outside on them.”

Ellie looks down to your hand where it connects with her. Her lips open almost on a question before her teeth catch on the inside of her bottom lip. Her gaze turns up at you. “You’ve got outside on you.” Ellie reaches up and shoves your shoulder. You lose your grip and catch yourself on the other hand, but then decide to prop back on your other arm. The perfect view to watch Ellie undress.

She unzips her fly and shoves her fingers down at her hips, pulling off her jeans and her thermals all at once, revealing surprisingly skimpy underwear. You can’t help but take a breath at the sight of so much of Ellie at once.

She grins for real, then, letting you stare at her as she yanks off her sock layers to finish with her pants. You reach up and pull your knit off your head, snaking your arms out of your thick sweater. Your clingy thermal layer is all that’s left beneath.

Ellie moves in first, so it seems natural to meet her in the middle.

Her fingertips come gently to rest beneath your chin to steady as your lips meet. Nothing to feel about the first time they touched, as it was so quickly replaced by the second, the third, and the fourth; each time overwhelming the last so all you can think about is how much more you want of Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

“Hnnmm, Ellie.” Your hands reach for her neck as her other goes for your waist, her body pushing yours back against the bedding.

She mocks you back between kisses. “We’re still not even.” She pops the button of your own pants. You sit up against her and start to move your hands to your hips, but before you can Ellie kisses your cheek instead of your mouth and you stop. Ellie continues kissing across your face, the hand on your jaw moving to– “Let me do it for you.”

Her hand reaches around your butt to grab the middle of your waistband and pull everything but your underwear off at once. Holy shit. Her mouth moves to your neck just as her hand brushes between your legs, and you try to disguise your twitch as lifting yourself up to make it easier for her to pull off your clothing. But there’s no need to hide anything as Ellie pushes you down flat again, hands diving back up to touch your neck and move your hair out of the way, not caring about leaving your pants abandoned at your knees.

You try to focus your swirling mind to coordinate your limbs over your high and now this new addition of Ellie, feeling the warmth of her so close to you at last. You open your neck to Ellie like an offering, sighing as she goes in for her claim with an open mouth. You put all your focus into yanking off your jeans and woolen socks, leaving your thinnest one on your right because you just cannot be bothered a singular second longer. Ellie’s thigh slots between your free legs at last, and you lay back at last to let Ellie slide her hands under your shirt. Your own go up into her auburn locks and across her strong shoulders.

One gentle pull is all it takes to get Ellie to come back up to your lips. You’re ready for more, and Ellie’s going to give it to you.

With her weight on top of you, it starts to feel real. Your lips, entangled with Ellie’s as she makes little noises into your mouth. Sounds you’ve only imagined a million times, finally from the girl herself. The heat of her body pressing into you, the bare of your legs brushing together feels electrifying in the cold room. The heat between your legs on her thigh. Your senses are overwhelmed with her.

“Is this okay?” Ellie barely breathes the words against your skin. Your own breath is caught in your throat as she pulls your shirt up, just exposing the bottom of your breast.

“Oh my… Fuck, yes.” You answer. Now your lips find themselves at Ellie’s neck. Your tongue darts out across her skin, and her body shivers its own answer, her hands stuttering as they trace across your sensitive skin. She tastes chilled and flushed at the same time, salty from sweat and the trail; of ever present old wood that undercut everything, that smelled like her room in the garage at Joel’s house. You work up her neck towards her ear, memorizing and tasting Ellie the whole way.

Her hand fists into the hair at the nape of your neck as your tongue flicks across the thin skin behind her ear. Ellie gasps aloud. Her hips press down onto you, and you groan and lean into her grip on your hair. All of the sudden, Ellie pulls away. She pushes up onto both her hands, looking down at you below while you try to calm your heaving breath. Ellie’s entire body shivers again. “Fuck, I’m fucking cold. Get under here.”

You giggle, in both relief and agreement as Ellie pulls the blankets this way and that. You roll and lift as Ellie maneuvers them below you before pulling them over top of you both. Enveloped in the thick quilt, you let your hand skim down her hip and leg. It’s easier when you can't see so much of her, just focusing on the feeling. Ellie settles down again, still on top of you but content to tuck your hair behind your ears for the moment.

You take in Ellie’s freckles up close as you move your fingers back up her thigh and catch onto the thin band of her underwear. “Not what I expected from you, Williams, but it does explain why your butt always looks so cute.”

Ellie groans and buries her head into the crook of your neck, rolling her body to get your hand to let go. “I’m not very good at keeping up with my laundry, okay?” She grumbles.

You laugh and Ellie presses a quick kiss to your neck and then your cheek. You turn your head to meet her for a third on the lips. “How long have you been looking at my butt?” Ellie smirks.

Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. “Long time. Longer than I’d care to admit,” you say simply.

“I never felt confident judging your… interest.” Ellie says after a beat. You can see the green clear as day in her eyes, even in the dim lamplight. Her gaze goes downcast, where her hand is still gently moving under your shirt and across your side in a soothing manner.

“Well, you know I’m interested now.”

Her hand skims up again, her thumb trailing slow underneath your breast. “As long as you can accept my spotty laundry habits,” Ellie deadpans.

You grab Ellie around the neck and pull her in as you laugh, enjoying how she tries to kiss you through it all. “‘Course.”

You deepen the kiss, opening your mouth just the slightest to let Ellie know what you want. She responds eagerly, taking your bottom lip between hers. Her hand that’s up near your head cradles your face as you kiss, the other that’s still exploring under your shirt creeps up. With each minute that passes, the kisses turn more heady and Ellie’s gentle roll of her hips across yours has you meeting her in the middle.

Ellie runs her thumb across your nipple, exposing it by finally pushing your shirt to your collarbone. You groan into her mouth as Ellie thumbs it again. She pulls away for a second to let a sliver of spit fall from her lips to your chest. The wetness combined with the cold air makes goosebumps raise all over your torso and arms, and the gentle pad of Ellie’s thumb rhythmically moving across your nipple has you feeling dizzy.

You want to kiss Ellie again, but you’re beginning to feel overstimulated between the amount of touching and your high. The juxtaposition of the freezing room and her warm hands, the hard floor and her gentle touch, how the Ellie of real life was nothing–and everything–like the Ellie in your dreams. Your breath becomes shallow as you watch Ellie slowly, almost reverently, lower her mouth to where her finger had been.

She sucked, and pain and pleasure came in equal amounts. A moan pulls from deep in your chest. “God, Ellie.”

“Yeah?” She heaves in a breath of her own, and you feel her hands shake as she pushes up the other side of your shirt so she can do the same to your other breast.

Your mind reels over the idea that Ellie is, actually, sucking on your tits right now, and your hands grab anywhere on her body they can like she’s the only thing connecting you to reality. You lift one of your legs and hook it around Ellie’s, pulling your thigh firmly between her legs. She fits perfectly on the ridge of your thigh muscle. Ellie rolls her hips just like you hoped she would, and you smile to yourself. Ellie doesn’t indulge herself too long, though, and opens her mouth to blow cool air across your wet skin. You cry out, and she goes in to soothe with quick short strokes of her tongue that has your thigh jumping up against her.

You will yourself in a coordinated manner to grab where your shirt was bunched up beneath your arms and pull it all the way off. One of Ellie’s hands comes down to cup your butt, pulling you up against her and bringing you even closer. A level of touch, of closeness that makes your heart beat so wildly you aren’t sure if you’re ready for it.

“Yeah,” Ellie says again, this time more like praise for you rather than her asking. “That’s good.” She drags her lips up your now fully naked torso, tongue coming across your neck. You’re practically panting as she marks your neck and behind your ear, and you run your hands up Ellie’s back to push her shirt with it.

“You’re good” you mumble, squeezing your thighs around Ellie’s. “Wanna feel your skin.”

Ellie obliges by letting go of you with one hand, then the other, to pull her arms out of her tank top, finally getting to feel her chest flush with your’s. You wrap your arms around Ellie as far as you can, wanting as much of you touching as physically possible. You need to kiss her again, but between your pathetic open-mouthed breathing and the weed, you’re experiencing a level of dry mouth previously unknown. Ellie seems completely the opposite, the way every inch of skin that her mouth had touched on you was slick in a way that made every minute movement from either of you feel delicious.

Ellie’s a woman on a mission you by no means want to detract her from, but you desperately need your canteen. “Ellie…”

“Yes?”

You tug at her hair gently. “I need a drink. Please.” You pull back a bit, and reach for your bag at the edge of the bedrolls.

Ellie quickly detaches and reaches the same direction, her fingers going a few inches further than your own to catch on the strap of your bottle and bring it within your grasp. You both sit back, and while you work to unscrew the top of your bottle, Ellie resets how your legs are slotted together. She goes back to gently kissing across your collarbone and shoulder, unbothered as you take several much needed sips.

You put the cap back on and discard your canteen beside the bed, bringing your arms around Ellie again, brushing across her back. You dip your head down in her direction, wanting more kisses.

You want more than just kisses, too. Now that you’re past the most intense part of your high, warm at last, hydration in your body that livens you on the inside. You lick into Ellie’s mouth deeply, tasting the smoke that still lingered. Desire curls deep within you, the need for Ellie you’d felt for months. A need that no amount of ranting to friends, dreaming, crying alone, journaling, or late nights alone in your bed with your hand down your shorts would ever make go away. You were never able to pawn those feelings off on anyone else: they were only ever for Ellie.

You push yourself up the smallest bit, encouraging Ellie’s hands lower and arching your back to meet her touch. Ellie feels what you want almost immediately, hand going to your ass, pulling one of your buttcheeks to the side as she digs in with her fingers. “Mmm, you are gonna be good,” she purrs, a finger gently teasing along the skin that leads down between your legs.

Ellie readjusts her grip, going even lower this time, pulling on your leg where your ass and thigh meet, and you feel your folds separate. Not only feel, but you hear it, all of the wetness you’ve been leaking coming apart from each other. Your underwear shifts and the fabric sticks to your sensitive cunt. Even with the brush of your skin and both of your heavy breaths, Ellie hears it too.

You feel her grin as she pulls away from your mouth and puts her lips up to your ear. “You know how fucking hot that is? How hot you are?” Ellie says to you, cradling your body that’s melting into her with a little bit of mortification and a whole lot of want. “So gorgeous. Imagined this so many times…” Ellie goes on as she slides her finger between your skin and your underwear, pulling it down and to the side.

“No… way,” you manage to get out, your voice wavering as Ellie’s finger drags through your folds. Her rough fingers on the most sensitive part of you feels unreal.

“Yes.” Her other hand tugs your underwear further, tapping your knee for you to move it so she can take them all the way off. “Pretty girl on my lap. Watching you feel good.” Ellie throws your underwear to the side and wets her middle and pointer finger in her mouth before reaching back around to touch you again. This time as she pulls you open, one finger works your clit while the other presses against your opening. You whine into Ellie’s shoulder, clinging to her, while you arch your back into her touch as far as you can. “Being perfect,” she coos.

Perfect for her, but you’re no longer feeling apprehensive. Ellie was already accepting you at your most desperate.The high from smoking gave over into another. You pull at Ellie’s underwear again, this time grabbing the front. Your fingers brush across her pussy, feeling her stubbly pubic hair and the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. “Want it like this.”

Ellie practically throws you to the side in her hurry to take her underwear off, which has you almost laughing over her shoulder; but you’re back sitting up a second later, this time with Ellie’s fingers touching herself and reaching for you again. You watch Ellie openly as she spreads herself open, and your mouth genuinely begins to water at the sight. Even though it’s mostly obscured in the dim light and shadow of Ellie’s legs, you can see the creamy whiteness of her own arousal. You can almost taste it on your tongue, feeling greedy as Ellie’s finger drags it across her own clit. Something snaps in your brain.

In that same moment, hardly a second, Ellie is pulling you back in so you can finally fit together: comfortable and perfect and electrifying. Ellie plants a hand down to steady herself, while you wrap your arm around her waist. You shift against each other, moving skin and limbs until you’re slotted together perfectly as one. Your nails scrape against Ellie’s scalp when you sink a hand into her hair at the first roll of your hips together, and it makes her moan the loudest she has all night.

“Fuck yes,” and she captures you in a kiss.

Your noses are pressed into each other's cheekbones, sharing the same breath, Ellie calling you ‘pretty’ and ‘babe’ and ‘my girl’ as your hips chase the allure of your orgasm with the help of Ellie’s touch. You can hear the change in pitch of the noises you’re making, everything just tumbling out of your mouth as you hold Ellie tight. Your clit presses into Ellie at just the right spot, and you’re seeing white.

“Oh my god, Ellie–I, holy–I’m,” you stutter, your muscles getting tighter and tighter.

Ellie quits moving as much, and your cunt throbs at the loss of friction. You moan as Ellie tries to back away, to put her hand between you and where her own pussy had been, but you pull your hips back together and put a hand on Ellie’s knee to keep her down. “No,” you huff, moving against her again, the pleasure flooding back with the easy glide. “Want it like this.”

Ellie’s eyes go wide, and you close yours before you can see the expression on her face as she watches you take her. “Anything. Anything you want,” she says breathlessly as she goes in to kiss you, lifting herself up against you, as her own muscles start to shake.

“Want your come in me.” You pull yourself against Ellie, thinking of you becoming one, Ellie’s spit and cream and sweat and love all in you at once.

Ellie offers you the perfect angle, and wraps her arms around your back and shoulders, cradling your neck as you fall over the edge with a final grind of your hips. You cry out her name and let her support you as she keeps the pace with her own hips, until you are shaking and stammering for her to slow. “Oh, Ellie. Please, I’m…”

You lose all ability to form words when she stops and holds you a bit up and to the side, sliding a finger into you. You’d come how you wanted, and it was amazing, but somehow Ellie knew you were feeling empty, that your pussy craved to clench around something, how good it felt now as she put in another finger and you could feel your muscles around her.

“Fuck,” Ellie breaths out, blowing a strand of hair from her face. She watches your expression as she lazily pushes her fingers in and out, touching you just enough to make your comedown easier and avoiding your sensitive clit.

You take several deep breaths before managing to lift your head. You lock eyes with Ellie, amazed by how beautiful she looks. You make an indiscriminate noise and reach down to still Ellie’s hand in you.

“Okay now?” She asks. You nod. She pulls her fingers out slowly, drawing them across the outside of your pussy one last time before she puts them in her mouth. Ellie hums in pleasure and closes her eyes for dramatic effect. You barely have the energy to huff, let alone laugh, but your hand moves down to where Ellie’s legs meet.

“Want me…?” You ask when she opens her eyes and looks down at you. Ellie shakes her head.

“No need.” She says, pulling both of your legs, which are already feeling unuseable, to the same side so she can cradle you in her lap and plant more kisses on your head.

“Oh,” you say with a bit of relief at the realization of your own exhaustion. “Whe–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ellie kisses your lips quiet. You put your hand up to keep her there for a moment, before letting go. “Lemme go get the joint.” Ellie says.

“Okayyyy, fiend.”

You roll off her and over, covering yourself in the quilt that had eventually been crumpled at the base of the bedrolls. Ellie reaches for her flannel and pulls her underwear back on, before scurrying back to the bathroom in the cold.

While Ellie is gone, you reach back for your canteen. You take another drink from it, then reach into your bag and dig around until you find your lighter and one of your unused bandanas, not wanting to waste the clean rags in your medical kit. You wet the cloth with some of your water and wipe between your legs, making a face at your own sensitivity and the cold of the water. Ellie sprints back in and dives under the blanket right next to you, and you swap the cloth with her for the joint. Ellie accepts the cloth gratefully, and slides her legs from the blanket for one more moment to clean herself.

Before she closes her legs, you lean over and press a kiss to her inner thigh. “You are next though.” You pull back.

Ellie tucks up her legs and gets back under the blanket, face going red. “You wanna… eat me out?”

“After we smoke again.” You grab your huge sweater, throwing it on to cover up since your body was starting to cool down again. You let the quilt pool at your waist and spark up the joint. Ellie watches from the floor, a smile playing on her lips. Her hand reaches out to caress your uncovered hip, like she can’t not touch you.

“Can all our smoke sessions be like this?” She asks.

“Hear me out on this one,” you say, taking a drag from the joint. “Maybe even when we’re not going to smoke.”

Ellie snorts and reaches for the joint. When you put it back between your lips and innocently clasp your hands behind your back, she pulls you in by your neck and plucks it from your mouth on her own.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader smut #tlou #the last of us fanfic #ellie the last of us #war-sword

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