#nothing wrong if you don’t give something a second thought because you’re so used to it. but I can and will ask about it and I don’t think I

[clumsypuppy]

footnotes arent enough I need you to talk to me like im fucking Amelia Bedelia

[maskedbyghost]

cw: manipulation, possessive reader, suggestive language

You told him you didn’t do casual.

You didn’t make it a big deal. You just said it like you meant it, not trying to sound dramatic or emotional about it. Just honest.

“I don’t do casual,” you said, eyes on your drink. “It always ends up messy, and I’m not built for that.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s alright,” he said eventually. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You nodded. No reaction on your face, no shift in tone. “Then we can just be friends.”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying to figure you out. “You sure?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I like hanging out with you. We don’t have to fuck.”

“…Alright,” he said, after a pause. “Friends.”

And that was the start.

Except friends don’t show up to his gym when he’s meeting a girl for a workout date.

Friends don’t slip him a text during his Tinder dinner like,

“you left your hoodie here again. i’m wearing it. smells like you.”

Friends don’t show up to the pub when he’s got plans with someone, all dolled up like you just rolled out of a damn music video, giving his date a once-over and offering a tight smile that says run, babe.

You’d always act surprised when things didn’t work out. “Oh no, she ghosted you? That’s so weird.”

And Simon? He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was tired, and lonely, and honestly kind of lazy when it came to trying to figure women out, and you were just so easy to be around, so warm and funny and low-maintenance and somehow always around when he needed someone.

So when he started seeing you more than anyone else, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

He told himself it was just friendship.

Even when you leaned against him on the couch. Even when you started sleeping over. Even when he started feeling a little sick thinking about you with anyone else.

The night it finally changed, he had just come back from a shit deployment — nothing too dangerous, just long and annoying and cold, and you’d been waiting at his place (with your own key, because somehow that had happened), and you were in his clothes, curled up in his bed with takeout, and when he saw you like that he just… stopped thinking.

“You’re perfect for me,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blinked, looking up from your phone. “What?”

“I was so fucking stupid,” he muttered, dropping his bag, walking toward you like something magnetic was pulling him in. “I didn’t see it. I don’t know why.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him for a second, then smiled, slow and easy, like you’d been waiting for him to finally figure it out, like none of it really surprised you, but you were still happy to hear it out loud.

From there, it was easy.

The relationship happened fast. Slipped into place like it had always been there. He’d gone from “I don’t do serious” to leaving his toothbrush at your place, to falling asleep with his face buried in your neck, to holding your hand in public without even realizing he was doing it.

He was happy. Stupidly happy. The kind that made his friends suspicious and his coworkers tease him. The kind that made you look like the hero of some cozy domestic fantasy where nothing ever goes wrong and love is enough.

It wasn’t one big moment. It was a bunch of little ones that slowly added up until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Like how you always just showed up when he had plans, how his phone would buzz with a text from you right before he left for a date. Or how you’d casually mention how certain girls “weren’t his type,” even when he never brought them up to you.

And then one day, while you were going through an old playlist together, you said, “God, I remember this song. I used to listen to it every time I thought about you with someone else.” And you didn’t even blink after saying it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it starts adding up.

You’d played him. You’d baited him.

And now he’s sitting on the couch, watching you walk into the room in one of his old T-shirts, holding a bowl of snacks, looking like home, and he honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off or bend you over the arm of the sofa and remind you who he is.

You plop into his lap like you do it every day (because you do), nestling in like you’re settling into your rightful throne, and he wraps his arms around your waist automatically, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You know what I realized today?” he asks, voice low.

You hum. “What?”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. “We’re together because you manipulated me.”

You pause for like… half a second. Then?

“Yeah,” you say, nonchalant. “And?”

He squints at you, mouth twitching like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or frown. “You sabotaged every girl I tried to hook up with.”

“I did,” you say, and lean forward to grab the remote. “Most of them were trash anyway.”

“You tricked me into thinking you weren’t interested.”

“Mhm.” You don’t even look at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

There’s this long silence, and then Simon groans and lets his head fall back on the couch dramatically.

“I should be mad,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” you say, smiling down at him like he’s your prize. “You love me.”

“Fuck, woman,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours. “That turns me on.”

You grin, shifting your weight so you’re straddling him properly, hands sliding up his chest slowly until your fingers curl around the back of his neck. You squeeze—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“You belong to me,” you whisper against his ear. “Always have.”

He shivers. Actually shivers.

“…Jesus.”

You kiss his jaw, slow and smug. “Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Good boy.”

And yeah. He is.

PART 2

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[inseobts]

OHHHH I GOT AN AMAZING IDEA WHAT IF READER DOESN'T GIVE ONE PIECE MEN A KISS BACK AFTER THEY KISSED READER?

Please Kiss Back!

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law and ace

words count: around 0.9k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The crew is scattered around the ship, busy with their usual antics, but you’re sitting on the deck with Luffy, legs dangling over the edge.

He’s in an especially good mood today,not that it’s unusual, but there’s a certain spark in his grin, an extra bounce in his movements. You don’t think much of it. It’s Luffy, after all.

And then, suddenly, he kisses you.

It’s quick, impulsive, but undeniably a kiss.

Your entire body goes stiff and your mind goes blank.

Luffy pulls back just as easily as he leaned in, smiling like he just did the most natural thing in the world.

“Heh, that was nice” he says, tilting his head “Right?”

But you don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just sit there, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

Luffy’s smile falters. His head tilts the other way now, brows slightly furrowed “Huh? You didn’t kiss me back.”

You see the confusion in his face, hear it in his voice. He isn’t upset, Luffy doesn’t get upset about things like this, but he’s puzzled.

“Did I do it wrong?”

His voice is quieter now.

Panic surges through you “Wha—no! No, you didn’t—” You shake your head quickly, your thoughts scrambling together “I just… I wasn’t expecting it!”

Luffy blinks at you “Why not?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What are you supposed to say? Because you’re my captain? Because you never act romantic? Because I didn’t think you even thought about kissing people?

Luffy watches you, waiting for an answer. His usual carefree energy is still there, but for once, you see something else in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty.

“Oh.” He leans back, rubbing his nose “So you didn’t want me to?”

Your heart drops.

“No!” You nearly shout, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away completely “That’s not it!”

Luffy blinks at you again, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for an explanation.

You inhale sharply. Screw it.

You lean forward and kiss him.

This time, you make sure he feels it.

Luffy freezes for half a second, probably because he wasn’t expecting it, but then, just as quickly, he melts into it. His lips are warm, a little chapped from the salty sea air, but soft against yours. His hands hover for a moment before he grabs your shoulders, steadying himself as he grins into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breath a little uneven, he laughs.

“Ohhh, so you do wanna kiss me!”

Your face burns “I—Shut up!”

Luffy just grins wider, pulling you into his chest like he didn’t just shake your entire world “You’re funny, Y/N,” he says, resting his chin on your head. “I’m gonna kiss you all the time now!”

You groan into his shirt. What have you gotten yourself into?

You’re still pressed against Luffy’s chest, your face burning as he laughs. The warmth of his body seeps into you, and his chin rests comfortably on top of your head, like he’s perfectly content to stay like this forever.

“I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the ti—” he says, his voice filled with the same carefree confidence he uses when talking about becoming Pirate King.

You groan into his shirt, trying to push away, but his arms tighten around you.

“Luffy!”

“What?” He tilts his head, grinning “You kissed me back, so that means you like it, right?”

You open your mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Because… he’s right. You did kiss him back. You wanted to. You just hadn’t expected him to be so Luffy about it.

“That’s not the point” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

He laughs again, a happy, carefree sound “Then what’s the point?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, and immediately regret it. He’s staring at you with those big, curious eyes, his face close enough that you can still feel the warmth of his breath. He isn’t teasing you, not really... he’s just genuinely waiting for an answer, like he doesn’t understand why you’re so flustered.

And that makes it worse.

You shove your hands against his chest, trying to put some distance between you “You can’t just—just say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” Luffy pouts.

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

He laughs harder “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed!”

You swear your soul leaves your body “LUFFY—”

He suddenly leans in again, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before you can stop him.

“Mmm, yeah, I like this,” he says, nodding to himself “I’m definitely gonna do it a lot.”

Your brain malfunctions.

“You—! I—!” You can’t even form a sentence.

Luffy just beams “You can kiss me too, y’know.”

Your face somehow gets even hotter “I KNOW!”

His grin widens, and then before you can react he jumps to his feet, stretching his arms.

“Alright! I’m hungry!” He looks down at you, still sitting there, completely overwhelmed “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat!”

He grabs your hand before you can protest and starts dragging you toward the kitchen, like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just turn your world upside down.

Like he didn’t just kiss you twice, steal your breath, and then immediately think about food.

You let him pull you along, still dazed, as your fingers stay laced with his.

Luffy is impossible, but that’s why you like him so much.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sound of swords clashing echoes throughout the quiet ship as the crew enjoys their evening. You sit on the railing, your legs dangling, watching the stars as the ship cruises along. Zoro is nearby, practicing his swordplay as usual, his focus unwavering.

You’ve been in a strange mood today, frustrated, angry, even a little annoyed, but you didn’t want to take it out on Zoro. You just needed some time to think, and he had given you that. But when you saw him practicing so intensely, your irritation began to simmer.

It had been an argument earlier. Not a huge one, but one that still left a bad taste in your mouth. Zoro had made a careless comment about something that had happened during the last fight, something trivial, but it had stuck with you, and now, as you watch him swing his swords with that unshakable intensity, you can’t help but feel more upset.

Zoro finishes his set, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes catch yours, and without saying anything, he walks over to you. You remain where you are, not bothering to look at him. The quiet tension between the two of you feels thicker now, and you can almost hear the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Zoro asks, his voice unusually soft, as he stops a few steps in front of you. He might not always say much, but Zoro knows when something is off with you.

You sigh, leaning back slightly on the railing, crossing your arms “Nothing.”

You know Zoro won’t take that for an answer, but you don’t feel like talking about it. You don’t want to have another one of those half-formed conversations that end up with him brushing it off or getting frustrated with you. He’s not one for deep talks, and you don’t want to drag him into it.

Zoro, being Zoro, doesn’t give up. He steps closer, standing directly in front of you, his tall frame looming over you. He doesn’t push, but the intensity in his gaze is hard to ignore.

“Y/N,” he says, a hint of concern sneaking into his usually blunt tone “You’ve been weird all day.”

You feel your anger stir again, that feeling of being dismissed or misunderstood growing. Without thinking, you snap at him “I’m fine, alright? Just… don’t worry about it.”

The words are harsher than you intended, and you immediately regret them. But you’ve already said it, and the frustration that’s been building up inside you has no outlet other than Zoro at the moment.

Zoro blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden sharpness. There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, you think he’ll retreat, that he’ll walk away like he usually does when he doesn’t understand. But instead, he leans in closer, his face now inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re upset, right?” His voice is low, almost a growl.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and the irritation that had flared up earlier starts to subside just a little. But your pride is still holding on, and you don’t want to let it go so easily “I’m not upset” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, and you turn your head away, hoping he’ll just leave it alone.

Zoro doesn’t move, though. He’s still right in front of you, and his eyes are fixed on you with that intense gaze of his, like he’s seeing through you, reading everything you’re trying to hide.

And then, without warning, Zoro leans in and kisses you.

His lips are firm, yet gentle, pressing softly against yours. You don’t kiss him back immediately. Instead, you sit there, frozen, eyes wide in shock. Your heart races, and for a second, you’re not sure how to react.

Zoro pulls back just slightly, his gaze still locked with yours, waiting. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint trace of something in his gaze, concern, maybe? He wants an answer. He wants to know what’s wrong.

You should have kissed him back, but you didn’t. The confusion, the frustration, it all bubbles up again, and you’re not sure why you’re holding back this time.

Zoro doesn’t say anything at first, but he waits. His hand gently brushes against your cheek, as if trying to coax a response out of you “Why didn’t you kiss me back?”

You try to speak, but no words come out at first. You don’t want to tell him the truth, that you’re angry, that you don’t know how to explain what’s really bothering you.

You finally exhale, your voice softer than before “I was mad. At you.”

Zoro blinks in surprise, and for a moment, you think he’ll get defensive, like he always does when he doesn’t understand something. But instead, he simply nods. His eyes soften, and his fingers gently trace your jawline as if to remind you that he’s not going anywhere.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says quietly. His voice is surprisingly gentle, his usual gruffness gone “But if something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.”

You sigh, your anger finally dissipating as you look up at him. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he’s trying to meet you halfway. You can feel the weight of your pride slipping away, and you hate that you let it build up this far.

You close the gap between you, leaning in to kiss him, this time responding wholeheartedly. It’s slow at first, but it deepens as you feel the tension release from your shoulders. You kiss him like you’ve missed him, like you didn’t realize just how badly you needed this connection.

When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his, breathing heavily “I’m sorry,” you whisper “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

Zoro chuckles softly, his hand cupping your face “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

You smile, and for the first time today, the weight that had been dragging on you fades away completely.

Zoro’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer “But next time, you’ll kiss me back, right?”

You laugh softly, feeling the heat of his chest against yours “I promise.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, you kiss him back without hesitation.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, your breath still heavy, and the silence between you both feels different now, softer, more understanding. Zoro doesn’t speak at first, but his arms remain tightly around you, his fingers brushing gently through your hair, as if he’s making sure you’re still there, still with him.

For a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet night, the ship gently rocking beneath your feet. The stars above are bright, casting a peaceful glow over the deck. It’s in these moments that you realize how much Zoro means to you. Even when you’re angry, even when you push him away, he never truly goes anywhere. He might not say a lot, but his actions speak louder than anything else.

“You know, you’re a real pain sometimes” you murmur, leaning into him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Zoro chuckles softly, his lips brushing against the top of your head “You’re the one who doesn’t kiss me back.” His voice is teasing now, and the warmth of his hands against your back makes you feel safe, despite everything.

You smile, finally allowing yourself to fully relax in his embrace “I know. I’m sorry about that. I just…” You hesitate, unsure of how to express yourself “I didn’t want to drag you into my mood. It wasn’t about you.”

Zoro doesn’t respond immediately, but his hand moves to gently lift your chin, so that you’re looking up at him. His green eyes are soft, understanding. He looks at you the way he always does when he knows there’s more you’re not saying, like he’s giving you the space to figure it out yourself, but also offering his support.

“You don’t have to protect me from your mood, Y/N,” Zoro says quietly, his thumb gently grazing your cheek “You know that, right?”

You blink up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his words. It’s rare for him to be this open, to say something so vulnerable. Zoro’s never been one for words, always more about actions. But when he does speak, it’s clear he means it.

“I know,” you murmur, feeling your heart swell in your chest “I guess I just didn’t want to make it worse.”

Zoro shakes his head, his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you even closer “You can’t make it worse, Y/N. I’ve been with you long enough to know that.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the world feels lighter. Maybe it’s because you’re finally opening up to him, maybe it’s because you realize that, despite all your pride, Zoro has always been the one who sees right through you.

The air between you two seems to change, the tension now replaced by an unspoken understanding. Zoro leans down again, capturing your lips in a much slower, more deliberate kiss this time. It’s deep and meaningful, not rushed like before, and you kiss him back just as intensely. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the feeling of his lips against yours, and the reassuring presence of his hands wrapped around you.

When you finally pull away, you smile softly up at him, feeling like everything that had been weighing on your shoulders is finally gone.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a little gruff, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You nod, leaning your forehead against his “Much better. Thanks, Zoro.”

He smirks, giving you a gentle, teasing squeeze “I don’t need thanks. Just kiss me back and we’ll be fine.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being this open with you. Zoro might not always know the right words to say, but the way he takes care of you, without question, speaks more than anything he could say aloud.

“Deal.” You smile, finally feeling at ease, as you stand there together in the quiet night, just the two of you, with the stars as your only witnesses.

Zoro leans in to kiss you again, but this time, he pulls back just before your lips meet.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” he teases with that familiar mischievous smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully but don’t hold back when you respond this time. You kiss him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Does that answer your question?” you whisper, as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the moonlight catching the green in them.

Zoro’s grin widens, and you know, without a doubt, that everything is going to be alright. Even in the moments of silence, when words are hard to come by, you know you can always count on him.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen feels quieter now, the only sound being the gentle crackle of the stove and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. You stand at the counter, your hands busy with the meal, but your mind is far from the task at hand. You feel a weight on your chest that you can’t quite shake off... guilt.

Sanji had left the kitchen earlier, giving you the space you had asked for, but the sadness in his eyes lingers in your thoughts. You didn’t mean to hurt him, but you’re not sure how to fix this.

You’ve always loved how Sanji dotes on you, how tender he is despite his usual flirtatious attitude, and yet, today, something in you snapped. The moment he had kissed you and you hadn’t kissed him back, the look on his face was more than you could handle. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment. It’s one thing to have an argument, to be upset about something that happened, but the thought that you could break his heart over something so small, something so trivial, makes you feel worse than ever.

Your knife clinks against the counter, the task you’re supposed to be focusing on now forgotten, your gaze drifting to the door.

Just as you’re about to give in and seek him out, you hear the faint sound of footsteps. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can feel Sanji’s presence always manages to fill a room.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, hesitant, and you can hear the uncertainty beneath it. You turn to face him, and there he is, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His usual confident, charming smile is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looks… small. Vulnerable, even. It hurts more than you thought it would.

You can’t meet his eyes at first, your gaze flicking to the counter instead, your hands nervously adjusting the utensils “Sanji… I—” Your throat tightens, the apology catching in your voice.

He doesn’t move, not yet, waiting for you to gather your words. The silence stretches on, heavier than you want it to be, but eventually, Sanji steps forward. The faint sound of his shoes tapping against the wooden floor rings through your ears as he approaches. He doesn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, you think maybe he’ll just walk away again, leaving you both in that uncomfortable space.

But instead, he reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands, and guides your eyes to meet his. His gaze is soft, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your heart ache.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he says quietly, his voice nearly a whisper “I don’t care if you’re angry or upset, but when you push me away like that, it makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize just how deeply you’ve hurt him with your silence.

“Sanji…” you start, but your voice falters. What can you say to fix it? How do you explain that it wasn’t him, it was you? That you didn’t know how to communicate what was bothering you?

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his head resting against yours. You can feel the warmth of his chest against you, his breath soft and steady. You let yourself relax into him, for once letting go of the pride you’ve been holding onto so tightly. You know you’ve hurt him, and you can feel the guilt eating away at you.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmurs, his hands soothingly running through your hair “I know you’re not always in the mood for affection, but I… I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, and finally allow yourself to melt into his touch “I’m sorry, Sanji,” you whisper, your voice filled with regret “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s not you, I was just… frustrated. But I should’ve never shut you out like that.”

His fingers stop moving through your hair, and you can feel his breath hitch as he pulls back slightly to look at you. For a moment, he just stares, and the warmth in his eyes makes your heart race. Then, without warning, his lips are on yours.

It’s a soft kiss at first, barely a brush of his lips against yours, as if he’s still unsure if you’re ready. But you don’t hesitate this time. You meet him halfway, kissing him back deeply, letting all the words you couldn’t say earlier pour into the kiss. You press closer to him, your hands finding their way around his neck, pulling him even closer as if you never want to let him go.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and there’s a quiet moment between you, the tension from earlier melting away.

“Are we good?” Sanji asks, his voice playful again, but there’s a hint of vulnerability behind it.

You smile, finally feeling the weight lift from your shoulders “Yeah, we’re good.” You reach up, running a hand through his messy blond hair, before pulling him into another kiss, this time, more tender, slower, filled with the understanding that had been missing before.

“I really don’t like it when you push me away” he mutters against your lips, his hands resting on your waist.

You laugh softly, your heart light “I’ll try not to, okay? No more pushing you away.” You pull him even closer, your arms winding around him “I promise.”

He grins, that familiar, charming grin, as he wraps his arms around you “You better, sweetheart. Because I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

You lean against him, feeling his warmth envelop you, and for the first time today, you feel like everything is right again. You’re not alone in your frustration anymore, and you can lean on him when things feel too heavy. With Sanji, you know you’ll always have someone who understands, someone who’s ready to support you, even when you don’t ask for it.

As you sit there in his embrace, you let your worries melt away, knowing that, for once, you don’t have to fight this battle on your own.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang is unusually quiet tonight. Most of the crew has turned in, the hum of the submarine filling the empty corridors. You sit on the deck, legs dangling over the side, watching the ocean stretch endlessly under the moonlight. The battle earlier had been rough, leaving you sore and exhausted, but the peaceful waves help settle your nerves.

A presence settles beside you, and you don’t need to look to know who it is.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask, glancing at Law.

He’s watching the water, arms resting on his knees “You took a nasty hit today. Should be resting.”

You roll your eyes “I’m fine, doctor.”

He exhales sharply, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Instead, a silence lingers between you, different from your usual comfortable quiet. There’s something restrained in the way Law sits, the way his fingers tighten into fists before relaxing again.

Then, before you can process what’s happening, he shifts toward you, one hand reaching for your cheek as his lips press firmly against yours.

Your breath catches. Your mind blanks.

Law is kissing you.

The realization slams into you so hard that you freeze completely. He’s warm, his touch surprisingly careful despite the rough way he carries himself in battle. But you don’t move... you don’t kiss him back. Not because you don’t want to, but because you weren’t expecting this. At all.

A second passes. Then another.

Law pulls away first. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable before he looks away, jaw tightening. He stands abruptly.

“Forget it,” he mutters “That was a mistake.”

“Wait—” you reach for him, but he’s already stepping back, his expression closing off into something distant and unreadable. The wall he puts up is so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You finally find your voice “Law, I—”

“Get some rest,” he interrupts, his tone sharp “That’s an order.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the submarine without another word.

You sit there, stunned, heart pounding.

You wanted to kiss him back. You wanted this.

But now, you might have just ruined everything.

In facts, after that Law starts avoiding you.

Not just the usual, brooding, keep-to-himself kind of avoiding you. No, this is different. This is intentional.

And it’s driving you insane.

Ever since that kiss, the kiss you wanted but had been too frozen to return, he’s been more distant than ever. He won’t meet your eyes, won’t acknowledge your presence unless absolutely necessary, and worst of all, you don’t understand if it him who refuses to be alone with you or just the crew having the worst timing.

Every time you try to talk to him, someone interrupts.

Attempt #1: You corner him in the medical bay, only for Shachi to barge in, whining about some nonexistent injury. Law doesn’t even look at you as he orders you both out.

Attempt #2: You catch him in the hallway, ready to finally get this over with, but Penguin suddenly appears, asking something about the ship’s course. Law walks away before you can say a word.

Attempt #3: The mess hall. Surely, he can’t avoid you here. You sit beside him, he gets up immediately.

At this point, the crew notices.

“Did you piss off the captain or something?” Bepo asks, tilting his head.

You groan, slamming your head against the table “I don’t know! He won’t talk to me.”

“You must’ve done something,” Shachi teases “What, did you steal his seat or—”

Penguin smacks his arm “No, idiot. Captain’s never been like this before. Not even when we wrecked his lab.”

Bepo frowns “Something’s bothering him.”

Yeah, no kidding... it’s all your fault.

You catch glimpses of Law throughout the day, on the deck, in the control room, talking with the crew. But the moment he sees you? He leaves.

It’s killing you.

He thinks you regret it.

He thinks you didn’t want it.

And if you don’t fix this soon, he’s never going to let you get close again.

The frustration boils over during dinner.

You’re exhausted, running on fumes after chasing Law all day. The crew is loud, laughing over some dumb joke, but all you can focus on is him.

Sitting across from you. Silent. Eating his food without looking up.

You can’t take it anymore.

You slam your hands on the table, making everyone jump.

“LAW.”

Silence.

All eyes turn to you.

Your captain finally looks at you, startled.

“First you kiss me.” You point an accusing finger at him “And then you avoid me like the plague, without even give me the chance to explain myself!”

Shachi chokes on his drink.

Penguin’s mouth drops open.

Bepo’s ears twitch in alarm.

Law stiffens. His fork stops midair “This is not—”

“No, shut up,” you cut him off, standing so fast your chair nearly topples over “I need to say this before you run away again.”

The crew is watching.

You don’t care.

“You kissed me, and I—” Your voice cracks. Your face feels like it’s on fire “I didn’t kiss you back, but not because I didn’t want to! I was just—shocked! I like you, okay?! I wanted to kiss you back, but my brain just—short-circuited!”

Dead. Silence.

Shachi drops his spoon.

Bepo covers his mouth with his paws.

Penguin is slowly turning to look at Law, whose ears are red.

Your captain looks like he’s about to die.

You inhale sharply “So if you’re avoiding me because you think I hate you or something—stop.”

Law does not move.

The entire crew waits.

Then, he clears his throat, stands up, and grabs your wrist.

“Room.”

And just like that, you vanish from the mess hall and land in his office with a thud.

Law lets go of you immediately and rubs his face, exhaling sharply “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who’s been acting like I have the plague,” you fire back, crossing your arms “Do you know how hard it’s been to get you alone?”

He groans “I thought you...” He pauses. Runs a hand through his hair “I thought you regretted it.”

You blink.

“…You idiot.”

He glares “Excuse me—”

You grab his coat and yank him down into a kiss.

Law freezes. This time, he’s the one caught off guard.

But when you pull away, his golden eyes are wide, breath slightly uneven.

You smirk “That clear enough for you?”

A beat of silence.

Then he grabs you by the waist and kisses you again.

And this time, you kiss him back.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick feels warmer than usual tonight, the air carrying that familiar salty breeze that ruffles your hair. You’re sitting on the figurehead, just like you always do after a long day. The crew has mostly turned in, and Ace, as always, is lounging nearby, throwing out his usual teasing comments that always manage to make you roll your eyes.

Tonight, though? He’s extra insufferable.

“Don’t you think I look particularly good tonight?” Ace smirks, his head tilted back, his hair catching the moonlight.

You narrow your eyes “Yeah, Ace, you look like a sunburned tomato.”

He bursts out laughing, clearly enjoying the attention “Ha! You know you want me.”

“Oh, really?” You scoff, not missing a beat “You couldn’t pay me to want you.”

He shrugs, still grinning like a maniac “Sure, but that’s just your deflection because you’re intimidated by my obvious charm.”

Your eyebrow twitches “I’m pretty sure you’re confusing arrogance with charm, Ace.”

“Of course I’m charming. Just ask me—”

Before he can finish, you interrupt him “Yeah, well, don’t ask me. I’m not interested.”

But as he keeps running his mouth, you realize something. Ace is having way too much fun with this. He’s been teasing you non-stop for days about how “obviously into him” you are, and it’s driving you nuts. He knows you like him. He knows you’ve been trying to keep your cool, but his teasing is getting out of hand.

“Would you stop talking about how irresistible you are? I’m literally going to—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Ace leans in and kisses you.

It happens so fast you don’t even process it at first.

One second, you and Ace are bickering, his usual cocky teasing, your usual mock exasperation... and then bam. Lips. On yours.

Portgas D. Ace is kissing you.

It’s not even a gentle, romantic kiss. It’s an overconfident, smug, I-know-you-want-me kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that assumes you’re going to melt immediately.

But instead of kissing him back, your brain short-circuits, and you freeze.

Ace pulls away, already grinning “Heh. Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?”

You blink again.

Ace smirks, looking so insufferably proud of himself “Damn, I really am irresistible.”

And something inside you just snaps.

You tilt your head, look him straight in the eyes, and say “…Meh.”

Ace stares.

The entire universe pauses.

“…Meh?” Ace echoes, as if he misheard you.

You shrug “Yeah. Meh.”

Ace blinks rapidly, like his brain is buffering “Wait. Hold on. No, no, no, you don’t get it. I just kissed you.”

“I know.”

“And you—” He gestures wildly at you “Didn’t do anything??”

“Guess not.”

Ace’s jaw drops. He looks personally offended.

“Hold on,” he says, pointing a very accusatory finger at you “Let me get this straight. You... just sat there and let me kiss you like I was some kind of—some kind of—unremarkable man?”

You nod “Pretty much.”

Ace clutches his chest like he’s just been stabbed “Oh my GOD.”

The crew, who had been watching very intently, erupts into chaos.

“YO WHAT?”

“DID Y/N JUST—”

“THEY ‘MEH’-ED HIM???”

“THERE’S NO COMING BACK FROM THAT, MAN.”

Ace spins dramatically away from you, gripping the side of the ship like he’s having an existential crisis.

Marco slaps a hand over his mouth, cackling “Damn, Ace, I ain’t never seen you take an L like that.”

Thatch is wheezing “You got ‘meh’-ed, dude. That’s worse than rejection.”

“I KNOW.” Ace yells, throwing his arms in the air. He turns back to you, looking utterly betrayed “How could you do this to me?”

You shrug again “Guess I’m just not that impressed.”

Ace gasps. Actually gasps. Like you just kicked him in the soul.

“This is the worst day of my life” he declares. Then he marches off.

You watch him go, amused “Where are you even going?”

“I DUNNO, SOMEWHERE I’M APPRECIATED.”

From that moment on, Ace enters what can only be described as a petty, over-the-top crisis. Because in his mind, this is unheard of.

He is Portgas D. Ace. He’s a walking inferno, second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, effortlessly cool and charming. He has never, in his entire life, had someone just shrug off his kiss.

And he does not know how to handle it.

Thus begins The Avoidance Arc.

Ace is avoiding you because he’s lowkey heartbroken and incredibly dramatic about it.

He doesn’t even try to be subtle. He goes out of his way to avoid being anywhere near you.

Like, you’ll step onto the deck and Ace immediately turns 180 degrees and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You say one word to him, and he immediately yells, “OH WOW, LOOK AT THE TIME, GOTTA GO.”

You catch him in the hallway? He jumps overboard.

Marco watches all of this unfold with deep amusement “Wow. You really broke him.”

You roll your eyes “I didn’t break him. He’s being dramatic.”

“He’s been in the crow’s nest for six hours.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Eventually, you get tired of this nonsense.

So, while the crew is gathered on the deck, you decide enough is enough.

You climb onto the railing of the ship and shout, loudly enough for Ace to hear from wherever he’s sulking—

“HEY EVERYONE! I THINK PORTGAS D. ACE IS A COWARD!”

There is instant silence.

Everyone slowly turns to look at you.

Then—BOOM. A door slams open somewhere, and Ace comes flying onto the deck like an angry storm “WHO SAID THAT.”

You smirk “Oh, hey, Ace. Nice of you to join us.”

He points at you, eyes narrowed “You wanna say that again?”

“I said,” you repeat, loud and clear, “you’re a coward.”

The crew is hyped.

“Ohhhhhhh shiiiiiit.”

“Y/N called you out, bro.”

“Ace, you gonna let that slide??”

Ace crosses his arms “I am not a coward.”

“Oh, really?” You tilt your head “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Ace falters “That’s—that’s not—”

You step closer “Admit it. You’re mad because I didn’t kiss you back.”

The crew is on the edge of their seats.

Ace shifts uncomfortably “I’m not mad. I’m just… extremely, deeply wounded.”

You burst out laughing “Oh my god, you’re actually sulking.”

“I AM NOT SULKING.”

Marco sighs, shaking his head “Ace, just admit it. You wanted y/n to be all over you, and when they wasn’t, you got all weird about it.”

Ace groans, covering his face “Fine, yes, okay?! It bruised my damn ego! Happy?”

You grin “Very.”

Ace mutters something about how “this is the worst day of his life” and the crew howls with laughter.

Then, before he can complain further you grab his collar and kiss him, right then and there.

The crew loses their minds.

Ace freezes. Then, slowly, his brain catches up, and when you pull away, he just stares.

“…Oh.”

You smirk “Yeah. Oh.”

Then Ace grins, all cocky confidence again “So, uh. I win, right?”

You punch him in the arm.

[solastarr]

Both Ain’t Shit- Smoke vers.

Smoke Moore x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot

Word count: 6.2k+

Summary: You and Smoke have been having a little fling for a while now. But Smoke pushes you too far. And now it’s time to show him you can play the game just as well as him, and remind him who he’s dealing with.

Warnings: cheating if you squint, p in v, fem receiving oral, use of n word, banter, and cussing

Authors notes: i’m so sorry for making yall wait so long for this. This was very long so i think my next few pieces will be short. I have a lot more ideas to come tho! Enjoy!!

He is not my man.

I mean, yeah he be at my place more than his own. He got a designated space in my closet for his clothes, he sometimes gets packages sent to my address, and my neighbors think he’s my husband…

But Elijah Moore is not my man.

And I wasn’t his woman neither.

Or at least that's what we tell everyone…

Me and Smoke wasn’t nothing but a good time to each other at first. The risky nights, flirty texts, and playing house was fun and all at first. But then I fell too deep into our fake fantasy. 

Smoke has everything I want in a man–drive, ambition, quite confidence and he gave me sex that made me forget my own name. Everything I dreamed of, but he didn’t give me the security, honesty, and title of the relationship I wanted. 

I used to care, I used to ask, I used to cry about the women that approached us in public like I was some homewrecker, the days when he would leave and not talk to me, the late nights where he would up and go handle “business” without putting on proper clothes or packing his work bag. And I say this with my chest because I will never again fall for his games. 

He use to gaslight me so well I thought I was going crazy and made up the entire thing. And I tried to leave, put the mess of a relationship behind me but Smoke can make you feel like you the only one, even when you know for a fact you’re not. 

And I always knew, I always knew.

Between the late replies, dirty stares from women I don’t know in shops giving me dirty stares, and the way his phone magically stayed face down every time he came over.

I’d have to be stupid to not know. 

But now?

I play it cool. Smile in his face, moan in his ear, and act like I’m not being used. Because I know I can run game too. He wants to be a player? Bet you I can play dirty too if not dirtier.

Because even when he’s out chasing whatever new girl that caught his eye, he still ends up in my bed. He might go ghost for a day or two, but he always shows back up with that same sorry ass smirk like he ain’t been doing me wrong. But I know I mean something to him because I’m the one he slips up and calls when he’s drunk, the one he trusts with his silence, his stress, his secrets. I’m not stupid—I know I’m not the only one he touches, but I’m the only one that sees Elijah Moore. They might get Smoke, but I get both. And maybe that makes me just as dumb as them, but at least I’m the one he always runs back to. Even if he pretends like he’s just passing through.

 I don’t return the energy to the same extent—not 'cause I’m loyal, but 'cause none of them other dudes make me feel what Smoke do. They don’t got that pull on me. They don’t got that calm but dangerous aura that make your knees weak and pride nonexistent. And I hate that. I hate that I crave the same man that got me second-guessing my worth, but still got the power to fuck me like I’m the only woman in the world. They couldn’t handle me anyway—not like he can. So I let him think he winning… while I lose my damn mind behind closed doors.

But tonight he did something that was a new low.

I should have know something was off when he showed up to my door with flowers.  

Smoke ain’t ever gave me no fucking flowers. He do give orgasms and headaches. He do “You good?” texts at 2 in the morning. But flowers. Roses? Never .But there he was—standing in the doorway like a fever dream—holding roses like that alone could undo months of hurt. They were fresh too, like he’d actually cared enough to stop and pick the best ones for me. The red looked loud against the cool evening light, too loud for a man who whispered lies in a voice so calm it sounded like love.

That was guilt wrapped in a heart shaped box. With a weak ass smirk. 

“What’s this for?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe of my front door with my arms crossed. Staring at him with confusion and surprise in my voice.

He smirked. “ I can’t do something nice for you?” He says dressed in his typical grey suit with a blue tie, with a caring but deceitful look in his eyes.

He walked past me like he owned the place– even though some days he practically lived here. He dropped the roses in the middle of my dining room table like they meant something to me and then found his way back to me by sliding his arm around my waist. I let him. I always let him. Because I deserve some fun out of this too. 

The night started like our normal routine. Dinner. Jokes. Laying in his chest while telling him about my day. He even started talking to me about how he wants to take me on a getaway trip so he can show me the world. Which should have been red flag number two. But again I just wanted to get the most out of him being with me.

The third flag was what got me though. 

I was looking for one of my heels that I had recently broken on accident in hopes I could get a little money out of him for all the problems that come with him. But while I was looking I saw a little velvet box tucked in the bag he packed to spend the night. 

At first, my heart jumped–thinking that maybe something came over him and knocked him into his senses to commit to me. Thinking maybe it was a promise ring or something stupid like that.

But as I got closer I realized how familiar the box looked. When me and Smoke started messing around he gave me a gold anklet as a little keep me in mind gift. And I still wear it to this day because you cant see it under my clothes in public, it makes him pound me into the mattress when he sees while we fucking, and because I thought it was a genuine gift he was giving me because he cared.(you’re a dummy bitch)

Out of curiosity I kneeled down checking my surroundings to make sure he wasn’t about to come help me look for whatever I came in my room for. I opened the box to see the exact anklet that was on my leg. The box has a note attached to it that read, 

“To J.”

“J… Who the fuck is J?” I thought to myself. My blood immediately started to boil. Vision blurring. But I collected myself to steady my hands as I closed the box and zipped his bag right back up with a smirk on my face. This was my green light to start fucking with him.

I walked back into the living room. I didn’t ask no questions. Didn’t start a fight. Didn’t even make a petty remark. I gave him one more night, one last kiss, and last moan. Letting him think everything was sweet. Made it real good too, gave him my all.

Because tomorrow?

I’m getting my lick back.

Next day 

I woke up like I knew nothing.

Played the same role—sweet, soft, and familiar. I kissed him good morning, made him breakfast, even ironed the shirt he accidentally wrinkled from throwing it in his bag.

He was still in bed by the time I was done, shirtless in only his underwear, stretching like he ain’t just spent the whole night with his tongue in me. The sun crept in through the blinds, laying golden ribbons across his broad muscular back. He looked good—too damn good for someone who didn’t deserve me.

I walked past the bedroom doorway with my coffee in hand, making sure to get all his shit together so he could be on his way. I looked like a woman coming down from a long night—curls falling messily from the makeshift bun, nightgown straps slipping off my shoulders from running round the house. But the second I heard his voice, I paused.

“Damn, you just gon’ walk past me like that?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and fake concern.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” I replied over my shoulder, taking a slow sip from my mug. “Usually you’d be gone by now.”

He chuckled, that lazy one he does when he thinks he’s charming.

“That how we acting today?”

I kept moving, gathering his keys, wallet, phone charger—placing everything neatly by the door.

“I made breakfast. Even ironed your shirt. What else you want?”

“I thought maybe we could chill for a second.”

I glanced over at him, leaving my bed, half-dressed and stretching. Taking his sweet time like he ain’t planning to meet another girl in a few hours. “I’ve got stuff to do. You got places to be and people to see, don’t you?” I tilt my head, all sweet like honey over broken glass.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to read me.

“You good? I just wanted to make sure my girl was alright after last night.” He grinned—half pervert, half innocent—as if the memory of his mouth on me gave him the right to ask.

“I’m great,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Got what I needed, didn’t I?”

He laughed, low and amused like he thought I was playing. But I wasn’t.

I brushed past him, slow enough to feel his heat, fast enough to pretend it didn’t burn. Before I left the room, I paused.

“Your shirt’s on the couch, still warm. Coffee on the counter, take it to go.”

I walked toward the hallway mirror, pretending to fix a loose curl, but really, I was watching him through the reflection. Watching him fake like he wasn’t confused.

He moved slow, dragging himself out into the hall, “Damn, you rushing me out?”

I turned, still calm. “Not rushing,” I shrugged. “Just... reminding you that you do have somewhere else to be. I mean, don’t you have brunch plans? I know I’m not the only per—I mean, thing you tend to in your day-to-day.” I offered a soft, fake smile

He smirked. “Why you always doin’ that?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head, voice dipped in charm and guilt like he didn’t know where he stood.

I turned back to the mirror. “Doing what?”

He walked into the hallway like he owned it—coffee in one hand, confusion in the other. “Throwing lil’ jabs like I ain’t been here every night this week.”

I tilted my head, slow. “And yet somehow, still not doing right.”

That shut him up for a second.

“If you got something to say—”

I cut him off with a soft laugh, eyes still on my reflection. “I don’t. Nothing to say. Nothing new, anyway.”

I walked to the door, held it open like a polite hostess.

“I don’t want to stand between you and your business. They seem to be getting impatient.” I nodded toward his phone lighting up again with a text he didn’t bother hiding.

He looked at it, then back at me. “You really on one today, huh?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Just on schedule.”

He stepped onto the porch, shirt tugged, ego bruised, still confused

“You good though?” he asked again, this time softer. Smaller.

I leaned against the doorframe, cool and casual. 

“Always,” I said.

And then I slammed the door in his face.

Later that day

The silence in the apartment after he left was thick. Like the walls were holding their breath, waiting for me to fall apart.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I ran a hot shower, scrubbed him off my skin, and let the steam cleanse every trace of him from my pores. Then I pulled open my closet and picked the one dress I knew would make someone stare too long and think too hard.

It was satin—deep red, the kind of red that doesn’t beg for attention but demands it. It clung in all the right places and slid over my thighs like water. I slipped on gold hoops, sprayed the perfume he used to compliment before he stopped noticing, and glossed my lips.

I needed to get back at Elijah in a way that would make his blood boil. Elijah used to have a friend named Darius that always showed me a little too much attention when me and Elijah would run into him. Compliments that were too attentive, gifts too expensive, and hugs that were intended to be more than friendly. 

Elijah hated it. Hated him.

Then my phone lit up:

Darius: I’m outside.

I smiled to myself, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door with the same grin smoke gives when he’s fucked me over. 

We walked into Club Eden like we’d done it before. Darius had one hand on the small of my back, the other in his pocket, grinning like we go together. I kept my chin high, every step deliberate, the red satin of my dress catching the lights just right. Heads turned, we looked good, and I knew it. But I wasn’t here for the stares. I was searching for one face in the crowd. Just smiling, slow and sweet, as Darius guided me deeper inside the club I knew too well.

Smoke wasn’t hard to spot.

Even in the low-lit haze of Club Eden, he stood out like sin dressed in success. Black slacks tailored to perfection, button-up open just enough to show that gold chain he never took off, and a gold watch to match catching flashes of light as he leaned back, calm and calculating.

And he wasn’t alone.

She sat next to him, legs crossed, laughing because she didn’t know about our twinning anklets. It shimmered around her ankle like a middle finger straight to my face.

I didn’t react. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I leaned back against Darius, legs draped over his lap like it was second nature. I smiled, slow and sweet, twirling my straw in my drink as if I wasn’t locked in a silent war with the man across the room.

Smoke’s eyes met mine—dark, unreadable, but I knew that look. His jaw was clenched. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. The girl next to him leaned in to whisper something, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Just kept his gaze on me like I had his whole night wrapped around my finger.

Good.

I tilted my head, let my curls fall over one shoulder, and whispered something in Darius’s ear. Didn’t matter what, I just needed to see Smoke look at me.

He did and I knew I had him right where I wanted him.

“Wanna dance?” I asked Darius, my voice soft but just loud enough. He grinned like he’d been waiting for the invite. “You know I do.”

The second I stood, I felt Elijah’s stare follow every step I took. I didn’t look back. Just led Darius to the dance floor like we owned it. The bass hit heavy, the colorful led lights spun soft, and I let my body move—slow, effortless, sensual. Darius tried to keep up, hands respectful but curious. I didn’t care. I wasn’t dancing with him for him. I was dancing for the man sitting in the corner pretending he didn’t care.

Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But when I twirled to catch his gaze again—he was gone.

Just like that.

I smirked, satisfied, even as my chest tightened.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Darius, brushing a kiss on his cheek before slipping toward the restroom.

The bathroom was cool and quiet. I touched up my lip gloss, adjusted my dress, and took a deep breath. The game was fun, but it was stressful. And I was starting to feel the heat of it rise to my skin.

I opened the door, and there he was.

Smoke.

Leaning against the wall like. His arms were crossed. His shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tattoos on his forearms, jaw tight, eyes darker than I remembered.

I blinked. “You lost?”

He didn’t smile. “Was about to ask you the same thing.”

I crossed my arms, mirroring him. “Bathroom’s not your usual hangout, is it?”

“I saw you dancing,” he said, voice low and clipped. “Looked like you were real comfortable.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Darius is sweet,” I said, letting the name linger to make sure it burns.

His jaw flexed. “He’s a clown.”

“He’s not you,” I shrugged. “That’s kind of the point.”I look at him with amusement because I know i’m getting under his skin.

“You really brought him here?” he asked, stepping closer. “To my spot?”

“Oh, my bad,” I said with mock concern. “Didn’t realize I needed permission to come to the club. Should I check in next time?”

His tongue dragged across his teeth like he was trying not to snap. “You knew I’d be here.”

I tilted my head. “Did I?”

He scoffed, stepping in just close enough that I could smell his cologne. “You doing all this for what? Huh? To make me jealous?”

I smiled. “Ain’t nobody checkin for you Smoke?”

His hand came up, not touching me—just hovering near my waist like muscle memory. As he towered looking down at me,  “You think I care about Darius? You think I give a fuck about that lame ass nigga?” 

I leaned in, just a breath from his lips. “Well… he was talking real good about having dessert back at my place. So maybe I will leave your “spot”.”I give him a menacing grin.

His whole body tensed.

“You lyin’,” he said, but his voice cracked just enough to expose the panic under the rage.

I laughed. “Am I?”

I stared up at him, not moving. “See, I think you care more than you wanna admit. But I think you should head back to your little date. I wouldn’t want her ankles to get sore waiting on you.”

He flinched. Just a flicker. But I saw it.

“Keep playin’ with me,” he warned, voice almost a whisper. “You forget, I know how to handle you.”

I laughed, low and bitter. “Yeah? If that’s what you want to call your lame ass stroke game.”

His mouth opened—but I started to walk away before he could respond. Because I was definitely lying about his stroke game unfortunately.

“Have fun tonight, Elijah,” I said, brushing past him, the scent of my perfume trailing between us like a dare.

And then I walked away—hips swaying, heels clicking, heart pounding—but head held high.

As the night continued I still felt the heat of Smoke and his date that hes not paying any attention to anymore on me. I continued to dance, flirt, and laugh with Darious to prove that I can play game too. I even let Darious’s hands explore my body a little. Rub my thighs, grip my ass a little while dancing, let his hands run up and down my curves. By the time the lights came on in the club and all the drunks were scrambling out to their rides. I let Darious drive me home. 

The car ride was actually nice. The moon was bright and full, soft R&B music was playing, and the conversation we had was amazing. Darious is a really sweet guy, but I know it would be wrong to drag him into me and Smoke’s mess. Plus I don’t want smoke to kill him…

We made it to my apartment and I knew I wouldn’t have much time until Smoke showed up at my door to interrogate me. Darious wanted to come up, but I knew if he did someone would end up in jail. So I said my goodbyes to Darious and promised him another night out soon as I walked back into my apartment. 

As soon as I walked through the door I took a quick shower, changed into a silk blue night gown with white lace trimming, fluffed my curls, removed my make up and prepped my skin for whatever is going to happen in the next few hours. Lastly I got myself a glass of wine and sat on my couch and read a book as I waited for him. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I needed to be ready nonetheless.

Not even twenty minutes late I hear a loud banging at my door. Three quick, violent knocks. Like the wood itself owed him an answer. I didn’t rush.

I took my time taking a last sip of wine, stood slowly, let my silk nightgown cling to my hips like it was made to tease. I walked barefoot to the door, cool and collected, like I hadn’t been waiting on this exact moment since I walked out of that damn club.

I opened the door just enough so he could see me. And there he was leaning against the door frame using one of arms for leverage.

Pupils dilated with nothing but anger. Jaw tight. Other hand clenched at his sides trying to contain himself.

“Where that nigga at?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play with me,” he snarled, stepping inside like this was his home. His head was on a swivel. “You let him fuck you?”

I shut the door. Walked right past his rage and sat on the edge of the couch, crossing my legs with purpose.

“Hello to you too Elijah, come one in?” I stated.

“Answer the question,” he snapped.

I smiled, slow and dangerous. “I don’t have to do shit.”

Smoke stepped closer, his whole body on fire with fury.

“You wasn’t gon’ fuck him.”He looked at me like he was challenging me to give him the wrong answer to send him over the edge. 

“Wanna bet?” I raise an eyebrow and give a deceitful smirk.

He snatched the glass from my hand, set it down with a rough thunk, and stepped between my knees. Boiling with anger waiting for me to say the wrong thing to make him explode.

“Say that shit again.”

I looked up at him, lips parted just slightly.

“I was gon’ let him taste every inch of me… then let him sleep right where you do.”

His hand wrapped around my throat in a flash—tight, hot, possessive.

“You gon’ let another man lay where I sleep?” he growled.

I smiled, the tension around my neck turning me on, breath hitching. “I was gon’ let him do more than that.”

He paused. That’s when I stood up. No fear. Just slow, deliberate grace as I walked past him and down the hall.

“You can keep lookin’ for him if you want,” I said over my shoulder, “but if you was really scared I let that man touch me, you’d be too late. He left already.”

I didn’t wait to see if he followed. I went straight to my bedroom, sat at the vanity, touched up my lip gloss with calm hands. Behind me, I heard heavy footsteps pause in the doorway.

His eyes were all over the room. Searching. Burning.

“You think this shit cute?” he asked, voice gravel-thick. His eyes looked me up and down almost in disgust and jealousy.

I met his gaze in the mirror. “No. I think it’s fair.”

He stepped inside, slower now. Confused. Angry. Hurt. “What the fuck mean by that?”

I turned on the stool and faced him, legs crossed again. My night gown starting to rise a bit up my thighs.

“It means I’ve been waiting on you to choose me, Elijah. Or at least grow a pair and tell me that this bullshit we got going on isn’t going nowhere. But you’d rather keep me close, fuck me, then go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His shoulders dropped like the weight of my words finally registered.

“I’ve given you space, time, silence. I’ve let you spin this thing however you wanted, and I stayed. Quiet. Loyal. Patient. But I’m done beggin’ a “grown-ass” man to act like one.”

Smoke’s jaw flexed. His hands were twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab me or punch a wall.

“So yeah,” I said softly. “I let him touch me. I let his hands roam a little. Not ‘cause I wanted him. But because I needed you to feel what it’s like to watch the person you believed was yours go play boyfriend to other bitches.”

Smoke’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.

I watched him. Calm on the outside. Heart thudding like a war drum on the inside.

“You really was thinking of letting that nigga touch you?” His voice was low now. Dangerous. “He don’t even know what to do with you.”

I stood up slow, walked toward him like prey that didn’t fear the predator. “He may not know how to handle me,” I said, standing chest to chest. “But at least he acts like he wanted me.”

That landed. Hard. He blinked once—tight, sharp—like the words had cut straight through his ribcage. His hand gripped the back of my neck, and whispered against the shell of my ear.

“I ain’t act like I wanted you, huh? Was that before or after I fucked you outside that club becuase you was letting niggas grind on you and I had you cryin’ and creamin’ on my dick?”

My breath caught.

“Or when I had you bent over your own counter, sayin’ you was mine with a mouth full of my name? Because you like flirting with dudes in front of me. That's not ‘wantin’ you’ either?”

My knees pressed together tight.

“You sayin’ he acted like he wanted you…” he scoffed. “Cool. But did he make you cum in under five minutes on your bedroom floor? Did he eat you ‘til your voice broke because you was hitting up the dudes in your DM’s?”

“Shut up,” I breathed, voice shaking.

“Say it,” he taunted, eyes on fire now. “Tell me he could have touched you like I did. Tell me he could have made you forget your own fuckin’ name. When you go out half naked with your girls and come back with ten new numbers in your phone”

“I—” My chest rose and fell too fast. “He didn’t.”

Smoke’s gaze burned through me.

“I didn’t lose you,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Even when you out here pretending like I’m the only one fucking up. You ain’t been right by me either.”

My mouth parted, but I didn’t respond.

“You mine,” he said. “Still mine.”

He stepped forward as I kept moving back, until the backs of my knees hit the bed. Still, he hadn’t laid a single hand on me—but I could feel every word on my skin.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”, I give him a confused but intrigued look. 

“You know what the fuck I’m askin’, ma.”

My mouth opened, but he didn’t wait.

He dropped to his knees and pushed me back on to the bed.

“I should make you beg,” he growled. “After that bullshit you pulled tonight.”

“But I missed this pussy…” he muttered, shoving me back onto the bed, hands pushing my nightgown up slow.

He paused. Smirked. “No panties?”

I smiled, real smug. “Why wear ‘em when I knew you was gonna end up on your knees anyway?”

His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.

Then his mouth was on my clit immediately. Hot, angry, wild.

He licked me like he was punishing me, tongue stiff and fast, nose buried deep like he needed every drop. He groaned when I whimpered. Flattened his tongue against my clit, then flicked it until my hips jerked.

“Say who it belongs to,” he growled against me.

I gasped. “Fuck—”

He sucked my clit hard enough to pull the words out of me.

“Say it.”

“Fuck you Elija–”

He slapped the inside of my thigh. “Try again.” starting like and suck faster. 

I gave in, my climax was near and continued to build, “It’s yours! It’s your pussy!”

His eyes locked on mine, lips shiny and glistening with me. “Damn right.” He licked me slower now, dragging it out, two fingers slipping inside me, curling just right.

My back arched off the bed.

“Louder,” he whispered. “Let the whole fuckin’ building know who got you cryin’ like this.”I whimpered his name, high and cracked, as he tongue-fucked me like he needed it to breathe.

“Had me stressing bout you letting some other dude in here?” he muttered between licks. “In this pussy?”

“Wanted you to feel it,” I moaned. “Wanted you to know—what it felt like.”

“Never again,” he growled. “You mine. You hear me?”

“Then act like it,” I snapped, as I begin grinding against his face. “Act like I’m yours.” I say as I grab the back of his head to push him further in to me. 

He laughed low, filthy. “Oh I’m ‘bout to show you, baby.”

Then he dove back in, no mercy, dragging me through a climax so hard I shook, hands fisting the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer and a curse all in one.

My thighs were still shaking when he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’d just devoured something messy and rare.

He looked down at me—lips glistening, chest rising and falling, jaw tight with hunger.

“You talk too much,” he muttered.

“I was making a point.” I snap back, out of breath.

He grabbed my waist, flipped me over onto my stomach like I weighed nothing.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped. “Make it now.”

I didn’t have time to speak—he yanked my hips back, arching my ass high in the air, pressing my face down into the mattress with one heavy hand on the back of my neck.

“Say that shit again,” he hissed into my ear, breath hot. “Say how he acted like he wanted you.”

“Elijah—”

“Mm-mm.” He pressed harder on my neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know who was in control. “You wanted Daddy’s attention?”

He lined himself up, thick and heavy against my soaked entrance. His other hand gripped my ass, spreading me open.

“Well, you got it now.”

And then—he thrust inside me, deep and fast. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just raw, angry, need.

“Fuck!” I try to muffle my moan as I pushed my face into the mattress.

“Nah, don’t get shy now,” he growled, snapping his hips against me again, again. “You was runnin’ your mouth a minute ago. Where all that shit talk go?”

The slapping of skin echoed through the room, loud and wet. His hips slammed into mine, balls smacking against my clit with each brutal stroke. The bedframe creaked under the force, the mattress giving under the weight of his big, muscular body.

Smoke’s build was all lean muscle and hard edges—wide back, thick arms caging me in as he pounded into me from behind, I could feel the tension radiating off him.

“You wanted to make me jealous? You wanted me mad?” he breathed, chest pressing into my back. “Well, now you got me.”

He drove deeper, grunting, hips rolling in filthy rhythm. “This what you wanted, huh? Daddy stretchin’ you out like this? Say it.”

I whimpered, arching into him, my ass bouncing back against his thrusts.

“Say it.”

“It’s what I wanted,” I moaned into the pillow. “I wanted you—fuck—I needed you.”

He leaned in closer, biting the curve of my shoulder.

“You mine, baby. You don’t gotta play games for me to see you. You all I ever see.”

He fucked me harder then, no mercy. My pussy clenching around him, trying to keep him in with every stroke.

“Look at this pussy suckin’ me in,” he growled, voice thick with possessiveness. “You act up just to get it like this, don’t you?”

His palm came down on my ass, the sting making me cry out.

“You love it when I fuck you back into your place, huh?.”

I could barely respond, the way he was hitting made my thoughts scatter like dust. All I could do was moan and take it.

“You gon’ behave now?” he asked, yanking my hair so I lifted my face off the pillow. “Or you need another round?”

“Give it to me,” I panted. “I can take it.”

That did something to him. His next thrust knocked the wind outta me.

“You do all this talkin’, just to shut the fuck up when this dick in you. That’s your problem.”

The pace got even filthier—fast, relentless, dragging sounds out of both of us that had no place outside of a bedroom.

The air was thick with heat and sweat and desperation.

“Say you mine again,” he ordered, breath ragged. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m—fuck— i’m yours, Daddy.”

That sent him over. He slammed into me one last time, deep and hard, filling me up with a loud groan that vibrated against my spine.

I followed right after, walls pulsing around him, toes curling, throat raw from moaning his name.

We collapsed together, breathless and shaking, tangled in the mess we made.

He was still catching his breath, eyes fluttered shut, mouth open like he was trying to gather himself.

I sat there for a second, letting the weight of what just happened settle between us. Sweat slicked my skin, my curls wild and frizzy from all the grinding and grabbing and all that heat. My chest heaved. I watched his body twitch—sensitive, eyes closed, overwhelmed, but still so hard for me.

He didn’t even notice me move.

Until I straddled him again. Hovered over him, lined us up—

And slammed down on his dick.

“Shit—!” he yelped, eyes snapping open like I’d snatched his soul. “Wait—wait—baby—”

I bounce on him hard, grinning down at him like a beast that finally caught its prey.

“You good?” I asked sweetly, breathless.

He gasped barely able to make a sound. “Damn, girl—”

“Thought so.”

I started to move. Slow at first. Just enough to hit him right. His whole body tensed, trying to brace, but he couldn’t. He was too sensitive, and I was overriding his nerves.

“I’m tired of bullshit, Elijah. I want to settle down,” I reminded him, voice low, sultry, taunting. “You going to be better for me, baby?”

“I—I am,” he stammered, jaw tight. “I am, baby—I swear—”

I sped up.

That had him groaning, loud and full in his chest. His hands shot to my thighs, gripping, begging me to slow down—and I didn’t.

“You gon’ answer when I call?” I asked, breath hitching from how deep he was hitting. “No more games?”

“Yes! I got you, baby, just don’t—don’t stop—”

I moved faster.

“Say it again,” I demanded, hips rolling harder, rougher. “Louder.”

“I’m gon’ do right! I swear to God, I’m—fuck—”

He tried to hold my hips, tried to make it last, but he couldn’t keep up. He was shaking, whining, and I loved every second of it.

But so did I.

Every stroke had my moans cracking, turning breathy and sharp, like I was losing the same control I held over him. I started to tremble too, thighs quaking, chest heaving. He was hitting that spot, again and again—stretching me just right.

My hands landed on his chest to steady myself, nails digging in. “You better,” I gasped, voice splintering. “You better fucking do right by me.”

“I will—I swear—baby, please—”

I felt it creeping up on me—my legs tightening, the heat coiling in my belly. “Oh my God—Elijah—”

“Come for me,” he begged, hips bucking under me. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

That did it. I shattered around him with a loud, raw cry, my walls clenching hard, dragging his name out like a prayer. My body folded forward as I pulsed around him, riding every wave, every tremor, until my whole frame shook.

His voice broke under me, hands locking around my hips like he never wanted me to move again. “That’s it, baby… fuck, that’s it.”

Breathless, dazed, I slumped against his chest, heart pounding, sweat glistening on my skin.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned against his neck. “I know I ain’t been fair either.”

His hands slid up my back, holding me tighter.

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” I whispered. “I just needed to feel wanted too.”

“You got me, ma,” he said hoarsely. “You been had me.”

“I don’t wanna fight no more,” I breathed. “But you gotta do better.”

“I will,” he promised, kissing the side of my face. “You got my word.”

We laid there tangled in silence, both of us wrecked and breathless

~ I hope you liked it! Also send me some asks if you have a request, question, or fic ideas!!

click here to send an ask!!

sola💫

Taglist: @bxunyx @keenkittyconnoisseur @yana3sworld @thefutureemmywinner @roughridah0 @iiiheartfayee @margepimpson @cocooned-butterfly @sajoi @jackierose902109 @wingedpeachjudgegiant @liloswayy @sharpaysbestfriend @cosmicautomatonshark @ivoryyythesimp @dezzy154 @christinabae @doradaexplorher @mikaelsonharem7

[newobsessionweekly]

I won't remember you

Main masterlist | The rookie masterlist

Protective!Tim Bradford x girlfriend!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: After an attack leaves you bleeding out, Tim races to your side, terrified of losing you. In a desperate moment, you confess your fear of forgetting him after death. Tim swears nothing, not even death, will ever take you from him.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injury (stabbing, blood loss), panic, anxiety, fear of death ,near-death experience, heavy emotional distress, Protective!Tim in full force

Angst

Words: -

Fear lived in you now.

It wasn’t always this way. You used to be able to kiss Tim goodbye before a shift without feeling like you were sending him off to war. You used to be able to close your eyes at night without fearing you might never wake up. But lately, it had taken root inside you, growing deeper with every passing day.

It started as a whisper—soft, insidious thoughts creeping into your mind at odd hours. What if something happens to him today? What if you don’t wake up tomorrow? What if you forget him?

You told yourself it was just anxiety. That you were being paranoid.

Then, the panic attacks started.

Some nights, you’d wake up gasping for breath, your heart slamming against your ribs as if trying to claw its way out. Other nights, you didn’t sleep at all, too afraid that if you closed your eyes, you’d never open them again.

Tim noticed. Of course, he did.

He had always been good at reading you, knowing when something was wrong even before you did. At first, he didn’t push, just watched you carefully, his sharp blue eyes tracking your every move. But when he caught you trembling after waking from another nightmare, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold your body together, he couldn’t stay silent.

"You’re not okay," he had said one night, his voice low, careful, as if afraid to spook you.

You had tried to lie.

"I’m fine."

"Don’t do that." He had stepped closer, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

You had broken then, the dam inside you shattering all at once.

"I’m scared," you had admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "All the time, Tim. I can’t—I can’t shut it off."

His arms had been around you in an instant, his body solid and warm against yours. "What are you afraid of?"

You swallowed, gripping the front of his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. "Losing you."

Tim had tensed at that, his grip on you tightening. "That’s not going to happen."

"You don’t know that." Your voice cracked, a tear slipping down your cheek. "You leave for work every day, and I—I feel like I can’t breathe until you come home."

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t pull away. He just held you, his lips brushing against your hair.

"I always come home," he murmured. "I will always come home to you."

"But what if you don’t?" Your fingers curled into his shirt, your breath shaky. "What if one day, something happens, and I lose you? What if I lose me? I don’t—I don’t want to die, Tim."

His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears slipping down your cheeks.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said fiercely. "Neither of us are."

You had wanted to believe him.

But now, as you lay on the pavement, blood pooling beneath you, you realized—you should have believed him while you had the chance.

It had been a normal evening.

You had left the apartment to pick up dinner—Tim’s favorite, because you knew he had a long shift and would come home exhausted. The air was crisp, the streets familiar, and you had felt safe.

Until you weren’t.

You didn’t hear the man coming.

One second, you were unlocking your car. The next, an arm wrenched you backward, slamming you against a brick wall.

A blade pressed into your side.

"Give me your bag," a low voice hissed in your ear.

Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. You nodded quickly, hands shaking as you slipped the bag from your shoulder, pressing it into his grip.

But he didn’t let go.

"This ain't enough," he snapped, his fingers digging into your arm. "You got a phone? Jewelry?"

You reached into your pocket, but he must have thought you were going for something else. Before you could speak, pain exploded through your side.

The knife slid in, hot and deep. You gasped, the world lurching as agony tore through you. For a second, you didn’t even understand what had happened. Then, warmth bloomed beneath your fingers.

You looked down.

Blood. So much blood.

The man cursed, shoving you backward before disappearing into the night.

You staggered, your body trembling violently as you pressed your hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Someone screamed. Someone called 911. But not you.

You should have called your boyfriend.

Tim had seen people die before.

He had seen officers go down, had pressed his hands against bullet wounds, had watched blood stain the pavement, had heard final breaths rasp from broken bodies.

But nothing—nothing—had ever prepared him for the moment he heard your name come through dispatch.

"Victim is y/n y/l/n. Possible GSW. Medics en route."

It was like the world snapped.

The air was sucked from his lungs, his heart stopped beating, and for a split second, everything froze.

Then—he ran. He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

He was in the car before anyone could stop him, the sirens screaming as he tore through the streets, his hands clenching the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. His mind was a chaos of images, panic clawing at his throat—

You on the ground.

You gasping for breath.

You—motionless.

His foot slammed on the gas. The drive was a blur. The city rushed past him in streaks of color, his own breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His heart was pounding against his ribs, so fast it hurt, so hard he thought it might break right out of his chest.

Please. Please. Please.

The second he saw you, his entire world collapsed. You were on the pavement, blood was everywhere. A dark crimson stain spread across your side, soaking into your clothes, pooling beneath you like an open wound in the earth itself.

Tim’s knees hit the ground before he even knew he had moved. His hands—steady on the field, in firefights, in life-or-death situations—shook as they pressed down over yours, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Y/n!" His voice cracked, his breath ragged. "Baby, I’m here."

You gasped, barely conscious, your eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his.

"Tim…"

The way you said his name—weak, broken, like you weren’t sure you’d ever get to say it again—ripped him apart.

"Hey, hey, baby, stay with me." His fingers curled over yours, pressing against the wound, desperate to stop the blood, to fix this, to save you. "You’re okay. Just hold on, sweetheart. Just—just stay with me."

You blinked up at him, your lips trembling.

"I didn’t call you," you whispered.

Tim’s jaw locked, his breath shuddering.

"Why the hell not?" His voice was sharp, raw, barely controlled beneath the sheer terror gripping him.

You swallowed, your fingers twitching against his. "Didn’t want you to… hear me like this."

A choked noise caught in his throat.

"Jesus, y/n" His hands tightened on you, pressing against the wound, his body instinctively shielding yours like he could keep you safe just by being there. "You always call me. Do you hear me? Always. I don’t give a damn what I’m doing—I will always come for you."

A soft sound left your lips—half a breath, half a whimper.

"Scared," you murmured.

Tim exhaled sharply, his chest aching at the fragility of your voice.

"I know, baby," he whispered. His fingers brushed against your face, streaking your cheek with your own blood. "I know."

You inhaled shakily, a weak tremor racking through your body.

"I don’t… I don’t want to die."

Tim clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. A burning sensation settled in his chest, threatening to consume him.

"You’re not going to die," he growled, his voice shaking. "Do you hear me? You’re not leaving me. Not now. Not ever."

You blinked sluggishly, your pupils unfocused.

"But if I do…"

Tim’s stomach dropped. His heart stopped dead.

"Don’t," he begged, voice hoarse. "Don’t say it."

Your hand—so cold, so weak—curled around his wrist.

"But if I do…" you whispered. "I won’t remember you."

Tim’s entire body locked. A shuddering breath left him, raw and wrecked.

Tears blurred your vision as you forced yourself to continue, despite the sharp ache in your chest. “They say—at weddings, they say ‘till death do us part’ because when you die, you forget. You forget the people you love. And I don’t want to forget you.”

Tim broke. The breath he sucked in was sharp, painful, like glass cutting down his throat.

"You’re not going to die," he choked out, his grip tightening on you like he could physically hold you here, keep you tethered to him.

Your lips trembled.

"But if I do… Will you find me?"

A tear slipped from Tim’s lashes, burning against his skin. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and unsteady.

"Always." His voice shook, barely above a whisper. "I will always find you, baby. No matter what. I swear to you."

Your lashes fluttered.

"’Til death do us part," you murmured.

Tim flinched. No. No, he hated that phrase.

He hated the finality of it. The implication that death was the end. That you could be taken from him and there would be nothing after.

His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, smearing blood over your skin.

"Not even death," he whispered fiercely. "Not even death could take you from me."

You shivered beneath his touch, the cold creeping into your bones. Tim felt it and it terrified him.

"Stay with me, sweetheart," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please."

Your lips parted then your body went limp. His heart stopped.

"No—no, no, no—y/n!" His voice was a roar, pure desperation as he shook you, as he pressed his hands against the wound, as if he could force life back into you. "Stay with me!"

The paramedics were suddenly there, voices shouting, hands pulling him back, but Tim fought them.

"No!" He thrashed against their grip, his voice ragged, his hands bloody as they tried to push him away from you. "I’m not leaving her!"

"Y/n, stay with me, baby, please—"

They wrenched him back, and suddenly—he couldn’t touch you anymore. He couldn’t feel you.

"Her pulse is weak—get the stretcher, now!"

"She’s lost too much blood—"

Tim’s breath came in ragged, painful bursts, his hands shaking so violently he couldn’t control them.

He watched—helpless—as they lifted you, as the sirens screamed, as your head lolled to the side, your skin too pale, your breath too shallow.

Panic clawed at his throat.

He shoved past the medics, gripping your limp hand.

"You’re not leaving me," he whispered, his voice shattering.

They loaded you into the ambulance, and Tim didn’t let go.

He climbed in after you, his fingers clutching yours, his forehead pressing against your knuckles.

"I will always find you," he whispered, a silent prayer.

"Just—please—find your way back to me."

[formulaonecrumbs]

Would you consider ‘little blood hurt nobody’ but with lando instead ? 🩷

don’t be sorry🩸

Lando Norris x reader

summary: reader unexpectedly gets her period during sex with lando. he helps her clean up and comforts her with warmth and softness.

warnings: BLOOD period talk, unexpected bleeding, gentle aftercare, soft smut (barely), fluff

A/N: don’t need to even consider baby, u ask and u shall receive. but thank u anon for the request!!!! low-key i forgot to add the cockwarming, IM SO SORRY especially if that’s what u wanted out of it. i hope u can enjoy soft gentle lando anyways. lovezzz uzzz ❤️

p.s. sorry for the no mood-board. i wasn’t quite sure what pics i would use + plus i got lazy :p

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it’s slow. it always is with him.

his hands are warm and steady, fingertips dragging down your sides as if he’s still learning the shape of you. like he’s trying to memorize it again tonight, just in case something changes. you love how he touches you—curious and reverent, like you’re something delicate and holy.

you’re already half-undressed when he settles between your thighs, kisses lazy and unhurried. the hotel room is dim, lit only by the bedside lamp and the soft glow from the city outside the window. his shirt’s already tossed on the floor, and his skin is warm when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

you’d been aching for him all day. something about the way he looked at you during breakfast, or the way his hand brushed against yours when he passed you a water bottle at the track. and now that he’s here—bare skin against yours, mouth at your neck, hands cradling your waist—it’s like your whole body sighs in relief.

you don’t even realize anything’s wrong until he’s almost all the way in.

you flinch.

just barely.

his head snaps up. “did i hurt you?”

“no,” you whisper quickly. “just—felt weird for a sec.”

his brows knit together. he pulls back slightly, still inside you but not moving, watching your face closely. “are you okay?”

you nod, even though something feels… off. your stomach’s been cramping a little today, but you thought it was just from walking around too much, the heat maybe. but now there’s a dull ache settling in your lower back, and something heavy in your gut that wasn’t there before.

you shift a little. that’s when you feel it.

shit.

you go still.

“wait—” you breathe, hands flat on his chest now, panicked.

lando freezes instantly. “what is it?”

you shake your head. “i—i think… fuck, i think i just got my period.”

he blinks. “now?”

“yeah,” you whisper, voice suddenly shaking. “just now.”

you try to sit up, heart already racing. “i didn’t know, i didn’t feel anything earlier, i’m sorry—”

he cups your face. “hey. stop. why are you apologizing?”

“because i just—ruined the whole mood, and the sheets, and—”

he’s already pulling out gently, helping you sit up properly without a word. when you glance down, there’s a little blood. not a lot. just enough to make your stomach twist with embarrassment.

but lando doesn’t even flinch. he grabs the edge of the comforter, tugging it aside, and then turns to you like it’s nothing.

“okay,” he says. “we’ll get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“lando—”

“baby.” he leans forward, presses a kiss to your temple. “it’s fine. i swear. just sit here a second.”

you’re quiet while he disappears into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and one of his shirts from your suitcase. he’s humming something under his breath when he comes back—so casual, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

he helps you clean up, his touch careful and gentle. when you try to apologize again, he just gives you this look. soft, steady.

“you think this changes anything?” he asks. “you think a little blood makes me want you less?”

your eyes sting a little.

“it’s not that,” you say softly. “it’s just… i was really looking forward to it. and now i feel gross.”

he frowns. “you’re not gross.”

you shrug helplessly, curling up on your side. “i just wanted to make you feel good.”

lando climbs in beside you, pulling you into his chest. “you do,” he says into your hair. “you always do. even when we’re not doing anything.”

you bury your face in his shoulder. “still feel kinda dumb.”

he kisses your forehead. “well, you’re not. and now you’re stuck with me cuddling you all night.”

you huff a laugh. “oh no, how will i survive.”

he pulls the blanket up around you both, fingers tracing soft circles into your back. “you okay now?”

“yeah,” you say quietly. “hurts a little. but i’m okay.”

he shifts slightly, tugs your leg over his hip, one of his arms slipping under your head like a pillow. “if you want to just stay like this,” he says, voice low, “you can. i’ve got you.”

you nod, eyes already heavy.

you fall asleep like that—warm, safe, and wrapped up in his arms, the weight of embarrassment gone.

THE END :>

[jongst4r]

HARD THOUGHT (s. jake)

pairing: jake x fem!reader || wc: 907 || cw: smut! making out, slight teasing, fingering, praise, use of nicknames || warning: +18 content, mdni!! || a/n: my first ever (smut) work published in tumblr ughhh i’m so excited!!! i was planning on doing smthg else first, but i saw those pictures and i knew i had to act up 😮‍💨

imagine jake walking inside your shared bedroom as you scroll on twitter. you’re laying in bed, phone in your hands as you stare at the screen, a slight blush in your cheeks.

jake creeps beside you, hugging your waist “what are you watching, baby?” he asks, looking at your phone as he lovingly kisses your cheek. “nothing, just looking at some pictures from today’s fansign,” you tell him, showing him the pictures.

“but those are… my hands?” jake asks, staring at you with a doubtful look. you nod, grinning slightly “yup.”

jake pauses for a second, hesitating “is that why you’re blushing?” he smirks then, a teasing smile on his lips. “it’s just my hands, what’s up with that?” he asks, acting oblivious. “don’t play dumb,” you giggle as you playfully pinch his arm.

“are you horny, princess? is that what happens?” jake murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “you like my hands that much?” “maybe,” you tease.

so jake laughs, deciding to run his hand down your stomach, testing the waters. he can’t help but chuckle when he sees how you spread your legs slightly “maybe,” he mocks. “really? are you this turned on just because of my hands, baby?” “maybe,” you tease again, licking your lips as he stares into your eyes. “lets find out, then,” jake whispers.

he shifts his weight beside you, careful not to press down. his lips find your neck, kissing slowly, teasingly, while his hand roams your body. every kiss trails lower, his mouth nibbling your collarbones.

his hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, moving achingly slow, like he’s savoring every second. “you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, “so perfect for me.” he lets his fingers ghost over your panties, deliberately avoiding where you need him most.

you shift beneath him, and he smirks against your skin. “what’s wrong, princess?” he whispers, brushing his nose along your jaw. “need something?” when you let out a small whine, he chuckles. “so eager,” he playfully pouts, “and here i was trying to take my time with my pretty girl.” his fingers finally trail down, grazing your heat through your underwear. “there you go,” he hums as he inserts his hand into your panties.

you moan slightly when he spreads your folds gently, his fingers pushing them aside. “fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” jake breathed as he feels your wetness. “is this all because of me?” he asks, a cocky grin on his face while he circled your clit with the tip of his finger. you nod. “mmh, that’s what i thought,” he smirks again, biting his lower lip.

his kisses grow slower, more deliberate as his finger keeps on teasing you. “my pretty girl,” he murmurs between kisses, “always so responsive for me.” his fingers trail up and down your sides, just enough to make you squirm under his touch.

jake chuckles softly as he feels you whimper beside him. “you’re already this worked up and i’ve barely touched you…” his hand slips under your shirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach, avoiding the place you want him most.

“so needy tonight,” he whispers against your collarbone, biting gently. you nod, breath hitching, and he grins. then he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “you look so pretty like this, all squirmy and desperate,” he whispers, “just for me.” “j-jake, please”

so he finally gives into you, slowly pushing his middle finger inside your pussy. you shouldn’t feel so full, but just one of his long, thick fingers is enough to stretch you out, to make you moan and clench around it. “oh, you like that?” jake asks, teasingly. “s-shut up,” you whimper, your face flushed. “why would i shut up when my girlfriend is like this because of my hands?” he whispers, grinning.

you whimper again, nodding as you grind your hips in an attempt to feel his hand brushing against your clit. “that’s good, baby, keep doing that for me,” he coos, kissing your forehead soothingly, as he moves his finger at a faster pace. “you want another one?” you nod eagerly, whimpering as he inserts one more finger inside you, stretching you more.

your breath hitches as he curls his fingers just right, brushing that sweet spot deep inside you. “oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. jake smirks, watching you fall apart under his touch. “your pretty pussy is squeezing my fingers so tight.” he presses his thumb harder against your clit, rubbing small, fast circles that make your thighs shake.

“come on, princess,” he urges gently, lips brushing your temple. “don’t hold back. be good for me and cum.” your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure builds and finally crashes over you. your moans spill out as you cum around his fingers, your body trembling. “that’s it, baby,” jake whispers, kissing your forehead again. “so perfect for me. you did so good.”

he keeps his fingers inside you for a moment, slowing his movements to help you ride it out. when he finally pulls away, he immediately shifts closer to cradle you in his arms. “i’ve got you,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles into your stomach. “you okay?” you nod against his chest, still catching your breath. he smiles and kisses your hair.

he helps you adjust your clothes, then pulls a blanket over both of you, tucking you against him. “i guess you really like my hands, huh?” he whispers, chuckling slightly.

© jongst4r, 2025

[cleolinda]

Phone scam gothic

So my mom sits down and starts telling me about two weird-ass phone calls she had today—she was returning a missed call, and the woman who answered just… sobbed for a minute. I’m sitting here asking, like, a whole minute? Nothing else, just sobbing? Who did you THINK you were calling back?

“United Healthcare, they have my Medicare plan. They’ve been calling me for weeks without leaving any voicemail.”

(Are you sure it was United Healthcare? “It was the same number that’s on my card, I checked, and that’s who the caller ID said it was.”)

Are you sure it was a whole minute? Did YOU say anything?

“Yes, like sixty seconds while I kept going ‘Hello? Hello?’ It sounded like she was having a nervous breakdown, I kept waiting to see if she’d tell me what was even wrong. Finally I just hung up.”

And then my mom turned right around and called back again, because she was gonna get to the bottom of this.

This time she got a different woman, perfectly calm, who wanted to set up “your in-home direct patient care home health visit.”

At this point (at this point?) I’m staring, because no one here currently has anyone coming to the house to help with any kind of medical care. My mom might honestly be the healthiest member of the household, but even I don’t use any home services, herniated discs and all. “Did they have you… confused with someone else?”

“No, she repeated my full name and phone number back to me.”

This lady then started ARGUING with my mother. Why don’t you want us to come to your house to manage your direct patient care? Don’t you need home health care to be managed? Why don’t you need home health care? Why would you not want home health care? “I JUST KIND OF HAVE HIGH CHOLESTEROL?” But don’t you want us to manage your home health care? “WHY DO YOU NEED TO COME TO MY HOUSE TO MANAGE HEALTH CARE I DON’T USE?”

My mom finally hung up on this lady as well, without giving her any real information.

The more we talked about it, the more things we started to notice:

I was incredibly creeped out by the unsolicited use of the word “manage,” for some reason. Very sinister “write me into your will” vibes for some reason—I don’t know what these people want, but they’re gonna get you to sign something over.

My mom got especially stuck on “WHY DO YOU NEED TO COME TO MY HOUSE?!”

My mom has used home health services before… years ago, before she was on Medicare. But this company wouldn’t know about that. However, if you’re on Medicare, you’re over 65. Having not ever dealt with my mother before, someone calling a Medicare user might be playing the odds that a person over 65 is 1) in frail health and 2) old enough to get easily confused.

Fair play to my mom, she’s the one who thought of number spoofing. I’m so busy not answering the phone ever and arranging all my medical communications to happen through passworded portals that I didn’t think of it.

Hey, are you guys, like… holding someone hostage…?

So at this point, I google “United Healthcare scam.”

The “health insurance counselor”

This fraudster will offer help navigating the health insurance marketplace for a fee, capitalizing on people’s confusion about the state-based health exchanges created through the Affordable Care Act.

What to know

This sort of assistance is indeed available and is legitimate, but the people who offer it – also known as “navigators” – aren’t allowed to charge for their services. Also, remember that people with Medicare coverage don’t need to use the state health exchanges. The exchanges are for people under the age of 65, who are looking to enroll in an individual health plan.

Change “navigate” to “manage,” and I think this is it, although the lady on the phone never mentioned any fees. Either my mom didn’t let her get that far, or this is the point of actually getting into someone’s house: persuading them face-to-face to pay something, and potentially refusing to leave until the scammer has worn their target down.

Medicare does not make unsolicited phone calls.

Okay, so it was a scam no matter what it was about. As far as I’m concerned, my mom should contact Actual United Healthcare about it, and I’m here to spread the good word of Never Believing Anyone on the Phone 2k24. I don’t know what to tell you about the lady having the nervous breakdown though.

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff part 2

Part 1

Again, just suggestions that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice, as I sit here doing my own edits for a WIP.

1. Crutch words

Specifically when you have your narrator taking an action instead of just… writing that action. Examples:

Character wonders/imagines/thinks/realizes

Character sees/smells/feels

Now not all of these need to be cut. There’s a difference between:

Elias stops. He realizes they’re going in the wrong direction.

And

Elias takes far too long to realize that it’s not horribly dark wherever they are

Crutch words are words that don’t add anything to the sentence and the sentence can carry on with the exact same meaning even if you delete it. Thus:

Elias stops. They’re going in the wrong direction.

I need a word in the second example, whether it’s realizes, understands, or notices, unless I rework the entire sentence. The “realization” is implied by the hard cut to the next sentence in the first example.

2. Creating your own “author voice”

Unless the tone of the scene demands otherwise, my writing style is very conversational. I have a lot of sentence fragments to reflect my characters’ scatterbrained thoughts. I let them be sarcastic and sassy within the narration. I leave in instances of “just” (another crutch word) when I think it helps the sentence. Example:

…but it’s just another cave to Elias.

Deleting the “just” wouldn’t hit as hard or read as dismissive and resigned.

I may be writing in 3rd person limited, but I still let the personalities of my characters flavor everything from the syntax to metaphor choices. It’s up to you how you want to write your “voice”.

I’ll let dialogue cut off narration, like:

Not that he wouldn’t. However, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Sure it’s ~grammatically incorrect~ but you get more leeway in fiction. This isn’t an essay written in MLA or APA format. It’s okay to break a few rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.

3. Metaphor, allegory, and simile

There is a time and a place to abandon this and shoot straight because oftentimes you might not realize you’re using these at all. It’s the difference between:

Blinding sunlight reflects off the window sill

And

Sunlight bounces like high-beams off the window sill

It’s up to you and what best fits the scene.

Sometimes there’s more power in not being poetic, just bluntly explicit. Situations like describing a character’s battle wounds (whatever kind of battle they might be from, whether it be war or abuse) don’t need flowery prose and if your manuscript is metaphor-heavy, suddenly dropping them in a serious situation will help with the mood and tonal shift, even if your readers can’t quite pick up on why immediately.

Whatever the case is, pick a metaphor that fits the narrator. If my narrator is comparing a shade of red to something, pick a comparison that makes sense.

Red like the clouds at sunset might make sense for a character that would appreciate sunsets. It’s romantic but not sensual, it’s warm and comforting.

Red like lipstick stains on a wine glass hints at a very different image and tone.

Metaphor can also either water down the impact of something, or make it so much worse so pay attention to what you want your reader to feel when they read it. Are you trying to shield them from the horror or dig it in deep?

4. Paragraph formatting

Nothing sticks out on a page quite like a line of narrative all by itself. Abusing this tactic will lessen its effect so save single sentence paragraphs for lines you want to hammer your audiences with. Lines like romantic revelations, or shocking twists, or characters giving up, giving in. Or just a badass line that deserves a whole paragraph to itself.

I do it all the time just like this.

Your writing style might not feature a bunch of chunky paragraphs to emphasize smaller lines of text (or if you’re writing a fic on A03, the size of the screen makes many paragraphs one line), but if yours does, slapping a zinger between two beefy paragraphs helps with immersion.

5. Polysyndeton and Asyndeton

Not gibberish! These, like single-sentence paragraphs, mix up the usual flow of the narrative that are lists of concepts with or without conjunctions.

Asyndeton: We came. We saw. We conquered. It was cold, grey, lifeless.

Polysyndeton: And the birds are out and the sun is shining and it might rain later but right now I am going to enjoy the blue sky and the puffy white clouds like cotton balls. They stand and they clap and they sing.

Both are for emphasis. Asyndeton tends to be "colder" and more blunt, because the sentence is blunt. Polysyntedon tends to be more exciting, overwhelming.

We came and we saw and we conquered.

The original is rather grim. This version is almost uplifting, like it's celebrating as opposed to taunting, depending on how you look at it.

—

All of these are highly situational, but if you’re stuck, maybe try some out and see what happens.

*italicized quotes are from ENNS, the rest I made up on the spot save for the Veni Vidi Vici.

[melanchoire]

need.. g!p aeri with inexperienced fem reader. where r are curious on how making love felt like! 😮😮

cw: loss of virginity, squirting.

this makes me think of g!p aeri being the playboy type but at the same time being best friends with the girl who doesn’t have much experience in love and apparently hasn’t even had her first kiss 😭 somewhat embarrassing because you are a little embarrassed to be the least experienced in your group of friends but there is nothing wrong with that because giselle seems to find it adorable and thinks there is nothing wrong with not being a whore like your other friends 🥰 although giselle wouldn’t mind if you were her whore!

although one day you end up asking for help because the constant teasing and reminders from your friends generated a certain curiosity in you and giselle has no problem “training” you so that you don’t suck the day you fuck someone

she finds your attempts to give her head adorable without embarrassing you in the process 🥺 giselle has no shame whatsoever and doesn’t seem to mind saying out loud and without filters the instructions to guide you on how to suck her cock, making you stop mid–work when you do something wrong and always giving you reminders, things like “don’t use your teeth.” or ”relax your throat, you’re very tense.” as if it weren’t for the fact that she has the biggest and thickest cock in existence...

ohhhh and when she is finally fucking you... she found it cute how you came the second he completely slid her entire cock inside you, but it’s not your fault! giselle noticed from the beginning that you were making every effort not to give up in the process, from the soft moan you let out when the tip of her cock accidentally hit your clit to when your breath caught as giselle began to slide her cock into your pussy but stopped every so often to let you get used to the size — she didn’t mind at all that you squirted on her cock because she honestly thought it was hot somehow??? and it was definitely better when you freaked out thinking you peed yourself or something because you had no idea you were a squirter but giselle discovered that she was the first person to know 😵‍💫 of course she didn’t stop there! she still had to bred you

looking at her with the most beautiful and bright eyes while she destroys your pussy with her monstrous cock 🥺 practically whimpering and whining but giselle knows that you are only reacting this way because this is all new to you and you don’t want to stop because you were the one who put your legs on top of her shoulders and making sure they don’t slide off of them! giselle couldn’t be happier to see how little by little she was teaching you enough so that later she doesn’t need to look for a hot girl to fuck because she will have you ready to be her doll

[grantspectortrash]

fantasies & thin walls

Pairing: Rex Sloan/Rex Splode x F!Reader

Summary: post s3 (minus Rex’s relationship with Rae), but everyone is alive and well! nothing bad ever happened! I don’t know what you mean!

You’re apart of the ex-guardians superhero team that are staying at Teen Team’s base. Your room is next to Rex’s, and he can’t ignore the noises he can hear through the wall.

Warnings/tags: Minors DNI, 18+ pls and thank you this is smut. Unknown mutual masturbation, porn reference, smut but no physical contact

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: for all my Rex girlies, because there simply aren’t enough fics so I’m coming out of hibernation after 3 years off.

___

Long days, intense fights, and constant training meant that when you finally crawled into bed way after the sun had gone down, you were knackered.

Your suit was discarded in a heap on the floor and you had told Cecil if there was another emergency tonight he could find someone else. You’d been through too much lately.

All you craved was some time to relax, and nothing seemed to be working.

None of your favourite shows were hitting the spot, you didn’t have the energy to read a book, and the thought of doomscrolling on your phone made your nose wrinkle.

There was only one thing that would help.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted it, but you knew you wanted that release, that blissful chilled out feeling only one thing could give you.

“Fuck it.” You sighed into the darkness, shimmying off your pyjamas and leaving those on the floor beside your suit.

Once you were naked, you loaded up the default porn site you always used in moments like these, and began scrolling.

Your actions started slowly, a hand tracing down your stomach to your folds, where two fingers traced lazily around your clit in circles.

You knew you were doing this just to feel something, anything, that wasn’t to do with fighting or training. Something that didn’t require losing any blood or killing anyone. You just wanted that release.

You just didn’t know the walls were so fucking thin.

For the third time in two weeks, Rex led in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the noises he could hear coming from your room.

He had no idea why the walls were so thin, or why it seemed as if your beds were pressed up against each other, or why he couldn’t bring himself to plug his ears.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. It was invasive and wrong. But it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.

Rex was a good guy now, and he respected you. It just wasn’t his fault that your soft moans made his cock twitch.

He had restrained himself the first time, only allowing himself to listen for the first five minutes while he felt his cock get hard, before shoving headphones on to drown out the noise.

The second time he had truly behaved himself. He had listened to you all the way through, telling himself it was only because he was only curious to see how long it took for you to get there.

And once you had, he had forced himself to sleep while his dick fought against the restraints of his bed covers.

He had woken up in the morning with a wet patch on his sheets, and heat had flushed to his cheeks.

He wasn’t an asshole fuckboy anymore, so why had his dream-self done that to him?

The day after he had punished himself by training extra hard, only taking a break when Rudy demanded Rex had gone beyond the point of exhaustion.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t youthful impulses or ex-fuckboy tendencies that had made him feel that way about you.

Rex thought you were gorgeous.

You had everything he wanted in a woman. The perfect eyes, perfect figure - hell if he had still been the previous him, he probably would’ve saddled up to you the first day you joined the guardians with a “hey sexy mama” and would’ve tried to seduce you into bed.

And while half of him was still tempted to try that, he was different now. He admired you for your powers and skillset, and knew how much you cared about saving people. You inspired him, and in Rex’s eyes that added another level to your beauty.

So while he heard you, moaning and panting, he couldn’t help the reaction his body had.

He couldn’t help it either when he heard his name tumble out of your mouth.

Rex shot up from his bed immediately, his head slamming against the shelves above.

“Fuck.” Rex whispered angrily, a hand coming up to rub the back of his head.

He listened to see if you had heard, but you only paused for a second before the soft moans continued.

Maybe he had heard you wrong. Maybe he was going mad, the sounds of you driving him wild enough that he had reached delirium.

But there it was again.

The faint “Rex” slipping out of your mouth while you touched yourself, your phone and the porn you were watching discarded while thoughts of what you really wanted took over your mind.

You didn’t even know when you had started fantasising about Rex - probably when he dropped the full throttle dickhead vibe and became an endearing asshole instead. Probably before.

You’d fought beside the guy. You lived with him. You’d seen him in just a towel wrapped around his waist after a shower, and you’d seen him beaten and bloody, which shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.

Each and every time you caught a glimpse of his hard abs, or each time the light hit his green eyes just right, you’d felt something stir deep within you.

And now you were wishing Rex was deep within you.

Your legs were spread wide, your hands desperately moving while one fingered your hole with unyielding intent and the other teased your clit.

It wasn’t enough, you wanted Rex, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself or to him - ever.

But it was more than enough for Rex. He wanted you, and he didn’t want to hold back any longer.

Rex rested his head against the wall, and took his hard cock into his hand, pre cum already glistening at his tip in the low light.

He took one slow stroke, and bucked into his hand involuntarily. And as your sounds got louder, Rex matched your pace.

He moved his hand at the tempo of your rhythm, straining to control his breathing so he could concentrate on your own.

“Rex”, his name came again, this time a little louder and more like a whimper.

It sent a shiver across his naked body, and a silent “oh baby” crossed his lips.

He could hear your pace quickening, knew that soon you would be feeling that familiar tight cord across your stomach, knew that soon it would be all over and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

But as he fisted his cock in his hand, he didn’t care about what would come after. He only cared about coming now. Coming to the thought of you, coming to the sounds of your pleasure, moaning for him.

He got faster as your panting got more erratic, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself,

“Fuckkk, come on mama.” Rex whispered low, his voice trembling slightly.

And then the band snapped, and you let out a long, breathy moan as Rex’s rhythm faltered and his dick released long, hot cords of cum across his stomach.

All he could imagine was pumping his seed into you, and his head felt dizzy from the high.

For a full minute, all he could hear was his own panting, his breath hitching in his throat.

His dark red hair was uncharacteristically messy, taken out of his usual bun, framing his face as he breathed hard. He blew a strand away.

“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to say.

He cleaned himself up and sunk back down into his bed, mind wild and heart racing.

He hoped you hadn’t heard him, but couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if you had.

And you hoped Rex hadn’t heard you, but as that sweet release enveloped you in a state of peace, and you started to drift off to sleep, you wondered what might happen if he had…

___

__

-

guys I am so nervous about posting this bc I haven’t written any fics in yonks and this is my first Rex and first smut fic ever. God it feels good to get back in the game. Love ya, Leigh x

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read 👀"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things. 

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease. 

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does. 

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight. 

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely. 

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot. 

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push. 

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease. 

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him. 

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.  

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.” 

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry. 

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off. 

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought. 

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid. 

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you. 

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani?  They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool. 

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap. 

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn. 

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel. 

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.  

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else–  you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried. 

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him. 

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose. 

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1. 

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you. 

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment. 

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to. 

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it. 

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome. 

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can. 

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult. 

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day. 

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy. 

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing. 

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively. 

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.” 

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse. 

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question. 

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?” 

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly. 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth. 

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.” 

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head. 

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right. 

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you. 

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number. 

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away. 

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew. 

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly. 

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears. 

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly. 

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case. 

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath. 

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.” 

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler. 

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way. 

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head. 

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit. 

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing–  apparently makes hilarious jokes… 

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him. 

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good. 

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV. 

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling. 

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.  

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge. 

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across. 

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.  

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right?  Why don’t you talk to him?  I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel. 

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions. 

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.” 

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says. 

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs. 

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying. 

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you. 

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him. 

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door. 

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut. 

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?” 

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,”  Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up. 

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number. 

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.  

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly. 

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery. 

“Can you do that?” you plead. 

To your relief, after a moment, he nods. 

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms. 

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads. 

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly. 

[solxamber]

Leona, Romantic, Homesick by MICO

"I'd Stay" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Homesick by MICO

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 990

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Happy ending

Leona doesn’t beg. He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t ask people to stay.

And yet—

He sits in the dim glow of early morning, watching the way the golden light stretches across your skin, watching the way you sleep so peacefully next to him, your body curled into the warmth of his own.

And he aches.

Because when the sun is fully up, you’ll leave.

He lets his gaze flicker to the half-packed bags in the corner, the ones you didn’t finish because last night, you were tangled up in his arms, pressing whispered nothings into his skin. Because last night, you were here.

But the morning always brings reality, and reality means you’re leaving.

He should be used to this. To letting things go before they slip through his fingers. He’s done it his whole damn life. But for the first time, something in his chest twists with a foreign kind of desperation—something he doesn’t know how to name.

He doesn’t know what to do with it.

So he does what he always does. He says nothing.

And waits for you to wake up and go.

You wake slowly, warmth cocooning you before you even open your eyes.

Leona.

You shift against him, pressing your face against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair. He’s awake. He’s never awake this early.

That’s the first thing that tells you something’s wrong.

The second is the silence.

Leona isn’t a man of many words, but this silence feels different. He’s thinking—too much, too deeply, like he’s trying to work something out in his head and doesn’t like the answer he’s coming to.

You don’t say anything at first. You just let yourself stay like this a little longer. Wrapped up in him. Pretending the world outside this bed doesn’t exist.

But eventually, you have to break the quiet.

“I’ll visit,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Leona goes still. His hand stops moving against your hair.

You don’t need to look at him to know what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t want a damn visit.

He wants you here.

“…I know,” he says finally, but it’s quiet. Heavy. A lie dressed up in indifference.

You press your lips together. You know it’s unfair, the way you’re waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to give you a reason to stay. But Leona is proud. You’ve always known that. He doesn’t ask for things. He doesn’t admit what he wants until it’s already slipped through his fingers.

But this time, maybe—

“You could come with me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel the way he tenses beneath you. Like the thought had never even occurred to him.

Then, slowly, his fingers resume their absentminded movement against your scalp. He exhales a quiet scoff.

“Can’t just leave everything behind for you, herbivore.”

You close your eyes. That’s what you thought he’d say.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I know.”

The thing is, you would.

You’d stay, in a heartbeat. You’d unpack your bags, cancel your flights, change everything just to be with him. You would. But you know better than to ask him to do the same.

Because Leona is Leona, and he’s never been one to cling to things, never been one to believe in fairytales and endings that don’t end in disappointment.

And yet—

You don’t see the way his jaw clenches, the way he stares at the ceiling like it holds an answer he doesn’t want to face.

You don’t see the way his hand tightens against your waist, like he’s trying to commit the feeling of you to memory.

And you don’t hear the words sitting heavy on his tongue, the ones he swallows down before they have the chance to escape.

Stay. Please, stay.

Because Leona doesn’t beg.

And you?

You’ve already made up your mind.

The silence stretches between you, something unspoken hanging in the air. Heavy. Pressing.

You take a slow breath and shift, preparing to move—to get up, finish packing, and finally leave.

But before you can, a hand curls around your wrist.

Firm. Steady. Unyielding.

You pause, blinking in the dim morning light, and look down at where Leona holds you. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s final. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear completely.

“…Leona?” You murmur, confused.

His thumb brushes against your skin, slow and deliberate. His head is tilted back against the pillow, but his eyes—those sharp, piercing green eyes—are on you.

There’s something raw in his expression, something stripped bare in the way he looks at you now, like he’s finally let himself feel all the things he’s been too afraid to name.

And then, his lips part—his voice low, hoarse, like the words are scraping their way out of his throat before he can stop them.

"Stay."

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t say it like a demand. He doesn’t say it like a challenge, like he’s trying to test you or push you away like he usually does.

He just says it.

Like he means it.

Like he needs it.

Like he needs you.

“…Leona.”

His jaw clenches, and his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s expecting you to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you swallow hard, something swelling in your chest—something warm, something hopeful—and you let your fingers slip between his, squeezing gently.

"Okay," you whisper.

His breath shudders out, and then he’s pulling you back down, into the warmth of the sheets, into him.

He doesn’t say anything else. He just buries his face in your hair, arms circling you like he can keep you here just like this, like he can make up for all the nights he let you walk away without stopping you.

But this time, you won’t be leaving.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ i need help

➤ summary: Rafe has a breakdown, and he finally asks for help

➤ w/c: 1.4k

➤ warnings: angsty and fluffy?, crying, mentions of drugs and alcohol, ward is the worst father (this is ward’s hate space btw💋)

➤ a/n: I just want to baby him. so yeah, soft/clingy Rafe again because apparently, I can’t write anything else right now🙂

masterlist

You were sitting on Rafe’s bed, patiently listening to his firm footsteps on the staircase. The room was dimly lit only by a lamp from the nightstand and you fought back an urge to fall on your back and fall asleep with your face in his pillow. 

Yet the harsh and cold voice made your head clear of your thoughts and you finally noticed your best friend walking into his own room. 

“What are you doing here?” Rafe grumbled at you as soon as he slammed the door, turned the lock and turned around, only to see you sitting on his bed.

“What?” His bloodshot eyes were burning holes into you and you innocently blinked at him, not understanding why he was acting so weird.

“I said, what–”

“Don’t yell at me.” You interrupted him calmly. “We wanted to hang out; it’s been a few days since it was just the two of us. You never complain when I come here.”

“Ye-yeah, fuck…sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You watched how Rafe started pacing around the room, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He was almost shaking, his hair looking like a mess, and you would’ve thought that he was on the verge of tears. “I’m not in the mood right now, okay? We’ll do it another time. Can you leave now? I– I need to be alone.”

“No, Rafe, I’m not leaving. What happened?” Your brows furrowed, concern and nerves bubbling inside of your body as you watched how your friend and the guy you had a crush on was slowly breaking down. 

“Nothing. Nothing happened, Y/N.” He mumbled, still not staying in one place. “Just go.”

“I told you no.” 

 “Why can’t you listen to what I’m fucking telling you?!” Rafe snapped, stepping closer to you as if he were trying to scare you away. Yet you remained still in your place, not even flinching. Your brows shot up in silent question,  eyes were glued to his face, and especially to the way his own eyes became more glassy and watery with every second. “Fuck, fuck—I'm sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to yell at you.” 

“Then don’t. You know I hate it when you’re doing it, Rafe.” You continued calmly. “Sit here and tell me what happened. I see that something’s wrong. It’s been that way for a long time, right? You’re acting differently… C’mere.” You patted the bed near you, giving Rafe a reassuring smile. 

“I don’t know what to do, Y/N.” Sitting near you on the bed and holding his head in his hands, Rafe spoke so quietly that you could barely hear him. “I’m going insane. I have issues and nobody hears me.” You slowly, as if you were touching a wounded animal, put your hand on his back, slowly moving it up and down. 

“Tell me. I’m here and I hear you. Please tell me what’s going on.” You tried to sound as soft as you could, moving a little bit closer. “You know you can trust me.”

“There’s something wrong with me. I— I have thoughts in my head that I don’t like. They’re bad. They’re wrong. I don’t want to be violent or feel these things inside of me but I c-can’t stop. They’re stronger than I am and sometimes they’re messing with my head.” Rafe’s voice cracked at the end and you felt the violent beating of your heart in your chest. He sniffed a few times, desperately trying to be strong in front of you and to hide the disgusting things that were eating him up alive. 

“Are they dangerous to others or to you?” 

“Both.”

You slowly nodded, processing the information and trying not to show the way it actually freaked you out. Did you know that Rafe struggled with anger and was not everyone's favorite person? Well, yes. He was nothing but sweet to you, though. You saw that he was a nice person, with a good heart. The only thing that he wanted in return was to feel needed, important, and loved. 

And you always gave it to him. 

But realizing that there were problems so much deeper and that he was now screaming for help because he could not live like that anymore made you wonder how you could be so stupid to not notice the signs earlier.

“Did you talk to your dad about it? Maybe anyone else? Or is it just me? ” You finally reached Rafe's face with your hand, turning him in your direction. You’ve never seen him even shed a tear, not to mention the state that he was in right now and it was shocking how much it hurt you too. The look in his pretty eyes was so desperate and so hurtful that you felt sick.

“He told me to man up. Cool, right? Can’t even do shit without disappointing him. I–I said that I have problems, but he just ignored it. He told me to rest and that it'd be okay.” He smiled at you, even though tears were still freely streaming down his face. “I just thought that maybe once he would hear me. See me. Not Sarah. I’m so fucking tired of it.” He shook his head and looked down. “So it’s only you. Nobody really cares about me anyway, so...”

“Oh, Rafe… Come here.” He wasn’t resisting when you dragged him closer to you by his arm. No, instead, he wrapped his arms around you as if his life were depending on it. You hugged Rafe back, slowly lowering both of you on the bed, until he was lying almost on top of you with his face in the crook of your neck and your fingers slowly brushing through his hair.

What you noticed is that Rafe was always cautious with physical contact. Sometimes it seemed like he tried to be closer to you, sit near you, or casually play with your hands or hair, but the next day he was completely dispant and hesitant. 

It was obvious that now Rafe lowered his guards; he let you see the damaged parts of him and he craved your touch because it was the only thing that could ground him. 

“I need help. I’m tired of this shit in my head, and I don’t want to continue ruining my life with alcohol and drugs…but it just calms everything down for some time and I don’t know how to come out of this circle.” Rafe sobbed harder, his arms wrapping around you even more, until you were closer than you'd ever been before. Your own eyes were filled with tears, but you refused to show them. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a disappointment. P-please don’t walk away.” 

You knew about Rafe’s lifestyle, but despite your words, he always made it seem like not a big deal, like something fun that he does at parties. Though now it was obvious that the facade that he had built was slowly falling down and drowning him in it too. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Rafe. It’s not your fault. But you do need help, darling.” You whispered, pet name rolling from your tongue faster than you could’ve processed it. “It’s important that you understand it. And I’m not leaving. It’s the last thing that should be in your head.”

“I do. I want to get clean. I want to be normal. I just don’t know how.” 

“That’s okay. I’m here for you, yeah? Your dad may not hear you, but I do and I’ll help you. We’ll figure it out together tomorrow, okay? Now you need to rest a little bit.” You reached the end of the bed, dragging a duvet and covering both of you with it. Rafe didn't move an inch from your warmth.

“You promise?”

“I promise, Rafe. You mean a lot to me; you know that, right? More than you think.” You whispered, soothingly brushing his blond hair again.

“You mean a lot to me too. More than you think.”    

[sloaneispunk]

“master manipulator”

dark!inho x you

in-ho had a special way of getting to gi-hun. with the help someone as broken as him, he knew he could get under the skin of him. in-ho was a master manipulator.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

when in-ho first joined the game, he already had his eyes set on you, not because he wanted you romantically or as a friend. it was because he knew exactly how he was going to use you to get to gi-hun.

in the first round of voting, before he befriended the team, he spotted you in the crowd.

bingo!

“what’s a young girl like you doing in a game like this?” he would say. the way the heart was flattery, he knew that.

you didn’t take it well at first, often ignoring him or giving him short replies. but after many tries and his admirable resilience, you opened up.

as he got to know you whilst during the voting, he had somehow gotten to you. to him, it was the easiest thing ever.

“you know, you could clear your debt if you just played one more game.” he whispered in your ear before it was your turn to vote.

and luckily for him, you were player 002. it may or may not have been purely a coincidence but he enjoyed every second of it anyways.

in-ho made sure that when you walked up to the panel, you would have your mind straight on what he had told you to do.

and so you did.

team ‘o’.

when he casted in the last vote, he watched as the ‘o’s had easily overruled the ‘x’s.

when he was proud of you, his little plaything, he would brush up against you, throwing his arm over you protectively.

eventually, he brought you along when he joined gi-hun’s team. for some odd reason he felt that he couldn’t just abandon you like that after you had helped him.

throughout the next few games, in-ho protected you like you were his. during the ‘six legged pentathlon’ he ensured that you had a place in the team. when playing ‘mingle’, he would take your hand as he dragged you everywhere he went.

yea, he was using you for his own use but something in him made him feel awful about it.

it was rare for in-ho to feel that way, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so protective of someone.

but of course, all good things must come to an end.

when the third game ended, you were approached by jung-bae and gi-hun.

“hey, are you okay?” jung-bad asked as he looked you up and down seeming as if he was checking for bruises or scratches.

“y/n… jung-bae told me something concerning happened during ‘mingle’. i have to ask you something and you need to answer me honestly.” gi-hun added.

“what is it?” you would reply, fingers nervously playing behind your back.

“is young-il making you do this? anything?”

you frowned at them. how dare they?

“what?! why do you assume that?! he has done nothing wrong, i-”

“is there a problem?” in-ho stepped in, gently pushing you behind him.

“we just felt something was off with y/n, we were asking-”

“y/n is okay.” in-ho would cut them off. “y/n, sweetheart, you’re okay right?” he turned to look at you.

as you stared into his eyes you couldn’t stand the thought of not obliging to whatever he said. he felt safe, warm, just like home.

you sheepishly nodded.

“see?” in-ho tried his best to refrain himself from throwing a punch at gi-hun for the spot he put you in. “why don’t you go lie down, my dear? you must be exhausted from the game.” he told you adoringly, cupping your face as you nodded.

it was that easy.

but then, in-ho knew, his feelings were getting in the way. he was risking whatever plan he had for gi-hun because of these torturous feelings for you.

when the rebellion formed, he was torn between keeping you safe or taking you with him. but he figured a naive, young girl like you couldn’t be left in that hellhole alone without him. ‘who was going to protect you?’ he thought.

however, as the team got closer and closer to the control room, he knew his cover was going to be blown.

he hid behind the stairwell with you and a fellow player. contemplating if he should handle it himself or get you involved.

eventually, he made up his mind.

“y/n, honey, shoot him please.” he told you in that same sweet tone.

“w-what?”

“you know i’ll keep you safe, he’s going to get in the way. you have to.”

just as simple as that, the player was shot down by you, laying in a pool of his own blood because of your betrayal.

“oh, attagirl.” he would praise, sending shivers down your spine.

even with a sight so gruesome as that, he could make you feel like the luckiest and happiest person alive with his praises.

without a question, you had followed him back to his headquarters, in-ho keeping you hand in his every step of the way.

“now, i need you to take this…” he told you, kneeling down, giving you a walkie talkie as you sat on his bed. “… watch the cameras and as soon as someone gets near this door i need you to tell me, okay?”

“but what’s going on?” you asked wanting an explanation for all the chaos, the wreckage.

“i’ll explain everything to you when i get back.” he brushed it off.

“don’t leave me here alone please.”

in-ho felt his heart break. your voice was so soft and gentle.

he brushed the hair away from your face and wiped your tears.

“it’ll only take a while, i’ll be back as soon as i can.”

and with one last kiss to your forehead, he was off.

he had a new addition to his team.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part five)

warnings ; hm. sex in a trailer, oc turns into a pornstar, you ride the shit out of him wearing your corporate heels, unprotected sex

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; we are SO BACK. listen, i promised you all that oc would indeed get her lick back, and she does. wrote this while listening to wrong by zayn ft kehlani and it’s truly a bop that encapsulates these two buffoons. honestly if i could describe this chapter in a few words it would be: two people who are terrified of admitting defeat. (also at the end im adding a picture of how i think she would ride him so you can see it better. it’s actually mentally ill.)

playlist here

series masterlist here

The flight back to Korea was supposed to be a reset. A cold, clean surgical cut with no frayed edges, no bleeding. It was supposed to be 16 hours to realign, rebuild, remind yourself who the hell you are. The Chief Marketing Officer of Calvin Klein. The woman who keeps everything and everyone in check, not some sleep-deprived idiot who let herself cum at the hands of the one person she should have been immune to.

Instead, it was sixteen hours of psychological warfare because Jungkook was there.

Not technically beside you or talking to you. God, not even looking at you. He was two rows back, noise-canceling headphones on, hoodie pulled low, chewing gum like he didn’t just throw your entire mental state into disarray less than forty-eight hours ago.

His presence alone was enough to make your skin feel tight, like your body was suddenly a size too small. Enough to make your breath catch whenever you thought he shifted in your periphery. Enough to keep your arms crossed and your spine locked straight, mouthing emails you weren’t even writing just to avoid thinking about the way his mouth had felt on your skin.

It meant nothing, you told yourself on a loop. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.

Even days later, back on Korean soil, the ghost of LA still clings to you like a second skin. You’re jittery and constantly two seconds away from snapping, because no matter how much work you bury yourself in, no matter how many corporate fires you put out, your body remembers.

It remembers the sound of his voice at the base of your neck. The bruising grip of his fingers and the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your curves.

It’s invasive, the way it follows you. How easily the memory curls around you when you’re not paying attention. How you catch yourself thinking about him in the middle of meetings, in the elevator, in the fucking mirror. And it’s not even the sex — not really.

It’s him.

Jeon Jungkook. Annoying. Arrogant. Stupidly attractive. The human embodiment of a bad idea. The very same man who somehow lodged himself under your skin like a splinter you can’t dig out without bleeding.

The most embarrassing part of it all is you don’t even know if he’s thinking about it at all. You haven’t talked about it or acknowledged it. Maybe that’s for the best. Because if Jungkook isn’t affected, if he’s truly fine, then it gives you permission to pretend too.

You also know pretending will only work until you walk into a room and catch him looking at you.

Even Korea as a whole feels different this time. The skyline hasn’t changed, yet somehow you have. There’s a fracture now, something jagged where your certainty used to be. You can’t focus. You’re distracted in meetings, missing details you’d usually clock with a single glance. Your schedule is packed, brutal even, but your body is restless.

The real problem isn’t seeing him. It’s not seeing him.

It’s when a full day goes by without a snarky comment or a smirk tossed across the room. It’s when you walk into a space and realize he’s not there, and your stomach drops before your brain can lie to you.

It’s a problem, and you hate problems you can’t fix. So, you do what you always do when things start slipping out of control: you work until you drop. Your days blur into a haze of fluorescent lights and bottomless Americanos. Your nights stretch past midnight, stacked with back-to-back revisions and Slack messages you pretend don’t irritate you. It’s a self-imposed exile dressed up as ambition.

If you just keep moving, if you keep clicking and scrolling and typing until your fingers go numb, maybe the static in your brain will settle. Maybe this thing, this itch under your skin that looks suspiciously like Jeon Jungkook, will stop feeling so sharp.

Eventually, you tell yourself, he’ll stop feeling like something. Eventually, your body will forget the geography of his, the slope of his shoulder, the press of his chest. He’s like a ghost you can’t exorcise. Like a stain you can’t scrub out.

He’s in the stupid curve of his name in your inbox, the subject lines stamped with CK Global Campaign: Urgent. He’s in every mockup and mood board and creative deck stacked haphazardly on your desk. He’s twenty stories high on the side of a building downtown, flexing in black-and-white while your cab driver tells you, “That kid’s really famous, huh?”

And you just have to nod, teeth clenched like he didn’t fuck you against a conference room table a week ago and then proceed to show up in your meetings acting like he didn’t.

Even Daniel knows. Or, well, he doesn’t know, but you have to guess he does. He side-eyes you every time Jungkook’s name is mentioned, like he’s just waiting for you to crack and spill some dirty little secret you swore you’d bury.

You keep having to remind yourself that night was a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment. But if it really was a mistake, why does it still feel like the only time you’ve ever let yourself breathe?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

On set, surrounded by your team, his team, an entire army of executives, creatives, stylists, assistants, photographers, lighting techs, and people whose jobs you’re not even sure of, you feel small.

Which is ridiculous, frankly. This is your campaign. Your brand. Your vision. You’re the one who’s been living, breathing, and bleeding Calvin Klein for years. You should be running this space like a general on a battlefield.

However, you’re struggling to breathe. The air is buzzing with the static charge of a shoot in motion; cameras clicking, stylists darting in to fix a hem or smudge of shine, assistants whispering frantically into headsets, executives murmuring behind you in languages you half-recognize.

And then there is Jeon Jungkook, standing under the studio lights like he was born in them. A living, breathing ad campaign. A nightmare of temptation.

He’s shirtless, obviously. Low-slung denim riding the edge of indecency. An oversized denim jacket half off his shoulders, barely hanging on like it too was seduced.

You swear every move he makes is calculated. The way he runs his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, or the way his lips part just enough, eyes hooded as he stares down the camera like he’s thinking filthy thoughts. The way the director mutters “Perfect” under their breath every three seconds, like they’ve forgotten how to breathe, too.

It’s all intentional. Normally, you wouldn’t even bat an eye. You’ve seen more male models strip down than a Las Vegas bachelorette party.

He catches you watching. He sees the way your gaze flits too fast and your lips press into a hard line when the camera catches the dip of his stomach, the flex of his thigh. There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling coiling in his stomach as he enjoys every second of your despair.

So when the director finally calls for a break and the energy shifts, you don’t even need to look up to know he’s coming toward you.

He stops close enough to be annoying. “You look stressed,” he says, voice low like he’s genuinely concerned. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Your fingers tighten around your clipboard. God, you want to smack him with it.

“Or… wait,” he adds, tilting his head. His eyes flick down over your figure. “You looked a little… distracted out there. See something you liked?”

You finally turn to him, expression flat and unimpressed, exhausted in that way only Jungkook can conjure. “That’s rich coming from a man who just pouted at the camera like a sell-out in a shampoo commercial.”

He grins, all teeth. “Don’t tell me you were watching that closely.”

He hums, dragging the back of his hand across his jaw like he’s thinking. He is not. “Was it the jacket? You like it off the shoulders? I can keep that going. For consistency, of course.”

You exhale slowly, sharply. “God, you’re the worst.” You say it through clenched teeth, laced with loathing and the last threads of restraint, every syllable a warning shot.

He only grins wider “Hm.”

You scoff, turning away and focusing on the clipboard or the set — anything but him.

That won’t stop him though. He doesn’t back off. He never backs off, not until you’re ready to scream or throw something or break, which you’re dangerously close to doing.

He licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair, and turns to walk toward the camera again.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard, nails pressing into the faux wood. Your throat burns and your skin prickles with a righteous fury that should qualify as terrorism.

You keep your expression neutral, like always, but your pulse is a traitor. You swear he can feel it from across the room.

The second the director yells cut, you’re gone. Not in a polite, professional, thanks-everyone-it-was-a-great-shoot kind of way. You don’t wait for playback or linger for wrap-up notes. You don’t even pretend to acknowledge the creative director who calls your name as you stalk past the lighting rig. You just turn on your heel and leave.

You’ve fucking had it. You’ve had it with the games, the smirks, the infuriatingly casual way Jungkook manages to dismantle your sanity with the arch of one goddamn brow. You’ve had it with how easily he slips beneath your skin like heat under a doorframe. You’ve had it with the way your body — your own traitorous body — won’t forget him.

Most of all, you’ve had it with yourself. This isn’t you. You don’t get rattled. You don’t get flustered. You don’t have emotions; not in the workplace, not for men like him.

You don’t let some overconfident, maddeningly pretty idol throw your entire internal compass off its axis.

So that’s it. You’re done.

One time. One mistake. End of story.

It never should have happened, and it sure as hell won’t happen again. Jungkook is just a blip, a glitch in the system, a fleeting indulgence. A moment of weakness you will not allow yourself to repeat.

All that to say — you head straight for his trailer, where you had seen him wander off immediately after the crew had wrapped.

You don’t even knock. It’s more of a courtesy tap before the door swings open and you step inside, all adrenaline and simmering fury and terrible judgment.

Suddenly, a wave of regret flushes through your entire being when you spot him. He’s lounging on the small leather couch like he owns the world. The jean jacket is gone, chest bare under the fluorescent light of the 80-square foot box. His hair’s a mess, damp at the temples, curling in a way that’s just cruel.

You freeze for a second, mostly because he looks like sin reincarnate and knows it.

He looks up at the noise and raises one eyebrow. His gaze drags slowly, down the length of you like he’s flipping through a menu. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You cross your arms. It’s part defense mechanism, part reflex, part an attempt to ignore the way heat is already crawling up your spine. “We need to talk.”

He stretches with his arms overhead, back arching, every line of muscle flexing. He then sinks deeper into the couch like this is his show and you’re just here for entertainment.

“This should be good,” he says, head tilted, grin lazy. He doesn’t sit up or even pretend to take you seriously. He just watches you, slowly blinking.

“You know,” he drawls, “I get it. You’re fighting a losing battle. Must be exhausting after getting a taste of me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull. “No, actually.”

You exhale, tighter now. Your arms fold tighter across your chest. You look anywhere but directly at him because one more glance at that ridiculously golden, unfairly sculpted torso and you’ll forget what English sounds like. “I came here to tell you that whatever that was in LA? That’s not happening again.”

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, “Oh? You sure about that?”

“Yes.” You snap the word too fast like you’re trying to cut off your own uncertainty before it can betray you.

But Jungkook catches it and his eyes flicker.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers loose between his thighs, body language all nonchalance and arrogance. His expression doesn’t shift much, just a glint of amusement threading through the dark of his gaze. Like this is funny to him. Like you’re funny.

“You sure?” he says, voice pitched just enough to grate. “Because you don’t look very sure.”

Well, fuck you. You’re not. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Not him. Not the trailer. Not the fact that his abs are ten feet from your face and he’s still smirking like the devil on a good day.

The problem is you. You’re the one who cracked. You’re the one who came to his trailer. You’re also the one who kissed him like you meant it and moaned his name and said ‘thank you’ like those were your favorite fucking words. You swallow the truth before it can rise, pin your spine straight, steel your voice, and meet him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “This will never be a thing, Jungkook.”

He blinks with faux curiosity. “This? What exactly is this? Because last time I checked, you were the one kissing me back.”

“It was a mistake.” Your voice cracks a little.

He hums like he’s rolling the next words around his mouth just to see how it feels on his tongue. “Yeah?” he says. “Seemed pretty fucking intentional to me.”

Your nails dig into your palms. You want to slap that look off his face. You want to scream. You want to throw something.

“Let me make this clear. Whatever happened between us is done,” you bite, every word clipped. “It meant nothing. And it will never, ever happen again.”

Jungkook just looks at you. Then, that slow, infuriating curl of his lips that says you’re lying and we both know it. That look that lives rent-free in the back of your mind no matter how many times you try to evict it. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

That’s what fucking kills you. It’s not the denial or the pushback or the audacity of the pet name. It’s that he doesn’t argue or protest.

He just sits there, calm and smug, like all he has to do is outlast your resolve and you’ll come undone all over again.

You inhale sharply, forcing the tremble out of your voice, trying to gather what little dignity you have left. “You think this is funny?”

Standing there in his trailer, flushed and heart pounding in your ears, the sting isn’t just in your skin; it’s in your pride. The way Jungkook leans back like your anger is amusing — it guts you in a way no man has before. This isn’t entirely new. You’ve built an entire career bulldozing men who thought they could outmaneuver you, talk over you, pat you on the head and call it a compliment. And yet he’s somehow doing what no one else ever could: getting under your skin. He’s dismissing you like you’re not the sharpest person in the room. That’s the part you can’t survive. Because if he doesn’t take you seriously, you lose everything.

“Let me remind you of something, Jungkook,” you say, cutting clean through the thick air between you. “I am in charge around here. I’m the reason you’re even working with us.“

He watches you silently. He’s letting you talk to see how far you’ll go before you crack again.

You step closer to him without your mind even realizing. You’re close enough for him to know you mean it. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. You’re just another contract. Another pretty face in a stack of numbers I’ve already filed away in my brain.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you add, tone like steel. “You’re just some guy. Nothing more.”

His lips twitch. It’s not a smile nor laugh, it’s a flicker that screams you poor thing, you still don’t get it, and he’s three steps ahead and generously letting you believe you’re in control.

“You’re right,” Jungkook says, soaked in condescension. “You do run all of this.“

He tilts his head, eyes sharpening. “But you don’t really run me.”

He doesn’t move but somehow, it still feels like you’ve been pushed back. He’s peeling your confidence off, layer by layer, without even lifting a single finger.

“You can sit there in your perfect little outfit,” he says, gaze dragging over your clothes with infuriating precision, “and pretend like this is nothing.”

His eyes pause on your mouth and linger. “But I heard you in LA. I felt you. I know exactly how you sound… how you taste.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” you quip. “You think you’re the first man who thought he could shake me? Get under my skin? Please.”

Jungkook’s tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. “I think,” he counters, “I’m the first one who actually did.”

You hate that you don’t have an answer to that, not one that doesn’t sound like a lie even in your own head.

The truth is a hell of a lot worse than anything he could say out loud.

You lean into him, deflecting all possible thoughts that scream at you in your head to do otherwise. You know him well enough now. You know what throws him off, what catches him mid-smirk, mid-thought, mid-breath.

“You know what I think, Jungkook?” you murmur, your voice the kind of calm that comes right before the storm. “I think you want me… and you’re mad I’m not begging for you.”

Your hand rises before you even think about it, fingertips pressing against the bare plane of his chest. Your hands trace along his collarbone, then glide downward.

His back eases into the couch with a quiet, reluctant exhale, his shoulders dropping, eyes never leaving yours.

And then suddenly, you’re hovering on top of him, hand gripping the couch headrest to steady yourself.

If he tilted his head, just barely, your mouths would meet. Your breath mingles with his in the space between you. There is a subtle twitch of his hands against the cushion, like he’s holding himself back from grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down.

You should really move away.

“Yeah?” he rasps like it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “What makes you think that?”

You should walk away. You should call it for what it is — dangerous, reckless, completely off-script.

Your painted nails drag lightly down his chest, and you lean down until your lips hover just above his jaw.

You let your mouth brush against the sharp edge of his jaw, a light kiss; it’s more suggestion than action, more threat than promise.

Jungkook goes still. When you finally pull back, his smirk is gone.

God, if you stay here another second, he’s going to grab you and make a liar out of both of you.

Jungkook’s breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips like you’ve got a hand pressed to a live wire.

The wire snaps pretty shortly after that. It’s just another lapse in judgement, right?

You’re kissing him. You don’t know who leans in — if it’s you, if it’s him, if it even matters —because the second your lips crash against his, the world narrows down to this one moment. This one reckless, dizzying, repeated offense.

Your hands dive into his hair, dragging through the strands as his fingers clamp down on your hips. Now you’re really climbing into his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions, your thighs bracketing his. Your skirt hikes up and his hands don’t help. He groans into your mouth like the sound’s been buried in his chest since LA and finally clawed its way out.

Maybe you missed this more than you want to admit.

This doesn’t feel like some impulsive relapse. It feels inevitable. Like the universe was always going to twist you back together, no matter how many warnings you whispered to yourself or how many times you tried to label it a mistake.

Your nails scrape against his scalp as he licks into your mouth possessively. Your body is burning from the inside out when he’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s been drowning.

He shifts under you, grinding up just slightly, and your breath hitches, completely out of your control. Right now, with his hands digging into your thighs and his tongue in your mouth and his cock pressing hard against you through his jeans, consequences don’t exist.

“Knew you’d come back to me,” he mutters, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Been dreaming about you,” he adds, “Every fucking night.”

Something volatile in you snaps. Maybe it’s the arrogance in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s right. Maybe it’s that he knows he’s right, and you’re sick of it. Your hand moves before you even register it, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing his face up until he’s looking at you. “You talk too much.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles lightly.

Your nails drag down the side of his neck, a slow glide of pressure over his pulse, and you feel it kick against your fingertips. “Use that mouth for something better.”

Jungkook lets out a low, broken laugh, but he doesn’t waste a second. His mouth is on your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing and your head tips back.

Oh god, this is wrong. You know that. You knew it before you walked in. You knew it in LA. You know it now. But when his mouth hits your collarbone and his lips suck just hard enough to make you arch, logic doesn’t stand a chance.

His hands slide up, fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing the edges of your ribs like he’s holding you steady.

You hate how good he is at this. You hate how easily your body gives in. You hate that he’s smug about it, that he dreamed this exact moment and now he’s watching it play out in real time.

“You wanna pretend you don’t need this?” he murmurs, “Wanna pretend you don’t want me?”

“Fucking knew it,” he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice, even as his teeth graze your jaw and his hips grind up into you again.

Your fingers dig into his hair, yanking his head back, and he gasps, eyes flying open, dark and glassy and so full of want it makes you ache.

“You think you know everything,” you breathe, drunk on the rush of having him under you, on you, wanting you.

His hands slide down, grabs your hips again, and grinds you down on him harder.

“I know you, angel,” he exhales. “I know that when I touch you like this, you lose your mind.”

Your stomach tightens, jaw clenching with the effort it takes to stay composed, but your body betrays you, thighs twitching around his hips. “Look at you,” he muses, grinning like the smug bastard he is. His hands slip lower,tugging at the waistband of your skirt like he has every right to. “Acting like you’re still in control when you’re probably dripping for me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulder, sharp enough to leave a mark, and your breath stutters, but it’s not because he’s wrong. It’s because he’s right.

Your laugh cuts through the air as you grind down on him. The friction is deliberate, cruel, and so very satisfying when Jungkook chokes on a gasp, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers tense at your waist, trying to hold on.

“You think you know me?” you sneer, your fingers drifting up his chest, feather-light but scorching all the same. He feels you grind against him again, another sinfully slow drag of your body against the hard length straining beneath his jeans. “You’re the one falling apart right now.”

Jungkook groans and his palms dig into your hips as if he’s seconds away from losing whatever self-control he has left. “Aw,” you coo, your other hand twisting into his hair and yanking, just enough to make his head fall back, just enough to watch his eyes flutter and his lips part in a gasp. “All that talk, and now you’re sitting here, hard as fuck, just waiting for me to do something about it.”

His cock twitches beneath you, and you feel every inch of it. “Poor boy,” you purr “Thought you were supposed to be ruining me?”

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, his hands twitching like he wants to hold you still, wants to flip the script but you refuse to let him. You keep grinding and dragging him to the edge and smiling as he trembles for you.

“You gotta…” he pants, hips jerking up in a desperate, fruitless attempt for more. “Fuck, baby, you gotta stop—“

It slips out of his mouth mid-grind of your hips. It shouldn’t matter but it knocks the wind out of you like he’s pulled something tight from your chest without warning. Your brain stutters, stalls, like what the fuck was that, like who gave him permission to make it sound like more than it is. It’s not sweet or tender. But still...softened at the edges and intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for. He called you that before but this time it clings to your skin long after he says it, echoing in your head like a bruise you don’t want to look at too closely.

“Stop?” you echo sweetly, grinding harder, dragging your clothed core over the thick bulge in his jeans until he’s gasping, until his fingers go white-knuckled at your waist.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?” you whisper, your lips hovering but never touching his. “Not as fun when you’re the one begging, huh?”

“Fuck, please,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours, his body trembling like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Please what,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. “You gotta be more specific, baby.”

“Please, just… do something,” he begs,“I’m gonna fucking cum in my pants like a middle schooler if you don’t.”

God, the way you grin. Last time he had you gasping, whimpering, begging. Now it’s your turn.

“Aw,” you croon,“Sounds like a you problem.”

Your hand slips lower. When he realizes your palm is pressing down, cupping him through the heavy denim of his jeans… it’s game over.

“F-fuck, oh my f-fucking god,” he gasps, full-body jerking into your touch like he didn’t mean to and his hips have developed a mind of their own. His fists clench around the cushions, chest heaving, his lip disappearing between his teeth with such force you’re genuinely concerned he might rip that lip ring straight out.

Your fingers start to move, lazy circles over the aching bulge beneath his jeans. “You’ve really been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you whisper, and the way his throat bobs is almost funny.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook chokes out.”You have no idea.”

“You looked so fucking good today.” His voice breaks on the word good, hips bucking up into your hand,“I couldn’t, I fucking… baby, I swear to god—”

“You swear to god what, Jungkook?” you ask sweetly, tilting your head, “That you’re gonna beg me to let you fuck me?”

“C’mon, please—” he pants, and god, he’s so far gone, his voice is just a thread now, pulled tight and fraying. His hands cup your ass, yanking you down harder, grinding himself into your palm like pride is a thing he gave up fifteen minutes ago. “Please, please, fuck, just let me.”

“Let you what, hm?” you purr. His mouth falls open and nothing comes out but the sound of a man breaking.

“Let me fuck you.” His eyes meet yours, a tinge of desperation behind them.

“Fine,” you sigh as if it’s a chore, like you’re granting a favor to a desperate fan, even as your hand drifts to the zipper of his jeans, fingers working it open painfully slow.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you add, as you finally shift, lifting your hips just enough to tug his jeans down over his thighs. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers — the Calvin Kleins, of course.

You push the fabric down and his cock slaps up against his stomach. He’s soaked with precum that smears wetly across the ridges of his tip, dripping down the thick length.

Jungkook gasps and his cock twitches helplessly. The sight of him panting and at your mercy makes your stomach tighten.

“F-fuck,” He’s barely resisting the impulse to grab you, flip you, shove himself inside you and end the torture you’re so expertly delivering.

Yet, he stays right where you’ve left him because he’s that far gone for you. You’ve taken him apart piece by piece and he’s letting you. If letting you stay in control is what it takes to fuck you again, he’ll give you everything.

“You look like you’re in pain, baby,” you say, mock-sympathetic, your register so sweet it might rot teeth.

“I am in pain,” he grits out, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack. “So fucking do something about it.”

He looks like he’s five seconds away from ripping through his own skin just to get to you.

The second you shift and start to lift off him, he lets out a choked sound. You stand up, reach for the buttons of your blouse, still absurdly corporate considering what you’re about to do.

You slide it off and the fabric slips down your arms and pools to the floor in one smooth motion.

His breathing turns shaky as his hand moves. It’s slow at first, wrapping around his cock, dragging his fist down the flushed, dripping length because it physically hurts to wait any longer. His thumb swipes over the tip, gathering precum, slicking the motion.

Your fingers trail down your sides, circling over the waistband of your skirt, watching the way his eyes follow every movement like he’s been starved. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

“So slow,” he spits out, his hand now moving faster over his cock,“You’re actually trying to kill me.”

The zipper slides down. The skirt pools at your ankles. You step out of it with ease, black heels still on, lace still clinging to your body like a perfectly wrapped gift.

“Take it off,” he demands, abs flexing with every ragged breath and precum now smeared across his hand and stomach.

“Ask nicely,” you purr, fingers drifting up your sides to snap the straps of your bra, not even touching the clasp yet, just taunting, because if anyone deserves to be edged to insanity, it’s him.

“Fucking please,” he begs “Please, baby, I’m gonna lose it, please just let me—“

And then, finally you reach behind you, unhook the clasp, and let your bra slip down your arms. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, one long torturous inch at a time, stepping out of them like you have all the time in the world.

And now you’re standing there wearing nothing but your heels.

“Oh my god,” he pants, his cock twitching violently in his grip, “Oh my fucking god.”

He stares up at you, and he’s not sure whether to worship you or find a way to survive you.

“Get the fuck back on me,” he growls, hand pumping faster and sloppier, like he’s seconds away from finishing. “Before I lose it.”

The second you climb back into his lap, it’s like you’ve triggered something primal. Jungkook’s hands fly to your waist, gripping tight. Like he’s genuinely on the brink of blacking out if you don’t let him inside you right now. Honestly, he might be.

His cock twitches against your entrance, dragging through your soaked folds as you hover above him, teasing both of you. The anticipation is borderline unbearable — it’s not even sexy anymore, kind of like pleasure and pain are having a screaming match in your bloodstream.

You take his cock in your hands, sink down and the stretch hits you like a slap, your mouth falling open on a sound you don’t even recognize. Your nails rake down his arms as your thighs clamp around his waist, the fullness hitting too deep.

“Oh my… fuck!” you gasp, chest heaving, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight. So f-fucking perfect,” he moans, and it’s not even cocky anymore.

His hands slip lower, grab handfuls of your ass, trying to coax you into moving. The stretch is insane. Every nerve in your body is screaming and your brain is trying to make sense of how full you are, how your walls are fluttering around him like you’ve already started to fall apart.

“Sh-shit Jungkook,” you whimper, biting your lip.

The second you move, it’s a full-body reaction: your back arches, another desperate sound spills from your mouth.

Jungkook chokes on some animalistic noise. “Goddamn… so good,” he mutters, and it’s barely a sentence, seemingly escaping his mouth before he could process the words.

You start to move, riding him hard. It’s just you, bouncing on his cock like you’ve got something to prove. The pace is rough, your body slamming down on him again and again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the trailer, your tits bouncing with every movement.

You don’t care if the entire team is standing outside the door right now. You’re not stopping.

You’re riding him like you’re trying to make him forget his own name. His jeans are a disaster, absolutely unsalvageable. Your slick is everywhere, dripping down his thighs, smeared across both your bodies, pooling beneath the waistband like a crime scene.

“You’re— fuck!” he gasps, his hips snapping up to meet you, “You’re so hot.”

You’d laugh at how basic that is, how scrambled his brain must be to resort to that, but you’re too busy falling apart.

The pleasure’s coming in these brutal, unrelenting waves. Every time he unknowingly thrusts up into you, it’s too much and not enough at once.

Your eyes meet his and something in your chest snaps, burns to ash on the spot. The look on his face is full of hunger and awe.

His cock twitches violently inside you, thick and buried so deep you can barely take it. “Oh my god.”

His eyes are glued to yours like you’re hypnotizing him, like he’s afraid to blink and miss the moment you break. “You’re — fuck! — you’re so fucking hot like this,” he gets out, his head falling forward. His body is shaking underneath you, sweat sticking to his skin.

Your whole body jolts, muscles clenching, heat coiling in your stomach so fast it steals the air from your lungs. You’re shaking now, the pressure building with terrifying speed.

“That’s it, baby,” he whines. His hips slam up into you harder now, fucking into you with everything he has left. “Fucking cum for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a car crash. Your body seizes violently, your thighs shaking so hard it feels like you might actually collapse. Your walls clench around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper even though he’s already as deep as it gets.

He nearly sobs, his hands tightening so hard on your waist you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Fuck, baby,” His thighs lock, his abs contract, his breath punches out of him in ragged bursts.

You don’t give him a second to recover, and you barely let yourself breathe, because no, this isn’t over. Not even close. You’re not done until he’s broken and he’s begging.

“That’s cute,” you tease, leaning in, nails digging into his arms. “If you think I’m done with you.”

You can’t be, not when there’s still more to take, not when he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, steadying yourself, lifting just slightly. You plant your heels in the couch cushions, spread your legs wider, adjust your angle. You drop, sinking down again.

“Oh my f-fucking god,” His eyes flick down and you feel the way his whole body seizes as he watches his cock disappear into you again, and again, and again. The new angle has him hitting deeper.

“Holy fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

You glance down for a second and… fuck. Your bodies are conjoined by a mix of your juices and some of his precum. You nearly moan again just from the visual.

“I’m not done with you, baby,” you breathe out, still high from the rush of your orgasm but already building again. You say it just to see the way his eyes snap to yours.

“Then fucking prove it.” He challenges.

You feel like a pornstar. Not in a glamorous, cinematic, airbrushed kind of way. The kind that lives in browser history and shame.

Your designer heels dig into the couch cushions, the extra height forcing your thighs wider, forcing your body into a position so filthy it should’ve been choreographed. You’re fully exposed and open, bouncing on Jungkook’s cock like you’ve never ridden anyone before.

“Holy. fucking. shit.” he gasps, each word punched out of him by another bounce of your hips, his hands gripping tighter like he doesn’t know what part of this is real and what part is a hallucination sent from hell.

His eyes trace the way your slick coats his cock, watching himself disappear into you. “Fucking yourself on my cock like you were made for it.”

“You love this, don’t you?” You manage to get out as your nails drag down his sweat-slicked chest, scoring red across tight muscle. You’re so far gone you can barely remember your own name, let alone why this is a bad idea.

Your walls flutter around him, dangerously close, your body already spiraling again.

“You love making a mess on me,” he grits out. You let out a whimper, fingers digging harder into his chest because you can’t stop now. You don’t want to stop.

The trailer is literally shaking. The walls rattle. The couch groans like it’s begging for mercy. Something in the ceiling creaks ominously.

Jungkook’s cock is slamming into you at a pace that shouldn’t even be possible, stretching you open so perfectly it hurts in the best way. Every bounce makes your breath stutter. Every desperate snap of his hips leaves you shaking uncontrollably, dripping around him, coming undone all over again.

You’re also being embarrassingly loud. Anyone passing by the trailer probably thinks someone is being murdered inside.

Jungkook sounds just as destroyed. His moan is guttural, ripped straight from his chest. “You love riding this cock, huh? Love how deep I get inside you?”

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, bouncing harder now. “Bet you don’t even care if people can hear us. Bet you’d love for them to know how fucking desperate you are for this pussy.”

His eyes fly open and he wraps an arm around your hips and slams you down on him, over and over, forcing you to take every brutal, devastating inch.

“Oh my god,” he groans, voice “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

His hands are shaking where they hold you, every muscle straining, every ounce of control hanging by a single, snapping thread.

The second he cums, his whole body goes rigid. He slams you down one final time, so deep you cry out, his cock buried to the hilt.

You don’t dare let him get lost in it. You lean in close, grab his jaw with one hand and force his eyes back on yours. “Look at me while you fucking cum.”

He listens, mostly because he’s so fucking gone for you. So wrapped around your finger that even now he gives you everything.

His eyes flutter open, but they stay on yours. Jungkook’s body trembles violently beneath you as you grind down slowly, milking every last drop from him.

“You talk so much shit, baby,” you murmur, “Thinking you’re the one who gets to ruin me.”

His cock is still buried inside you, still spurting the last desperate pulses of his orgasm so deep it feels like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

“But look at you now,” you purr, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “Cumming so hard for me,.”

“Fuck,” His lips are kiss-bruised and swollen, red from all the biting. His lip ring is cool against your thumb as you drag it across his mouth slowly, admiring your handiwork.

“Mhm.” You smirk, cocking your head, “Will there be no thank you?”

He just stares back at you, heavy-lidded. There’s something behind his gaze that you can’t quite read, something murky and not nearly as simple as it should be.

For the first time in a long time, it unsettles you.

You inhale sharply, trying to force air into your lungs like it’ll reset your brain. Like it’ll snap you out of whatever the hell this is, this thing tightening in your chest that has no business being here.

You shift off his lap, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, wet drag that makes both of you twitch. You roll over onto the couch beside him, eyes locked on the ceiling, your heartbeat trying and failing to find a steady rhythm.

You should leave. You should slide your clothes back on, straighten your spine, toss out some cold remark and storm out the way you did last time. Armor re-secured.

You should also say something biting that re-establishes the pecking order.

You just lie there for a few more seconds.

Finally, you sit up. You reach for your shirt, sliding it back over your shoulders, buttoning it with calm, practiced precision. You run a hand through your hair. You don’t even get all the buttons done before the regret slams into you, sharp and immediate, like a slap to the face you should’ve seen coming. It’s not guilt exactly. It’s worse. It’s that sick, sinking feeling when you make a mistake.

What are you doing?

He’s Jungkook. He’s smug and annoying and way too pretty when he’s cumming, and yet somehow, you keep crawling back like he’s the only drug that hits. All you can think is: you’re smarter than this. But god, the sex is so good it makes you stupid. Apparently, that’s your fatal flaw.

You glance over, and Jungkook is still watching you.

Something should be said here. You should say something. He should say something.

You force steel into your spine and venom into your voice. “Try not to get too attached, Jungkook.”

He huffs out a laugh. Somehow, it’s off, not with the same bite it usually has. “Please. I was over it before you even buttoned your shirt.”

Next, you would scoff, roll your eyes and toss another barb over your shoulder before strutting out like nothing happened.

You don’t quite believe him. You also don’t know if he believes it either.

You force yourself to move. Coerce your legs to walk, your heels to click, your fingers to reach for the doorknob. You walk out like nothing’s changed, like this is still just a game you’re winning.

But the thing is: it doesn’t really feel like a victory. It feels like a warning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

*link to pic in question here on twt also in the pic imagine jungkook sitting on a couch instead of laying down

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