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brokenpieces-72 · 22 hours

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Painting Faces

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Graves has no choice but to be present on the day Makarov addresses the force, but he keeps to himself while blending in. Makarov doesn’t bother himself with Graves expecting him to stay in line. At least at first.

Then he notices your empty desk. Graves had cleared it of your personal affects, including photos and personal documents.

“We’re missing an officer?” He wonders aloud while Graves files through some reports.

“Officers Graves, you’re missing a partner?” He asks.

“I am perfectly happy being single.” He replies with a good hearted smirk. “The desk is open, we had an officer resign.”

“I see. Very well.” Makarov walks away before Graves can try to make another smart comment. Graves sits up straighter in his chair though.

“That… that is impressive.” Gaz comments as he enters the warehouse seeing the mural you were working on for Los Vaqueros. You look down at him from where you were perched on a railing of a sort of cat walk.

“Thought a cowboy motif would be fitting. Alejandro told me there were good men and women who died here during a raid. Wanted to honour them.” You exclaim. You roll your shoulders and arms hearing a few cracks. By now your bruises were yellow, nearly healed. Your pants are covered in paint, and you old hoodie was warm enough to keep your from freezing in the dropping temperatures. That and Gaz’s very kind delivery of tea. He climbs up to you on the cat walk, and hands you the thermos. Just holding it warms your fingers in your fingerless gloves. He leans against the railing with you admiring your work.

“Figured a mural was the least I owed them. Can’t imagine Soap and Alejandro don’t have some tension going on.” You say, gingerly sipping your tea. Yep you still burned your tongue.

“Speaking of them… Alejandro and Rudolfo have been recovering from a failed raid.” Gaz says. So it begins.

“Makarov.” You say. Gaz nods, shoving a hand in his pocket sipping his own drink. Things were going to be flipped on their head and spun like a top. It would take some time getting used to. Thankfully the 141 was making the transition for you as easy as possible. The nights your father spent with them you were always a part of the conversation. One night there was a promise made to help take care of you if your father couldn’t.

“Ran into Alex at the shop, apparently he found a smaller piece of yours, with I think he said a pillow fight.” Gaz mentions trying to change the subject. You smirked at that knowing the piece he meant. You side eye Gaz who returns it, and you toast your cups. You take a sip and think for a moment.

“Has Soap said anything?” You ask Kyle. The two of you hadn’t really talked since the night you needed safety. Even then it had been brief and awkward.

“It’s how he is.” Gaz says. He’s taken notice of how you two have interacted and Soap talking about you less than he had. “It’s not that he hates you, I think he needs to talk to you. Simple as that.”

“So this is where you’ve been.” A voice came from below and behind them. They both turn to see a face they weren’t expecting.

“Rudolfo. Come on up mate.” Gaz says, offering the bruised man, a hand up. Rudolfo eases himself up through the railings and looks up at your work in progress. He gives a friendly smirk.

“Alejandro will like this for sure.” He says.

“Least I could do after everything. How is he?” You ask, looking up at Rudolfo.

“Nothing can kill Alejandro, except Alejandro.” Rudolfo says. “Unfortunately, nothing can get him to rest either. He’s worried about more drug shipments getting past us when we can be stopping them and destroying them.”

“Sounds like Alejandro.” Gaz says taking another sip of his drink. You stare at your work while taking a sip and think for a bit. The three of you all stand there in silence for a bit. You keep asking yourself, how would dad do it? He could break cases open, getting gangsters like Soap and Gaz to bring the hammers he needed for it. Now Makarov was in the picture too. Which meant needing to hide the hammers right after and hope he would bring glue to repair it.

“Could tell him.” You suggest looking at Gaz. It takes him a minute to realize who you’re referring to. Graves was an insider now. Graves also had to be removed from the case after Makarov returned. Gaz considers it and Rudolfo listens. They were informed about Graves and his involvement as well. It was risky, but if you couldn’t be your father, maybe Graves could step up in a way.

Kyle looks at Rudy. “You know when the next shipments are coming in?”

“We have guesses. So far they’ve been using fishing boats, so they don’t have to claim cargo.”

“They’d need a warrant to start searching.” Kyle adds.

“What if they got one?” You ask. “I mean… who’s to say it’s only one fishing company.”

“We don’t hit innocent.” Kyle points out. “But…you may be on to something.”

“If proof of illegal activity was brought forward to the company itself, investigations would have to start. If Graves is at the forefront…” Rudolfo trailed off.

“Where do we start?” You ask, trying to keep the smug look off your face. You may get to see them in full action.

“We first get Alejandro’s permission. Then we get more information from Laswell. After that we prep for the raid.” Kyle explains.

“I can arrange that. Will have to bring him to see this.” Rudolfo says, gesturing to the mural.

“Wait until it’s done.” You say smiling. “Thinking of adding something a little extra.”

You head back with Gaz to the hideout. He’s teasing you for all the paint you got on yourself.

“At least it’s not on the scarf.” You say stepping inside.

“At least it’s not still wet, you’d have to take your clothes off outside so you don’t track paint.” Kyle teases as you take off your boots. You notice Soap leaning on the fire escape outside. Kyle just gives you a nudge and no words. You take your boots off and carry them to the back door leading out to Soap. You put them back on to join him.

“May I join you?” You ask. He looks back and nods. You step outside and sits on the steps, rubbing yours hands together, trying to warm them.

It’s silent between you two again. There’s just the faint sound of wind and the usual traffic down below.

“Saw Rudolfo today.” You say, squirming on the step.

“How is he?” He asks looking over to you.

“He’s doing better. Still a little rough. Alejandro is getting restless about the shipments though.”

“You don need to worry bout that.” Soap says, facing back to the streets.

“I am worried about it, because it’s what I should be worried about.” You say.

“You don. You’re not a cop anymore.” Soap exclaims. It doesn’t sting as much as it once had.

“…cop or not this is my home now.”

“You have a hom-“ Soap starts but you interrupt him.

“No I don’t. This is my home now.” You say looking up, with him looking at you now. “This city is my home. It was my dad’s home too. If the cops aren’t gonna fight for it, then who else will? I’m not sitting on my ass waiting for an opportunity anymore. You gave me one, I’m not letting it go again.”

Soap looks at you for a while. “What opportunity?”

“When you let me tag on your turf.” You say.

Soap thinks for a minute, and then scoffs. “Stubborn as your old man.” He says.

“Nothing like my old man.” You respond.

“Not at all.” Soap says sarcastically. You smile.

“I really am sorry for lying. Throughout that whole time I was debating whether to even report anything or tell you what I was doing.” You say, rubbing your neck.

“Why didn ya?” He asks, turning and leaning back against the railing. You shrug.

“Felt more at home here.” You admit

“At home? What home?” He asks.

“With you and everyone you introduced me too. Barely known Ghost that long and I feel safer around him than by myself.” You say. Soap smirks at that. Safer around Ghost of all people? That’s a new one.

“I knew you might’ve been a cop. Just hoped ya weren’t.” Soap admits. “Let’s get inside. Gonna snow soon I bet.”

You both go back inside, feeling more relaxed around each other than before. Price steps in the front door just as you two step in from the back. He’d been popping in and out the past week or so never staying for long. This time he was grumbling something.

“Ye aight Price?” Johnny asks.

“My own deliveries are backed up for the bar.” He exclaims. “Graves came by as well to tell me, in person.”

You wonder if Graves did it to maintain cover or to ask Price how you were. You don’t voice it.

“Nikolai can handle it but it’s clear they’re trying to make money difficult. Farah came by, saying a few real estate companies were scoping her neighbourhood. A couple kids threw water balloons at them.”

“I like those kids.” You comment, imagining soaked suits and irritated scowls.

“Alex is on damage control there.” Price says, finally setting his jacket aside. He stepped into the kitchen, stretching and taking a beer from the fridge while you and Johnny join him. You sit up on the bar stool again.

“Makarov is stretching out. He wants more than just us, he wants everyone.” Price states. Johnny leans against the counter arms crossed, Kyle joining at the bar.

“Why now?” Johnny asks. “Could’ve struck b’fore.”

The question is weighty and is left in the air for some time. If your dad was keeping Makarov under control why did he leave?

“Because of me?” You suggest. Johnny, Kyle and Price both look at you. They consider it, but there’s not much to support your answer. “Maybe… he can manipulate the police easier because Graves knows me, and wants me safe. If Graves acts out, Makarov can put me in the crossfire but now I’m not so he thinks it’s easier for him to fuck with the system…maybe?” You try to reason.

“Not entirely out of question.” Kyle mutters.

“Something to consider.” Price says. “We can’t just go at it expecting to find something we don’t know is even there. For now we support where we’re needed, and test waters. Makarov having the police on his side is a problem, but the question is how hard he uses them.”

“Speaking of, we got a tip from Rudolfo. Alejandro may want our help on a drug raid.” Kyle adds. “We need to figure out where the shipments are coming from though. Maybe try to convince Graves to get a warrant.”

Both Johnny and Price went quiet at the mention of Graves again.

“I hate to play devil’s advocate and I know you don’t like it, but Phil is the only one we have directly on the force. We can lead him to where the problems are and book it when he gets close.” You say.

“They’re not wrong.” Kyle agrees.

“Something we will consider.” Price offers. “Right now, we need to focus on finding the exact shipments, and then deciding what to do. It’s Alejandro’s operation, we go through him first.”

Ghost came in and everyone turned to look at him. In his arms is a bundled up hoodie while he shivers in a long sleeved shirt on. You get up quickly, hurrying to take the bundle from him. By now you’d seen Simon with enough animals to know he puts great value in them. Sometimes over himself, hence the hoodie not on his back.

When you take the hoodie you bite your tongue trying not to awe at the tiny, furry, adorable, cute, wittle bundles of claws and teeth in your arms. You stare at them and look up with your eyes at Simon, who is brushing the remains of snow off himself.

“Take em to your room, get a blanket.” He orders. No one else matters but these kittens, which you take to your bedroom without a word.

While you are getting a blanket and a small shoe box for them to stay in, Ghost gets a different hoodie to help him warm up. The mangy black cat, hops on to his shoulder while everyone else just watches.

“Congratulations?” Johnny asks Simon as you come back into the kitchen.

“Keep them from their shitty father.” Simon grumbles. As he leans against the counter the cat hops off his shoulder and on to the counter. “It’ll give the kid something to do when we’re out.”

“I thought I was coming with you guys.” You pipe up.

“We will think about it.” Price says, sounding a bit like a dad.

“I’m not a child.” You grumble.

“If you do come on the raid it won’t be like arresting someone, it’s shoot to kill and keep your eyes open the whole time. No one is walking with side arms, they have uzis and AKs. Some fire wild too.” Kyle reminds you.

“I’ve done a raid before.” You try convincing them.

“You’re stayin.” Johnny says with finality. It’s not out of anger or irritation. It’s meant as words of warning, that this was bigger than what you’d encountered and he didn’t want you in the line of fire. Literally. You drop your head with some swallowed disappointment. You want to help. But you don’t want them worrying about you.

“One condition?” You ask. Johnny shifts his posture to listen.

“Okay two conditions… first one is all four of you have to come back after that raid regardless of what happens, preferably with Alejandro and Rudolfo too.” You stare each one down. Not very intimidating but they’re lenient.

“What’s the second condition?” Ghost asks, their silence an agreement to your first condition. You look directly at Simon.

“I get to name at least one of them.”

Alex steps into his small home, hanging his keys on the hook. As he shuts the door, the kitchen light turns on down the hallway. Very carefully, Alex turns the lock on his door, pulling out his side arm. He stalks toward the kitchen until he hears a familiar voice.

“I needed bandages…”

Alex sighs and holsters his gun before going to a hall closet and getting a small first aid kit.

“If it’s worse than I think, I’ll drag you to hospital.” Alex warns and enters the kitchen, seeing Farah with a few scratches. She’d come to him with worse. Her clothes are still damp too. Alex has to hold a laugh picturing Farah throwing a water balloon at a bunch of realtors.

“You want anything to drink?” He offers setting the kit down. “Was gonna make myself some food and then sleep. Now I have company.”

Farah opens the kit and gets the cotton and alcohol.

“Happy to provide.” Farah says as she starts cleaning. Alex starts making a sandwich for Farah as well. Farah was a good person, defending her home and neighbourhood. Alex was still on the force but with the new chief commissioner he was tempted to resign. Take some security job to pay off bills. Graves had been asking him to stay on though. With the sketchy land deals going on by Milena Romanova, he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

Alex sets a plate down in front of Farah and he sits by with a plate of his own.

“You didn’t have t-“

“I wanted to, now eat.” He says pushing the kit aside. Alex and Farah had an odd relationship. Farah would often drop in like this. Alex had made it a habit to do the same on her every so often.

“I need a favour.” Farah admits after a couple bites.

“Only one?” Alex teases. “Go on.”

“There’s an artist I want to hire.” Farah explains. Alex looks at Farah.

“Need a loan?” He asks.

“No. I need you to look the other way. A small peaceful protest to get the realtors to leave us alone.” Farah explains.

“You have an artist in mind?” Alex asks. Farah gives him a smile that gets covered by an another bite of sandwich.

“This is really good.” Farah says through a mouthful.

“Thanks.” Alex says chuckling.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @smitten-haematite-quartz

#john soap mactavish #cod au #task force 141 x reader #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #gn reader #phillip graves #vladimir makarov #farah karim #alex keller #cod gangster au #gangster au #rudolfo parra #yep it’s a series now #again how is this still going #i love it

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egophiliac · 10 months

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Did peepaw come home?!

HE DID! :D! luckily it only took me three ten-pulls; I think my past experience of being so thoroughly denied a Fairy Gala Ortho made me more worried than I should have been. may the gacha blessings pay forward to everyone else! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

so far this is hands-down the funniest Lilia card, because he'll say something all edgy and badass in that deeper ~General Vanrouge~ tone and then follow it up immediately with one of the non-card-specific cutesy Lilia lines, and it gets me every time

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #i rolled for him before doing the story and when i set him on my home screen #the VERY FIRST line he said was the one where he's like 'the promise i made to revaan...my friend who is no longer here...' and i was like #excusez moi #(i'm going with revaan for now because i have no idea what it's meant to be and when in doubt go literal)#(honestly same with baul. baul feels right but who am i to say)#(i feel pretty confident about henrik but i am prepared to be wildly wrong about everything as per usual :')#anyway now the question is: do i try for the white rabbit cards or save up for whoever the next episode 7 ssr is #on the one hand i have been living for the episode 7 content #on the other hand the white rabbit event looks SO cute #truly this is the most difficult dilemma of our times

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nereidprinc3ss · 25 days

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do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

part one | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 1 ] || [ Chapter 3 ]

Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: a bit of dirty talking/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 2: Johnny

“Oh, hello…” You remarked to yourself as your eyes locked into a stunning pair of blue eyes on your screen, stopping your mindless right-swipping. “...Johnny.”

“You’re 29… A soldier… Scottish… Are you friends with Kyle?” You mused playfully. “Let me guess, you’re a gym bro, aren’t you?” You asked sarcastically as you tapped your finger on the right side, skipping through his pictures. The first one immediately after was him lifting while wearing a weightlifting belt. “Yup… Mandatory gym pic.”

Chuckling to yourself, you snap a screenshot of his profile to the girls as well, sending it quick.

leah: @/mia Whatever good energy you sent its working. second hot guy in the last 5 minutes! mia: i lit a CANDLE for this!!!!! leah: there weren’t any handsome guys like this when i was on tinder?! 😫 UNFAIR. 🙄 you: blow it out then cause this is the 3rd actually. leah: 3rd??? Where’s number 2??? you: didn’t think to snap a screenshot. hasn’t matched me back yet. mia: has he posted a shirtless pic? you: kyle did and this one idk but probably. need to check. leah: Don’t forget to send it over.🥴

Shaking your head and laughing in amusement, you went back to Tinder, checking on ‘Johnny’. The mandatory gym pic was there… a couple of them in fact! And then the mandatory shirtless selfie. Or rather… The mandatory shirtless SELFIES. Plural.

Three of them… The first one was him just straight up wearing just a towel… And the next was him in a kilt… And the next was him with a button-up very much so unbuttoned.

“Oh, my, Johnny-John-John… You sure know how to woo a bird…” You joked to yourself.

You dragged your finger down to check his bio and immediately frowned. “Of course…” You trailed off with a disappointed frown as you snuck another spring roll into your mouth.

He might be stupidly attractive, but his personality… Gosh, he doesn’t know how to sell himself. Boring, boring, boring. “I work out and like video games!” You quipped mockingly and scoffed a bit.

“Artist.” You remarked when you reached the last of his profile’s tags, spotting that word in the hobby section. “An artist? You?” You asked your phone screen as if Johnny would come alive in it and answer you.

You’d admit, him calling himself an artist was intriguing enough, but normally that wouldn’t be enough to make you Swipe Right on him… But you’re not under normal circumstances. You promised your friends you’d Swipe Right on everyone so…

Your phone almost dropped out of your hand as soon as the ‘It’s a Match’ screen showed. “Of course… He’s probably swiping right on everyone as well…” Rolling your eyes, you go to click off the screen but accidentally enter DMs.

Johnny: ye have any scottish in you? you: not that i know of. Johnny: would ye like to? 🫦 Johnny: wait. wdym not that ye know of??? Johnny: i was trying to be filthy and now got me curious bonnie

“Fuckin’ hell…” You said as you set down your phone and covered your face before breaking into a fit of giggles.

The fact you had accidentally ruined his pick-up line and succeeded in stumping him got you very, very amused. Okay, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as boring as you thought.

you: story for another time. you: i walked right into that one tho. good job. Johnny: no ye cant do that Johnny: gotta tell me all about it now you: i mean werent scottish people everywhere in the uk at one point? you: i might be 1/370232103484320th scottish. Johnny: would ye like some MORE scottish in ye then? 🫦 you: solid attempt again. you: if you keep trying you might just get there. Johnny: i intend to dont worry you: soooo… Johnny: so? you: were you wearing underwear under the kilt? Johnny: no Johnny: why want a peek? 😏 you: i’m good you: so ur an artist? Johnny: i am Johnny: ur fast at typing fuck you: what kind? you: keep up then! Johnny: drawing Johnny: im trying 🥴 you: can i see some? Johnny: hanging with my mates difficult to text fast 😤 Johnny: idk if ull be in the mood to see anything after im done with ye you: why? 🤨 Johnny: might be too tired and need to be cuddled to sleep 😏 you: oh fuck off. Johnny: u just cursed me out Johnny: i think m in love 😫 Johnny: gonna tell my mates i just met my spouse 🥴🥴 you: don’t give them any ideas. you: haven’t even agreed to meet up with you. you: haven’t been invited in the first place. Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏

Your eyes widened at his enthusiasm and persistence. Okay, he was definitely not boring… It was actually kind of endearing and funny!

you: jc r u copypasting that? Johnny: yes Johnny: are ye going to or not you: can i get back to you on that? Johnny: ill wait for ye you: sure you do that johnny Johnny: ow the sarcasm burns

Concealing a chuckle, you clicked off the DMs page for the second time tonight… but, this time, you closed the app and focused on eating dinner.

Sure, this whole dating app thing was stupid, but at least you were enjoying yourself.

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taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader

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revasserium · 3 months

Note

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —“)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

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arachine · 1 year

Text

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…”

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her.

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight.

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort.

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from.

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you.

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?”

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again.

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent.

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him.

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end.

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only.

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it.

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them.

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little.

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat).

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do.

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest.

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed.

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away.

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied.

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!”

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him.

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs.

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him.

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son.

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment.

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel.

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig.

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident.

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time.

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering.

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually).

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it.

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is.

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body.

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot).

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.”

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings.

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack.

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber.

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out.

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother.

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.”

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?”

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together.

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes.

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you!

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully.

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd.

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him?

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him.

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family.

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success.

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him.

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf.

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks.

“Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion.

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence.

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode.

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would.

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time.

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden.

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack.

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot.

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?”

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway.

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack.

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk.

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches.

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting.

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs.

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.”

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now?

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him?

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again.

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart.

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible.

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each.

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.”

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream.

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly.

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.”

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations.

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones.

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin.

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds.

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty.

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?”

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to.

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve.

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think.

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face.

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb.

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring.

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you.

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you.

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is.

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours?

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity.

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force.

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching.

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you.

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers.

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to.

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles.

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man.

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty.

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you.

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack.

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides.

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls.

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy.

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically.

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile.

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?”

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him.

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground.

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness.

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side.

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess.

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length.

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable.

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired.

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you.

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement.

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds.

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement.

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons.

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace.

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks.

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart.

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains.

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.”

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #awow #avatar smut #avatar the way of water smut

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 months

Text

The Boy Next Door

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) (L/N) and Spencer Reid have been best friends nearly all their lives. Everyone in their lives can see how head-over-heels in love with each other they are. The only ones that can’t? Themselves.

Warnings: minor miscommunication

Word Count: 2307

Author’s Note: my first fic finished in FOREVER! I’m actually pretty happy with this one

“There’s something about childhood friends that you just can’t replace.” - actress Lisa Whelchel

“Hey, Pretty Boy. Want to come grab dinner with us tonight?” Morgan asked as the team started gathering their belongings to leave for the day.

“Sorry, can’t,” Spencer said, hurriedly gathering his stuff and shoving it haphazardly in his satchel. “Gotta pick up a friend from the airport.” The team didn’t miss the sparkle in his eyes nor the wide smile as he rushed from the bullpen.

“You think he’ll ever introduce us to this friend?” Emily asked, sidling up beside Derek.

“Who knows,” he sighed. “You know he’s a private person. He didn’t even tell us about his mom until he had no other choice.”

Spencer stood at the baggage claim, his head on a swivel. To say he was beyond excited was an understatement. He was practically bouncing in place as he scanned the crowd of people coming over to collect their belongings.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to wait for very long.

“Spencer!”

He spun around quickly to see (Y/N) (L/N), his best friend in the entire world, running over to him. He scooped you up in a hug, spinning you around as you squealed happily.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Spencer said, setting you down.

“I know! It’s usually the other way around, isn’t it?” you said, taking Spencer’s hand and leading him over to the carousel of luggage. “I feel like it’s always you coming to see me.”

“And you’re here for a whole week,” Spencer said, giving your hand a squeeze.

You smiled and leaned into his side. “Oh, my god, you’ll never guess what happened on the flight!”

You and Spencer grew up next door to each other. Your family had moved to Nevada when you were about 5 years old, into a house next to the Reids.

You’d always been outgoing and extroverted, so you took it upon yourself to introduce yourself to the boy with the big glasses in the next yard over while your father was building a swing set.

“Hi! I’m (Y/N)!” you’d said, leaning over the fence. The boy with the glasses was sitting in the grass, a large book propped up against his legs. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, uh, I-I’m Spencer,” he’d told you.

You hiked yourself up over the fence and sat down next to him in the grass. “Hi, Spencer. What book is that?”

From that moment on, you and Spencer were near inseparable. Your mother joked that you were each other’s missing pieces. Where you were extroverted, Spencer was introverted. Where you had an interest in all things science and mathematics, Spencer had a love for the classics.

After William left, your family stepped in to help Diana wherever possible. At least once a week, your mom would bring dinner over. If Spencer just needed to get out, he knew where the spare key was hidden. Your parents would drive Spencer to and from school, especially after the incident on the soccer field.

When Spencer went off to college, your parents promised to keep an eye on Diana for him, as her condition was getting worse. In exchange, Spencer had to come home for dinner every other week. It wasn’t a hard bargain to keep. Spencer missed you while he was at school, and your parents genuinely worried for Diana. On her good days, she and your mom were close, sharing coffee and discussing novels and poetry together.

Even when Spencer couldn’t come home to visit, he’d still spend hours on the phone with you. Your father would joke that the two of you were running up his phone bill and tying up the line, but you both knew he wasn’t seriously annoyed.

Everyone in your lives were shocked you’d never dated. You’d both always claimed you were just best friends.

Spencer walked into the bullpen with a spring in his step. Rather than spending money on a hotel, you were staying in Spencer’s spare room while you were in town. Spencer had offered to take the week off, but you’d rejected the offer, knowing how important his job was. Besides, you were at a conference for your work most of the day.

“Just as long as you don’t get hauled halfway across the country,” you’d joked.

Spencer flopped onto his desk chair, a smile across his face.

“Hey, Reid,” Emily said as she came in, setting her stuff at her own desk.

“Hi, Emily,” he said, smiling down at the text you’d just sent him.

(Y/N): SOMEONE BROUGHT THEIR DOG ON THE TRAIN!!!!

(Y/N): IT WAS A BIG DOG STUFFED IN AN IKEA BAG!!!

“So, how long is your friend in town?” she asked.

“The week,” Spencer told him as you sent him a picture of said dog. “She has a conference at the Kennedy Center.”

“You know,” Emily started, “you should invite her to join us for Happy Hour. Let us get to know her a bit.”

“I don’t know…”

“Aw, come on Reid! Why won’t you introduce us?”

“We talking about this Mystery Woman?” Morgan asked, coming over to the two adjoining desks.

“Yeah. Reid’s refusing to introduce her to us.”

“Aw, come on, Kid. Are we really that bad?” Morgan said, leaning on his desk.

Spencer sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to let up on this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, grabbing his phone.

Spencer: Hey, do you want to go out with my coworkers tonight? Our regular bar is having trivia night.

(Y/N): Sure, sounds fun!

Spencer let out a long sigh. “We’ll be there.”

“So, (Y/N),” Garcia said, sipping on her fruity drink, “Spencer said you’re in town for a work conference?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “I’m a neuropsychology researcher. My team’s most recent study got selected for a national conference, and they chose me as the spokesperson.”

“Interesting. What’s the study?”

“We were looking at how psychological trauma impacts the physical structure of the brain.”

Spencer looked at you and how your face lit up as you told his team about your research. He was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard Prentiss speak up.

“I guess it’s lucky you got chosen to speak about it then.”

“Oh, it’s not lucky,” you laughed. “I’m the only person involved in the study who isn’t a crippling introvert. I volunteered for it and they basically threw the money for accommodations at me in gratitude.” You leaned into Spencer’s side and sipped on the single drink you’d ordered.

“So, work keeps you pretty busy, then?” Morgan asked. “I mean, Spencer’s been talking about you forever and this is the first time we’re meeting you.”

“Well, I do tend to be pretty busy. Usually Spence comes home to see us, not the other way around.”

“So, you still live out in Nevada, then?” JJ asked.

“No, I actually live in California. I work at Stanford University but I visit my parents and Spencer’s mom about once a month.” You took a sip of your drink and leaned into Spencer’s side. The team looked at how you were curled up in Spencer’s space. They all knew how Spencer felt about physical contact.

The next morning at the office, Morgan rolled his chair over to Spencer’s desk.

“So, (Y/N)’s cool,” he said. “We like her.”

“Oh. Cool,” Spencer said, fighting back a smile.

“Yeah, not only is she smart, but she’s cool, too. She’s like a cooler you.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“So, why haven’t you asked her out?”

“What?”

“Come on, kid, she’s perfect for you.”

“She’s my best friend, Morgan.”

“Exactly.” Morgan rapped gently on Reid’s desk. “Just think about it.”

“Hey, Spence,” you said as you walked into his apartment.

“Hey,” he said without looking up from his book. “How was your day?”

“Oh, um, it was- it was good,” you said, walking over to sit with him.

He sat the book on the coffee table and turned to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath. “I got a job offer today.”

“What? That’s amazing! What’s the job?”

“It’s a lead researcher position at the University of Munich.” You bit your lip as you looked at Spencer, gauging his reaction.

“Oh! That’s-that’s great,” he said. “That’s- I mean, do you want the job?”

“Well, it’s a good offer,” you said. “I’d be heading up a research project on treatments for schizophrenia which, you know, has always been my goal. But I’d have to move to Germany. On the other hand, the benefits are great, and it would be a major pay raise.”

“Well, then, you should take it.”

“Oh.” You cleared your throat. “Oh, um, I just remembered. I was, uh, I was supposed to meet some colleagues for drinks.” You got up and rushed out the door, leaving a very confused Spencer sitting alone in his apartment.

“I don’t get it,” Spencer said, spinning around in his chair. “She asked me what I thought about the job offer, I told her, and now she’s mad at me? She’s never been this mad at me before. She got herself a hotel room. I just- I don’t know what I did.”

“Walk us through it, Reid,” Emily said. “Walk us through exactly what happened.”

“She got a job offer from the University of Munich. It’s a great offer, better position, payment to relocate, all that kind of stuff. So I told her she should take it and-”

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” JJ cut in. “You told her to take the job?”

“Yeah? Why is that- What did I do wrong?”

JJ sighed. “Spence, it’s not just about the job.”

“You basically told her she should move halfway across the globe,” Emily said. “You’re effectively sending her away.”

“What? That’s not- that’s not what I want! That’s not- I don’t want that at all!”

“Then tell her that, Spence,” JJ said. “Look, it’s clear you’re in love with her. We all see it.”

“And for what it’s worth, (Y/N) feels the same,” Emily said.

You were moping on a hotel bed, blankly staring at the sitcom playing on the TV, when someone started pounding on the door.

“(Y/N), it’s me,” Spencer said from the other side of the door, still pounding against it. “Open up. We need to talk.”

You dragged yourself out of the bed, wrapping the duvet around yourself. You trudged to the door where Spencer was still knocking.

“Okay, okay, don’t burst the door down,” you grumbled, opening the door. Any residual anger you felt toward Spencer evaporated the moment you saw him. His hair was in disarray, his clothes were rumpled, and it looked like he hadn’t slept since you saw him last. “Oh, Spence,” you whispered.

“We need to talk,” he said, slipping into the room. After taking a seat on the bed, he said, “Don’t take the job in Munich. Don’t go to Germany.”

“Spencer-”

“I talked with some admin over at George Washington U. They have an assistant professor job open in their biochem department. I can get you an interview without a problem and I can even help you look for an apartment if you want, just- don’t go.”

“Spencer-”

“(Y/N), I love you.”

You froze. “What?”

“You- you don’t have to say it back,” Spencer said. “But the thought of you being even further away- it kills me. I’m in love with you. And I think I always have been.”

You reached over and took his hand. “Spence. I love you, too.”

Spencer’s face broke into the biggest smile you’d ever seen on his face. “What? Really?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Spencer, I've been in love with you since we were 16 years old.”

“What? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

You shrugged and stood up, pacing in front of the bed. “It was never the right time. Either you were in school or I was in school or you were starting a job or I was starting a job-“ you sighed. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I never dated? Didn’t you wonder why I only had 1 boyfriend when I was in high school and we broke up after, like, a month?”

“I just- I just figured you weren’t the dating type.”

You gave a small, sad smile. “No. It’s because my heart has always belonged to you. He knew it. Mom and Dad knew it. Everyone knew it before I did. Except you.”

Spencer smiled and shook his head, standing to join you. “We wasted so much time.” You saw a mischievous glint sharpen in his eyes. “And I’m not wasting anymore.” Spencer cupped your face and kissed you until you felt your knees go weak. He lifted you up and tossed you onto the hotel bed as you giggled.

Spencer knocked on Hotch’s door before pushing it open. “Hotch? Can I talk to you?”

Hotch gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Sit. What’s up, Reid?”

“Uh, can I have two weeks off next month? I, uh, I’m helping my girlfriend move.” He couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, uh, (Y/N). We-we made it official. She’s moving to D.C. She got a job teaching at the university.”

“She moving in with you?” Hotch asked. “Seems a bit fast, don’t you think?”

“Well, no,” Spencer said. “I mean, yes, she’s moving in with me, but no, it’s not fast. We’ve known each other our entire lives. We know everything about each other. It makes sense.”

The corners of Hotch’s mouth twitched. “Well, you’ve definitely accrued enough vacation time. I’ll file the time off paperwork.”

“Thanks, Hotch.” Spencer got up to leave.

“Oh, and Reid?” Hotch called. Spencer turned around. “It’s good to see you smiling.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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amentomensmut · 4 months

Text

first time for everything

Drug dealer! Mike Schmidt x fem!reader wc: 4.2k

read part 2 here!

Summary: You’re a good girl. You’ve never been arrested, you don't drink alcohol, and you certainly don't smoke weed. So why were you standing on Mike Schmidt’s doorstep about to buy the very thing you swore you wouldn’t?

Warnings: 18+ content, sorta implied age gap (reader is in college, mike is like the age he was in the movie so like 28-30ish?), cannabis use, shotgunning, dirty messy sex, praise, degradation, spit, grinding, fingering (f rec), handjob, unprotected sex

Authors note: guys i am SO HAPPY with how this fic turned out, and I really hope u guys like it too!! this fic ended up being my longest so far LOL, i got carried away but i LOVED writing the dialogue in this one

You’re a good girl.

You’ve never been arrested, you don't drink alcohol, and you certainly don't smoke weed.

So why were you standing on Mike Schmidt’s doorstep about to buy the very thing you swore you wouldn’t?

—-------------------

“Y/n, it’s seriously no big deal, okay? My dealer’s name is Mike, he’s cool! Just hand him the money and he’ll give you the weed. Simple.” Your friend Sara says as she throws on her work uniform. You furrow your eyebrows at her words, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sara, I’m not fucking buying weed for you.” You say incredulously, leaning against a wall in your dorm room. Once Sara’s shirt is pulled over her head, she gives you an insulted look.

“It’s not just for me, it's for us! You need to live a little more, Y/n. You haven’t even been to a party on campus yet and it's our third year.” Sara says, emphasising her words with her hands. She brushes her hair, throwing it up into a quick ponytail to make a flat foundation for her ‘Burger King’ cap to lay on top of.

“Well, that’s because I’m studying. I have a job too!” You say with a roll of your eyes. Of course it’s easy for Sara to judge, she’s always been very extroverted. Sara’s the type of girl who’s well loved by everyone on campus, and goes to a party almost every weekend. You can’t blame her. If you were as outgoing and charismatic as she is, you’d follow in her footsteps. However, you’re not, and making friends and being invited to parties hasn’t been an easy feat for you.

You and Sara have been roommates since your first year, and although you haven’t always seen eye to eye, you love her. She’s truly one of your only friends on campus, and even though you know it's pathetic, you think you’d be completely friendless if it weren’t for her. She’s the reason you’ve met most of your friends over your time at college, and although you get annoyed at her, you’re thankful for the times she's pushed you out of your shell enough to have some sort of social life. That being said, buying weed for her is where you draw the line. At least, you think it is.

“I study and work too, but I'm not a total hermit.” Sara exclaims. You scoff and cross the room to sit on your bed. You give Sara a defeated look and she lets out a soft laugh, joining you on the bed.

“Okay, I'll take that back. I don’t think you’re a hermit.” Sara says with a soft smile. She places a caring hand on your back.

“I just think you need to get out a little more, you know? Make some memories, fuck a hot guy, get shit-faced, whatever!” She continues with a laugh. You laugh along with her, and you know she's right. You are a hermit, and it wouldn’t kill you to break out of your shell a little. Even if that means buying weed for your very persistent friend.

“So, why do you need me to buy you weed?” You inquire.

“Because, I’m going to work. Duh.” Sara says, motioning to her ‘Burger King’ uniform. “And I promised my dealer I’d pick my stuff up today. Apparently afternoons are better for him now because he got some weird job working nights.” She continues and you bite the inside of your cheek. Sara notices your apprehension and she grabs your hand.

“Listen, don’t think of it as buying weed. Just…think of it as doing a favour for your friend.” She says softly, ducking her head to meet your gaze that is currently fixed on the floor. It’s just weed, you think. Not cocaine, or something like that.

“And your um, dealer? He’s nice?” You ask, wiping your palms on your jean clad thighs.

“Yeah, I told you. He’s cool. Dealing is, like, a side thing for him. To make enough money to support his little sister.” Sara says, getting off of the bed to collect her things. She swings her backpack over her shoulder and starts towards the exit of your dorm.

You’re not totally convinced, and you’re also not sure how buying weed for Sara will make you less of a “hermit,” but with a long, dramatic, sigh you nod your head.

“What’s his address?”

—-----------------------------------

The gust of the cold December wind that hits your face when you exit the city bus makes you recoil into your hood, and with an annoyed huff you set the hair that stuck to your lipgloss from the breeze back into place.

Mike Schmidt’s place wasn’t far, only a 10 minute bus ride away. However, that was plenty enough time for you to almost completely think yourself out of going. You walk to the address that Sara texted you, the sound of snow crunching under your feet somewhat interrupting your racing thoughts. “Just hand him the money, and he’ll give you the weed.” Sara’s voice replays in your head, and the butterflies in your stomach aren’t sure if her voice is comforting or not.

Mike Schmidt’s house wasn’t one to gawk at, at least from the outside. You start the trek from the end of the driveway to his front door and you wonder how many times Sara has done this before.

You reach the front door and your cold, dry knuckles rap on it. The cold air makes knocking on the wood hurt more than usual, and you rub your knuckles softly. You hear heavy footsteps making their way from the back of the house to the door, and you let out a big breath. The door opens and you scan the man in front of you. He’s…not what you had expected him to look like. In your naive mind, you had pictured a big, burly man, covered head to toe in tattoos. But, this man looked like he had just woken up, his eyes still adjusting to the light outside. His curly brown hair was slightly dishevelled and he laced a hand through it, attempting to make it look more presentable.

“Can I help you?” His voice comes out slightly gruff, and he clears it softly.

“Are you the…the drug guy?” You ask in a low whisper, like the title ‘drug guy’ is akin to the name ‘Voldemort’ in ‘Harry Potter.’

“Depends on who you’re asking.” Mike says, leaning against his front door. He gives you a once over with a little smirk and you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m asking you.” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, your teeth chattering from the cold.

“Do you want me to be?” Mike says, and you narrow your eyes at him. His smirk widens and you bite the inside of your cheek, he’s enjoying this. Sara said this would be easy.

“I’m here for Sara.” You say, and Mike nods his head, a soft hum tumbling out of his closed lips.

“Oh, so you’re her druggie friend?” Mike says with a little mischievous smile, although his teasing is lost on you and your jaw drops open in shock.

“What? I, wha-, no!” You stammer and Mike lets out a laugh that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“I’m joking. Come in, you’re freezing.” He says, noting the way you’re shivering on his front door step. He pushes himself off the door frame and motions for you to follow him inside. You hesitantly follow him inside, but your frosty fingers thank you for the new found warmth of his house.

“Do you want something to drink?” Mike asks, leading you towards the kitchen, you following behind him. You shake your head no, even though he can’t see you.

“I won’t be staying long.” You say bluntly, and even though you can’t see Mike’s face, you swear you can picture the little smile that forms on it with your words. You sit down at the dining table, watching as Mike reaches into the fridge, grabbing a can of soda. The dining table is covered with unopened envelopes and you try your best not to snoop while Mike is in the kitchen. You look up as Mike exits the kitchen with an extra soda in hand, placing it in front of you.

“Just in case you change your mind.” He says and a small “thank you” leaves your lips.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Mike continues, and you slowly nod your head, watching as he makes his way down the hallway and towards the back of the house. You half pay attention to the turned on television in the living room from your spot at the dining table, partly watching some sitcom that’s been left on while you wait for Mike to return. The house smells like weed and spicy cologne and your leg bounces up and down rapidly as you listen to the sounds of Mike’s footsteps coming back.

“Here.” He says simply, tossing the baggy of weed onto the dining table in front of you. You look down at it, and you crinkle your eyebrows in confusion.

“This is it?” You ask, your eyebrows raised as you hold the baggy between your pointer and middle finger. Mike looks at you with his arms crossed over his chest and that stupid smirk that seems to be permanently painted on his face.

“This is an eighth.” He answers, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

“It doesn’t look like much.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket to fish out the $40 that Sara gave you.

“Well, you can always come back if you’d like more.” Mike says in a sickly sweet tone, and now you know he’s teasing you. You roll your eyes and you get up from your chair, holding the dollar bills in your hand.

“Is $40 enough?” You question, and Mike nods his head. He holds his hand out and you place the money in his palm. You turn to leave and you hear Mike’s voice behind you.

“Enjoy.” He says, and you can’t help yourself from turning back around.

“And just for the record, I’ve never smoked weed. So-, so don’t think this is for me. Cause’ it isn’t.” You say, and you wonder why you feel the need to explain yourself to this man that you met only fifteen minutes ago. Your eyes squint at the man as he lets out a laugh at your words.

“Trust me, I know.” He says, and you watch as he takes a sip of his soda, never breaking eye contact with you.

“How? I’m literally buying weed from you.” You say, your tone somewhat annoyed. Does everyone think you’re a buzzkill? A hermit? Is it written permanently on your forehead in big, bold, marker that you’re a ‘drag’ for everyone to see?

“I can just tell. You don’t seem like the type.” Mike says with a sort of shrug. You stand there with what can only be described as a defeated look on your face as Mike makes his way over to the living room. He sits on the couch, changing the channel to some sports game. It’s silent for a moment, save for the sound coming from the tv, and you stand in the front corridor motionless as you have a mental battle over what you decide to say next.

“...Can you show me?”

You watch as Mike turns his head, looking back at you from the couch.

“You want to get high?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. You walk over to the couch, moving to stand in front of Mike. He looks up at you with a quizzical look on his face, his eyes dancing around from your lips, to your eyes and nose. You nod your head and you watch as he swallows slowly, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“I want to try.” You say, and you’re not sure where this new found confidence has come from, but you’re not going to back down now. Maybe when you get back to your dorm and smoke with Sara, you can surprise her by showing her it isn’t your first time getting high.

“Alright.” Mike says, putting both of his hands on his knees and pushing himself off of the couch. You watch him walk over to a console table in the living room, pulling out a little baggy of pre-rolled joints. He grabs a joint and a lighter and walks back over to the couch, patting the spot beside him, motioning for you to sit.

“Have you ever smoked at all before? Like, a cigarette or something?” Mike asks softly and you shake your head. You were never really interested in smoking or getting high, even when your friends had started to do those things. You’re not really sure where that interest is coming from now, although you feel a strange need to change Mike’s impression of you. To be the opposite of what he expects. To impress him.

“Okay so, the first few hits might burn a little. And you’re probably going to cough so it’s a good thing I got you that soda.” He says, walking over to the dining table to grab the soda that you left unopened, and handing it to you as he sits back down on the couch. You watch as Mike fiddles with the joint between his fingers and you look up at him.

“Is there any way to make it burn less?” You ask genuinely, and Mike smiles at you, relaxing back on the couch and slightly spreading his legs.

“I mean, there is. But I’m not sure if you’d want to try it.” Mike says, resting his head against the back of the couch and looking over at you. You look over at the joint resting between Mike fingers and back to Mike.

“Let’s do it.” You say with almost no hesitation.

“Alright.” Mike says nonchalantly. “It’s called shotgunning. I’m going to take a hit, and then blow the smoke into your mouth. So you have to be ready for me, okay?” He continues, putting the joint between his lips and lighting it. You watch as he inhales the smoke and then blows it back out, the smoke exiting his body through his mouth and nose. He licks his lips and looks back over to you for confirmation. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You say with a nervous laugh that you try to play off. Mike takes another hit, and you watch as his chest rises with the smoke entering his mouth and lungs. All of a sudden, he’s grabbing your jaw with his hand and bringing you towards him. He opens your mouth with his thumb tugging at your lower lip and chin, and he’s blowing the smoke into your mouth. He’s so close, and this feels so intimate in a way that you try not to think about.

“Told you to be ready for me.” He mumbles as he pulls away from you, his thumb and forefinger still resting on your chin. You inhale the smoke, coughing a little but not nearly as bad as if you have taken a direct hit from the joint. The weed doesn’t taste great, and you crack open your soda to wash the taste and your semi dry throat down.

“Well, you could’ve given me, like, a countdown or something.” You mutter and Mike gives a genuine laugh at that. He shakes his head at you, and you’re not sure if it’s the weed already starting to hit but you but you stare a little too long at the way his lips turn into that charming smile.

“I can’t give you a countdown if I have smoke in my mouth, smartass.” You roll your eyes at his words but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. You shuffle a little closer to Mike, your knee hitting his.

“Well, whatever. Can we go again?” You ask, looking up at him. He nods with a hum, putting the joint to his lips and inhaling. You’re ready this time, lips parted as you watch the way his eyes flutter as the smoke fills his mouth. He turns to you, once again grabbing your jaw, and blowing the smoke into your mouth. His lips brush your own and before you can stop it, you let out a soft moan. Mike pulls away from you slightly, looking at you with a lazy smirk. He moves his hand from your jaw to your cheek, rubbing slow circles into the skin with his thumb.

“Someone’s enjoying this, aren’t they?” Mike says, his tone sweet but you know that he’s mocking you. His eyes bore into yours and you can’t find it in yourself to look at him, your eyes fixating on your lap.

“Look at me.” He says, and you do.

“Do you want to try one more time?” He asks, and you nod. Like the last two times, he takes a hit, bringing his mouth close to yours once the smoke invades his mouth. However, as he’s blowing the smoke into your mouth, he only seems to get closer with every passing second. His lips brush against yours hesitantly but you respond by leaning closer into him. The gap is closed and his lips are soft, and the room is spinning. You know the weed is probably a contributing factor but, god, this feels so good.

Mike cups your face in his hands, cradling you like a piece of fine china. He bites your bottom lip, causing you to part your lips so he can slip his tongue inside your mouth. The kiss is needy and wet, but you don’t care. The only thing you can think about is how good his tongue feels caressing your own, and how the hand that was once on your jaw, is slowly trailing up your thigh.

Mike pulls you onto his lap, pressing you down onto him and you let out a gentle whine. He breaks the kiss to look at you and your eyes divert to the place where both your laps are connected.

“Don’t get shy on me, baby. C’mon look at me.” Mike says. You look up at him, starry eyed, and his gentle eyes are already on you. His hair is messy, his lips are swollen, and he definitely looks high.

“There you go.” He says, praising you. “This okay?”

“Yes. I want more.” You whimper, your hips softly grinding down on Mike. The weed is heightening all your senses, and your pussy is throbbing. You can’t think of anything else right now except reliving the ache between your thighs, and Mike looks more than happy to do that for you. He bucks his hips up as you grind on him, and you can feel his erection through his sweatpants. His hands have a strong hold on your hips, pulling you down onto him.

“Mike, fuck.” You choke out. You two are grinding on each other like a pair of horny teenagers, but neither of you care. You two kiss each other messily, and when you pull away, a string of spit connects your lips.

“Take off your jeans.” He simply says, and you couldn’t be happier to oblige. You wriggle off his lap, standing in front of Mike to take your jeans off. You can feel his heavy-lidded gaze on you with every one of your movements, and as soon as your jeans are off, he’s pulling you back onto his lap.

His calloused hands are everywhere. On your hips, your ass, your inner thighs. He presses sweet kisses on your neck, sucking and licking on the places you’re the most responsive to. Your hands are in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, making him groan.

“Can I touch you?” Mike asks, and you let out a quick “please.”

One of his hands trails up your inner thigh, reaching the wet spot on your panties.

“Christ, you’re soaked.” He says, and you let out a shaky breath as he starts to rub you over your panties. You buck your hips into his fingers, silently begging for more. He pulls your underwear to the side, running his middle and ring finger up your wet cunt. His fingers find your clit immediately, rubbing lazy circles. You reach down to palm Mike's bulge through his sweatpants and in response, he sinks two fingers inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so well.” He moans, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You clench around him, and the television in the background is now being drowned out by the sound of your pussy squelching around Mike’s thick fingers. The palm of his hand hits your swollen clit perfectly every time he moves his fingers in you, and you rest your head on Mike’s shoulder.

“You know, you act all innocent, but you’re not really a good girl, are you?” Mike grunts in your ear. He adds a third finger and your legs clench around his hand from the stimulation. Your hand has now ventured inside his sweats and boxers, and you pull his dick out from the confines of his clothes. His cock is so hard, with pre cum steadily leaking from the tip. You spit in your hand and then bring it back to his dick, stroking him from the base to the tip. You massage his tip with your thumb and Mike lets out a whine.

“Y-you know what I think? I think you’re a- fuck, I think you’re a slut whose finally getting the attention she needs.” Mike grits out, and with his fingers curling in and out of you reaching a spot your own fingers have never been able to reach, you think you’d agree to anything he says.

“Mike, I think I’m gonna-” You start to say, your legs shaking from your oncoming orgasm. But as soon as the words leave your lips, Mike removes his fingers from you.

“I wanna feel you cum around me, okay? Can you do that?” Mike says softly, and you eagerly agree. With your panties pulled to the side, Mike teases you with his dick, rubbing it up and down your pussy. He catches it on your clit every so often, making you jolt. Mike’s cock is glistening with a mix of your wetness and his own, and you decided to take matters into your own hands, grabbing Mike’s dick and guiding it into your pussy. You both moan out simultaneously, and the feeling of being full again makes you throw your head back in ecstasy.

Mike lifts you up, so the tip of his cock is barely in you, before slamming you back down onto him. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and you watch as the muscles in Mike’s arms flex everytime he lifts you up and slams you back down. His cock is reaching so deep, and being high only makes it feel that much better.

“Fuck, your pussy is fucking perfect.” Mike whines, and he drops his head, letting some of his spit dribble down to where the two of you are connected. Mike brings his hand down to your puffy clit, rubbing fast circles. You let out a sob, lacing your hands through Mike’s hair and pulling him towards you to kiss him. Your moans are muffled into the kiss, and Mike slaps your ass, making you cry out.

“C’mon, baby. You wanna be a good girl? Then cum for me.” Mike says, rubbing your clit faster and fucking up into you harder. Your cunt spasms around Mike as you cum, your legs shaking and for a second you swear you can’t feel anything except for the sheer euphoria making it’s way through your body. You drop your head on Mike’s chest as he cums inside you, and his grip on your hips is so tight it would hurt if you weren’t so fucked out right now.

Mike’s soft voice is what coaxes you out of your bliss, and with his fingers running through your hair you think you could fall asleep right here on his lap with him inside of you.

“Hey, you’re okay. You were so good, baby, but I need to get you cleaned up.” Mike says sweetly in your ear, and you slowly nod your head. You let Mike take you off of his lap and place you onto the couch, his release running down your legs. You watch as Mike tucks himself back into his pants and walks down the hallway towards the bathroom. You suddenly hear your cell phone ringing, and you reach down from the couch to fish it out of the pocket of your jeans on the floor.

“Hello?” You say in your dazed state.

“Y/n? Did you get the weed? You were supposed to be back like an hour ago?” You hear Sara say on the other line, her tone laced with worry.

“Um, yeah. I got the weed.” You say, deciding that for now, you should probably keep it a secret from your best friend that you fucked her dealer.

taglist: @slutf0rmilfs, @angie-likes-to-art

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #fnafmovie #smut #fnaf

3K notes · View notes

mauvecherie-writes · 2 months

Text

so ready: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x pt fem!black reader

summary: you’re his trainer, he’s him, the chemistry is undeniable.

warning: 18+ mdni, EXTREME SEXUAL CONTENT, pwp, fast paced, teasing, dirty talk, degradation kink?, unprotected sex, guys, I’m a slut - we sucking and fucking over here.

notes: I put a break on working on endless melodies, this picture called for my attention and here we are 😩. I also don’t know where the 3.5K words came from 😭 this was meant to be short.

w.c: 3.5K

tags: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @hersinsarescarlet @emjayewrites @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @felicity-x0 @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy

buy me a kofi.

You sighed as you walked through the underground garage of the building. You were mentally preparing yourself to be in your client’s presence. You wish you could have rejected his contract but it was such good money to resist - a resource that you needed at the time - and he was a good man. Refusing to train him would have not made sense outside of the biggest con being that you were attracted to him.

Deeply attracted to him.

Every session was a fighting battle and today would be no different.

It had been seven months since you started working with him. Lewis was very serious about his physical health but he was so flirtatious and it made it hard to concentrate on your job. But today, you promised yourself that you would be serious and not give into his little games.

On the elevator ride up to his penthouse, you trained your mind to block his advances and not give into his charm. However, whether you intended to or not, your outfit choice for the session was along the lines of cute and practical. The grey headband keeping your hair away from your face was matching the gym shorts that you were wearing. Your physique was on display without it coming off as a little desperate. It’s not like you needed to put in any type of effort anyway, you were beautiful enough on your own but the outfit was just a greater temptation for Lewis.

Even though you lied to yourself that you didn’t enjoy the game of teasing that you played with him.

“Lewis! I’m here!” You yelled as you walked through the lobby of his penthouse. The patters of Roscoe’s feet against the marbled floor rang through to your ears. The aging dog ran towards you and it brought a smile to your face. You bent down and grabbed the pup’s face into your hands and caressed the deep folds of his cheeks.

“Hi boy!” You spoke with a high pitch to your voice. “You’ve been good for your Dads when I’ve been away?” He licked the palms of your hands as he wiggled his tail.

“Yeah! Because you’re a good boy aren’t you? It’s your Dad that’s the trouble maker.” You said to Roscoe before standing up straight.

“Oh I’m a trouble maker now?” His voice was the first thing that you heard before you saw him. As you walked to the kitchen to wash your hands, you caught sight of him leaning against the living room area wall as he watched you.

Dressed in a dark grey fitted t-shirt and matching grey shorts with black thermals beneath. His locs were braided away from his face, forcing you to bare witness to his beauty.

“You’ve always been one, don’t act so surprised now.” You replied as you watched your hands. You may not be able to see him but you could feel his eyes on your back. You bit your lip as you wiped your hands and then turned around. Your hands were on either side of your body on the counter as you looked at him.

“When have I ever caused trouble for you darling?” He asked as he stood to his full height and moved closer to you in the kitchen area, stopping by the island and leaning fowards against it.

“Do you really want me to answer that question? Because I have a list of examples.”

He laughed at your response instead of answering. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Anyway. Are you ready for our session today? I don’t want any problems this time around. You have somewhere to be and so do I. So no funny games.” You stressed the last part of your statement - more to yourself than to him.

Lewis’s eyes were drooped low, his long lashes nearly touching the apple of his cheeks as they hung low before he trailed them from the exposed skin of your thighs to your flushed cheeks as you held in your breath. His teeth trapped the flesh of his bottom lip to restrict his smile from spreading as he stood up straight.

“I’ll be on my good behaviour. I promise.” His voice was an octave deep and laced with temptation. You knew then, that this training session would be anything but smooth sailing.

A good sparring session was a great way to end a productive session. Lewis stayed true to his word for most of the time but he’d throw in a flirtatious jab here and there that had you flustered. As much as you tried to hate it, you revelled in the way that those comments made you feel.

One last sparring session and you won’t have to see him for another three days.

You needed that breather.

“Come on baby girl. You can give it to me harder than that.” He teased as he bounced on his feet as he moved away from you. You rolled your eyes as you flexed your arms.

“I’m your trainer Lewis. I’m not supposed to be harder on you.”

“I can take it.” He shrugged. “That’s something you’re supposed to be saying in the right circumstances.”

“You’re a cocky little shit!” You stressed as your fingers flexed in the punching mitts before you began to run after him.

“There we gooo. Give me that fire, show me what you got baby.” He smirked at you. You fumed as you stopped chasing him and took off your punching mitts.

“Beating your ass would give me the greatest pleasure.” You said as you threw the mitts down before pulling the bandage wrap out of your open bag.

“I can do many things that can bring you pleasure that don’t involve us boxing.”

“Prove it.” You spat at him.

Before things moved forward, Lewis did the one thing that he knew would disrupt your focus.

He took his shirt off and kicked it close to the edge of the floor to ceiling mirror. All of the witty comments dried in your throat as you took him in. The defined muscles of his abs, the deep pelvis lines, the rich tan contrasting his tattoos and most of all, the budding chest hair.

Involuntarily, your thighs clenched at the sight.

He licked his lips as he watched you struggle for words. He could see the fight in your eyes as you were determined to not fall into the trap of your attraction but your body was failing tremendously.

Fine. You thought. Two can play that game.

Without warning, you grabbed the edge of your top and pulled it over your head. If Lewis thought his naked chest would disrupt you then you could pull the same card. Left in just your padded sports bra, you watched as Lewis became as speechless as you had been.

You were not going to make this easy for him.

Lewis finished wrapping his hands. “I’m ready.”

The both of you put up a good fight. Physically and mentally. Every hit, every jab, felt like a victory in the war of desire. Both of your bodies damp from sweat with how much energy you exerted during this ‘friendly’ sparring session.

You were winning. He asked for your all and you gave it. This was something just to prove to yourself that you could resist him. That you could withstand his charm and that your attraction didn’t lead you blind.

Then he grabbed your wrists and pulled younclose to his body. You gasped as he tightly held your hands behind your back trapping them by his torso as his other arm wrapped around your waist.

“Aren’t you tired of playing this game sweetheart?” He whispered in your ear.

“You started it. Of everyone, you should know how crucial professionalism should be.” You hissed back as you struggled to get out of his hold.

“How could I focus on staying professional when every part of me wants to explore every inch on you. And don’t try to deny it either. I see the way you look at me, the way you desire me in a way that would disgrace the gods.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he spoke. His words were the apple from the tree of knowledge and his voice was the serpent in the garden of Eden.

“I can’t pretend anymore.” He confessed. “I want you YN. I want you so fucking much.”

“Now you admit it.” You say as you squirmed. Lewis held onto you tighter.

“I never denied it darling.” He chuckled in your ear. “You did. We wouldn’t be having this back and forth if you had just admitted that you were into me the way I was into you.”

“That wouldn’t change the fact that I was compromising a client-employer relationship and my reputation just for some dick.”

“This dick would change your life baby.”

“You’re so fucking annoying!”

“Turn around and say that to my face.”

He spun you in his arms before another word could be uttered. You stared at each other with no words spoken as your eyes ventured from their eyes to their lips. The action causing you to lick your lips.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased as his hands dropped to your waist and pulled you closer. The smile on his face held the promise of everything that he had teased and taunted you about. Wicked and sinful things that had your mouth watering at the mere thought of them.

Body to body like this, the wall that you had been building in your mind had come crumbling down. Not that you had put up that big of a fight anyway but the effort that had been exerted up to now was too much and you were giving it up.

You were ready. You were more than ready.

“You’ve been trying your hardest to break me. And for a while I forgot that I too can play this game very well.” You said as you hooked a finger around the strap of your bra and brought it down your arm.

“I want you Lewis, I do.” You finally admitted. “But you want me just as much, if not more.” You unhooked your bra and flung it across the room. He fought to push the bandages away from his knuckles before embracing you with his big hands running up and down your back.

“If you had just given me the chance, I would loved on you the second I knew that you felt the same.” He whispered as his hands trailed down your back and settled on your ass. He kneaded the flesh of your ass cheeks, drawing you closer so that you could feel his breath on the top of your lip.

You leaned forward and kissed him with all of your might. All of the pent up desire you had been holding at bay for the last seven months burst out of you. You pushed your body into his as he moved his lips roughly over yours, opening your mouth for the sweet intrusion of his tongue as he deepened the kiss. Your nails dug into his back as you wrapped a leg around his waist as you felt the lower part of his body pressing into you.

Lewis moved his hand from your ass, trailing it up your spine before cupping the back of your neck and pulling you inwards. You gasped as he nibbled on your bottom lip, pulling the lip into his mouth. Your pussy creamed at the realisation at just how hard his dick was as it rested against you.

“Let me taste you.” You said as you pulled your lips away. “Please.”

“Do you think you deserve it? After the way you made me feel for wanting you? You think you deserve my touch?”

“Lewis … please.”

“Take these off.” He growled as he tugged at your grey shorts. You made light work of them before stepping back into his embrace. Your small cotton panties were digging into the flesh of your hips but Lewis quickly tugged at the material and shoved them down the length of her legs.

His eyes focused back on your face as he felt your hands move down the back of his head and edge him closer to your core. He pushed your legs further apart as his fingers teased your hot skin. His eyes soaking in every reaction that he drew out of you.

“You have spend the last seven months playing hard to get but here you are, ready to crumble at the touch of my fingers.” Lewis whispered as he pressed kisses onto your stomach.

“You’re talking entirely too much for someone who has pussy staring them in their face.”

“And this pussy is glorious, believe me. But I need you to suffer a little bit.”

He gave you an inch by running his fingers teased along your slit but did not settle his fingers where you needed him the most. Instead of shoving his digits into your cunt like he wanted, he brought them to his lips and licked them clean.

“So good.” He said and then stood straight and buried his face into the crook of your neck. He licked at your flesh before sinking in his teeth. The way he drew your skin into his mouth caused you to moan.

“Lew, please. Please.” You begged before he claimed your mouth yet again. He kissed you hard with his tongue lashing against yours before his teeth sunk into your bottom lip causing the sweetest pain to shoot up your spine. You pushed your body against him as far as your standing position would allow.

He wrapped his hands in your sweated out hair which was reverting back to its natural curl pattern. He pulled away from your lips and stared down at you with the darkest look of arousal tainting his beautiful eyes.

You watched as a cocky smirk etched on his face. You knew Lewis had you. Once your inhibitions were shut down, it was very easy for you to turn to your desires. And that lust had you falling to your knees as you looked up at him as his cock swelled in the confines of his thermals.

You pushed the fabric further down his thick thighs until his cock was revealed and … holy shit.

You knew that Lewis had the inches and the girth to work with but you weren’t expecting it to be so … heavy? His dick was so big and thick but it was nothing you couldn’t work with. Especially with the smugness glazing his eyes, you took it as a challenge.

His legs were spread, standing tall and proud as his dick bobbed in front of you. Heavy, leaking and begging for your oral attention.

“Open your mouth.” He said as he held his cock by the base and pointed it towards your plump lips.

Your mouth quickly hung open and your tongue darted out to lick his tip. You swirled your tongue around the head before you slid most of his dick into your mouth and sucked. You were extra as fuck as you licked and slurped, wanting him to understand the sloppy, messy head that awaited him. That you had been fantasising about this moment for a long time and now you were going to show to show him what you were about.

“Sucking this dick so fucking good.” He groaned as he held your head and tipped it back before moving his hips so that his tip was brushing back against the back of your throat.

“This is what you needed huh? My dick in your mouth to turn you into a little slut for me.” You moaned around him as you stretched your hands out on his torso, feeling his chest hairs prickle against your palm.

You don’t answer him as you continue working your head up and down his length. He felt so good in your mouth. The muskiness of his scent was all that you could think off as your saliva pooled in your mouth the more he worked his hips, fucking your mouth.

You were so eager to suck his dick. You pushed your head down further, taking him deeper down your throat which caused his knees to buckle.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Lewis groaned as he fisted your hair tighter, looking down at you as you moved your head fast, spit bubbles building as your nose brushed against his pelvis before your hand came up to fondle with his balls.

“Just like that. Keep sucking me just like that baby.” He gasped as you continued sucking on him as if you were trying to take his soul. Sure, Lewis had brought you down to your knees but you were making him regret ever thinking that he held all of the cards. There were no words to describe just how good you were sucking his dick. Your hands cradling his balls, his tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat - this was more than otherworldly.

When you pulled your lips away from him, Lewis felt like he could breathe as you moved your hand around his length in tight, circular motions.

“If I didn’t want to come inside of you, I would have come all over your beautiful face.” He spoke with a hoarseness to his voice before he manoeuvered you underneath him. The gym mats were harsh against your skin but you were past the point of caring.

“Fuck me.” You whispered as Lewis shifted your legs into the crooks of his arms as his dick rubbed against your opening. You reached up and claimed his mouth. His saltiness lingered between each entanglement of your lips. You tasted the remnants of your sweetness in his mouth the longer you greedily moved your mouth against his.

You didn’t care for the way the hard mats were biting into your skin. All you cared about what the surge of lust that burst through you as Lewis rubbed his cock against your cunt. His hand travelled up to your throat and squeezed as he positioned himself in between your legs. Every single gasp and little cry that he pulled out of you pushed him closer to the edge. His lips sought your earlobe as he raised your leg to his shoulder before he finally sunk into your pussy.

You were so soft. So sweet. So tight. So wet. You accepted him like you’d been waiting for him all this time and then clenched onto him so hard that Lewis so felt lightheaded before he could complete his stroke.

Lewis needed to regain his composure but you were a withering mess beneath him. Your scent like a cocoon around the both of you, he couldn’t find his bearings as he found a rhythm to his strokes.

Slow and deep as you arched your back and dug your nails into the skin of his back.

Your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath with the sexy sounds of your pleasure reverberating through the room, bouncing off the equipment back into his ears.

Lewis let your legs fall back to his waist as he dropped to his forearms so that his body, slick with sweat, pressed against yours. You immediately wrapped both of your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper into you as he resumed his slow, deep thrusts coupled with circular motions that always pulled a sharp, little cry from you beneath him.

For months he had dreamt you like this. Underneath him, begging and crying for him as he deprived your body of pleasure.

Your nipples grazed his chest as he moved. You trailed your fingernails down the length of his back as you pulled him in for frantic kisses as the both of you moved towards the inevitable conclusion.

Lewis pressed his forehead against yours as your pussy started clenching rapidly around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he demanded through his teeth. “Cum all over this dick.”

You screamed his name and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. He covered your mouth with his, swallowing your cries of pleasure, thrusting hard and fast into you as he chased the orgasm building in him.

You scratched at his back, gripped the sheets and bit into the pillow even as you started moving your hips up to meet his dick.

“Lewis!” You yelled as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your orgasm plummeting through your body.

“That’s it sweetheart. Come all over this dick.” He growled into your ear as he bucked his hips hard and fast before the force of his climax had him tensing and twitching in between your legs.

You hummed softly as Lewis returned to himself once his muscles had stopped twitching. All that pent up energy had finally been released and the both of you were butt naked in his private gym.

So many lines had been crossed tonight but either of you cared. Especially when he kissed you senseless and promised you more orgasms than you were ready to give.

London fashion week be damned ….

#mauvecherie writes #so ready fic #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fic #sir lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton #lh #sir lewis hamilton

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marvelouslizzie · 1 year

Text

You're My Desire - Co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, first date, public sex, ripped clothing, teasing, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 5.5K

A/N: We really don't have an excuse for this one. We just wanted 40s Bucky to have a good time, you know? This is basically smut with little bit of plot.

Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's also a Bucky Barnes writer and her stories are amazing.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it's hate. That's never welcome.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

Even though you really didn’t want to, you find yourself on a double date with your best friend. She literally begged you to come because she promised she would bring someone for her date’s best friend and apparently she really doesn’t wanna disappoint the handsome soldier.

You're shocked, though, when you arrive at the fair and see Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes in the flesh waiting for you two at the gate.

You were pretty sure she brought you here for Bucky Barnes but it turns out your date is actually Steve Rogers, aka Captain America himself.

You don't know what to do at first, awkwardly watching your friend hugging Bucky as if they knew each other for ages. Even though they met just a day ago. Steve extends his hand politely, which you immediately shake.

It doesn’t take long for you to go inside the fun fair together while chatting casually. Your friend, Cassie, starts asking questions about the war. She loves front-line stories, but Bucky doesn’t seem like he enjoys telling them.

Steve, on the other hand, is very excited to do it, answering all of Cassie's questions as you quietly watch them. You wonder why you said yes to this date. You've never been into soldiers and even less into war discussions. But you love your friend very much even when she ignores you.

You find yourself looking at Bucky while Cassie and Steve start to chat and exchange stories. He kinda seems amused by this development. You shrug looking in his direction, waiting for him to say something. After all, you are both already bored and your friends don't even seem to care or notice you anymore in the first place.

Bucky just smiles and then tries to change the subject. You think he actually handles that topic change pretty smoothly and it sticks for a while until Cassie gets bored of talking about books.

You remark Bucky's sad face, but you don't say anything. Instead, you subtly start to walk slower, hoping he'll do the same. As Cassie keeps talking to Steve, Bucky notices you are getting behind and just slows down a little.

"You're okay? Are your legs hurting?" Bucky asks concerned while looking at her shoes.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just got tired of the war stories, that’s all.” You keep walking slowly.

"Me, too." He sighs. "It's a never-ending subject at this point."

“Well, where there's life there's hope.” You quote the Hobbit instinctively. You hold on to the hope, one day you won’t have to talk about this war.

Bucky gasps, looking at you in a way you never experienced before. "What did you say?"

“I just said where there's life there's hope.” You repeat, surprised by the way he probably recognized the quote. People usually have no idea what you are referring to. Not him though.

"You're a fan? Oh god!"

That starts your actual conversation with Bucky Barnes. It turns out he’s a big bookworm himself. He reads as much as he can, always buying more books that he manages to read.

You didn't even realize how close you are until your shoulders slightly brush. You blush when he smiles, clearly not minding. Still, you feel very conscious about your closeness and quickly look toward your friend, feeling guilty that you are enjoying the company of her date, but she doesn’t seem to care one bit. On the contrary, she’s actually holding Steve Rogers’ arm while talking and laughing.

"You're very beautiful." You hear Bucky murmur shily.

His compliment catches you off guard. You were about to apologize on behalf of Cassie. Yet you find yourself blushing.

"And you love reading. I am a lucky man. I get to talk to you."

“I could say the same thing myself, Sergeant. I much rather talk about books instead of the war.”

"Then you got the right company." Bucky smiles and looks around. "Should we get some ice cream?"

“That would be amazing.” And that’s how you end up separated from Cassie and Steve. Bucky informs them about their plan and then leaves without waiting for them.

You spend the next hour talking and walking around the entire fair. James even won a teddy bear for you. Once in a while both of you act like you wanna find Steve and Cassie, but you definitely don’t care.

"I don't remember the last time I felt so comfortable and good with someone."

“I’m glad I’m not boring the shit out of you.” You know it’s not ladylike to speak this way, but you feel comfortable around him. It’s crazy when you consider you just met him maybe two hours ago.

Bucky smiles. "I can say the same. Steve says I'm quite boring."

“He’s quite boring himself.”

"Is he?" He snorts.

“Yeah. Who knew Captain America would be into war stories?”

"Doesn't the name say it?" He continues in the same joking tone.

“The name suggests he’s heroic and boring but he’s more boring and less heroic than expected. Stealing his best friend's date doesn’t scream honorable to me.”

Bucky is shocked to see her indirectly standing up for him. "Maybe I stole his date, though."

“His date was uninterested from the start and just being nice to her best friend.”

"Is she still uninterested?"

“In him? Yes.” You act like you don’t understand what he is actually asking.

"Well, the feelings are mutual. About the date and now…"

“You were uninterested in Cassie?” You say it in a way that shows you don’t believe him.

"Wasn't it obvious?"

“Nope.” It definitely wasn’t when they hugged each other the moment they arrived.

"I was trying to be polite. She insisted on this… meeting because I helped her out. I was relieved I could bring Steve."

“She sounded very interested in you until Captain Rogers started with war stories.”

"She was staring at his… back ever since we arrived."

You burst out laughing and he joins you right after. It sets the tone for the rest of the night and makes you notice you both don’t give a shit.

"I want to show you something," you say after a few seconds and quickly drag him after you until you reach a darker alley close to the last attraction. You drop the teddy bear carefully at your feet. "Hi."

“Hi.” He still seems a bit confused, but it’s so cute. He looks at the teddy bear and then his eyes turn back to your face. You can’t help but smile.

"You're so cute. Has anyone told you that?" You smile in return.

He acts like thinking for a second. “No, not really. Just cute?” He fishes for more.

"And smart." You touch his chest shily. "And kind."

“Hmm, those are not what people notice first.” He moves a little bit closer. “You have something…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, his thumb brushes the corner of your lips. You wait for him to wipe off whatever you had on your face before opening your mouth and letting your tongue touch his finger shamelessly.

You watch Bucky’s eyes widen out of surprise. He didn't expect that at all. You grab his hand, bringing his finger inside your mouth, and notice how his breathing quickens. Yet he doesn’t stop you.

You let your tongue play for a few seconds until you let his finger go with a small bite. He lets out the lowest moan but not only do you hear it, but you also love it.

"Wow, I…" He doesn't know what to say, all red and excited.

“You what? Do you feel uncomfortable? Excited? I mean, I can stop if you want.”

In response, brave and happy, Bucky kisses you. His tongue is already on your bottom lip asking for permission, which you grant by opening your mouth without realizing it.

The kiss isn’t shy like you expected, and he definitely knows how to kiss. The way his lips and tongue move makes you want more, right then and there.

Your hands go to his neck as you let yourself enjoy the kiss even more. You keep kissing until you feel breathless. When Bucky breaks it, he doesn’t move away. His forehead touches yours as you try to catch your breath.

"This was…"

“I wanna do something if that’s okay…” You say while suddenly getting on your knees. You are wearing your favorite nylon stockings and you're sure they are gonna get ripped, but you don't care.

Bucky thinks he's daydreaming because how can this happen? How?

"What? What are you doing?"

“I think you know what I am doing, Sergeant. Just tell me to stop if you don’t want it, okay?” Your hands move to his belt but you wait for a reaction first.

"Stop. That's not… you don't have to do this. We are having a great time anyway."

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Is that okay for you?”

He can only nod, totally shocked and excited at the same time.

You unbuckle him slowly. Even though you are in a public place, you're in no hurry. You unzip him while looking into his eyes. When you finally take him out of his pants, he seems speechless. He’s already hard, but as soon as you start to move your hand, he gets rock hard after maybe four pumps.

"Jesus, you're so pretty. You look like a doll on your knees."

You smile proudly. “Tell me what I look like when I do this,” you say before taking him inside your mouth.

He closes his eyes, groaning. Your mouth is so wet and warm. You take it slow at first. Your mouth moves gently while you swirl your tongue around the head.

"Please." You hear him whisper, his left hand resting against the wall behind him.

You move your mouth away from him just to ask “Please what?” Your lipstick is already a little smudged.

"Oh god, keep going. Please, you're such a pretty sight."

“Tell me how I look when you're inside my mouth and I'll continue, promise.” You wink and remind him he still hasn’t fulfilled your request.

"Like a dream. Like a goddess."

“Hmm…” You go back to taking him inside your mouth without making another comment. This time, you move a bit faster than before and start using your hand.

"Your mouth will be the death of me."

That makes you smile but you don’t stop, moving your hand and mouth at the same time, hoping for a good reaction. His hand finds its way to your hair, wrapping it enough to pull a little. That encourages you to go faster, in need for a tighter grip. And you get it: soon, he wraps more of your hair around his whole fist, moaning your name.

“I think I'm gonna…” He sounds so breathy. “You should pull away.”

You look at him, acknowledging his warning, but showing him you are ignoring it. You keep moving fast, making sure your tongue flicks around the right spot every time until he spills inside your mouth. It’s a lot more than you are used to, but you still keep going until he completely empties himself. You take your mouth off, looking into his eyes before swallowing.

"No." He covers his eyes while groaning. "You can't do this to me, doll. Jesus…"

“Do what?” You innocently ask.

He doesn't answer you, taking you by the back of the neck and kissing you sloppily. You don’t get a chance to warn him about the taste and he doesn’t seem to care one bit. He groans into your mouth when he feels your hands on his ass and breaks the kiss just to suck on your neck.

Then you feel his hands between your bodies, trying to pull up his pants again.

You break the kiss to ask: “What are you doing?”

"I'm putting on my pants," he sounds like a kid. "And I wanna get on my knees for you, too."

“Maybe I want something else that doesn’t require you to put your pants on.”

He nods, without understanding what you mean. "Alright. I'll just-" He drops his right hand until it reaches her skirt. "Is it okay?" You nod with a smile. Even though it’s not what you meant, it’s fine.

His fingers immediately go to your underwear and push it aside.

"Fuck me. Look at that." You are really wet and his curses don't help either. "Soaked. Is that for me, doll?"

“No, it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me.” You joke.

You feel his fingers stopping on your slit as he lifts his head. "What did you say?"

“I said it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me. You know that gets the girls wet.” You hope he won’t be offended by this. It’s just a silly joke.

In response, Bucky pushes a finger inside you quickly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Should I start talking about war, too? Bet that would get you even wetter."

You let out a deep breath, relieved. Thank God he isn’t offended. “That would get me dry as a desert, Sergeant Barnes.”

"Should I dye my hair then?" He snorts, moving his finger faster.

“Maybe you should get a shield. It would definitely look better on you.”

"A shield, huh?" Bucky adds another finger, trying to scissor them inside you a couple of times. "Is it too much?"

“Nope,” you say after a moan. “It’s not enough.”

"Fuck, you…" he closes his eyes. "You want another?"

“I want something else.” You smile, hoping him to understand this time.

"Yeah? Like what?"

You grab his cock and gently rub it without saying a word. You are not surprised he’s hard because his erection has been pressed on your leg for a while.

"Fuck. You want my cock, baby?"

“Yeah. Why do you think I didn’t let you pull your pants back up?”

"I don't-" He moans. "I didn't think."

“Come on. You are making me wait while I’m soaking your fingers.”

"Wanna make you…" Bucky interrupts himself by adding a third finger, his other hand going to your clit. "Happy."

“Fuck.” You throw your head back, that felt so good.

"You like this?" He rubs a little more, paying attention to your body. His fingers inside you keep the same pace, though. He isn't slowing down now even if it's the end of the world.

“Yeah, that.” You breathe out. You already feel your legs shaking and you're afraid your knees might give out, but it feels so good, you can’t seem to focus on the concerns.

"Hold on to me."

You put your hands on his shoulders and it helps you relax a bit more. After that, your orgasm comes crashing in like a big wave that leaves you breathless. He doesn't stop moving his fingers until you finish coming, then he slowly pulls them out, making sure to lick them before kissing you.

“You are such a dirty soldier, Sergeant Barnes,” you say with a smile.

"What is dirty about this?" He shrugs. "I'm a good soldier, of course."

“Doing this in a dark alley with me and licking your fingers clean like that. Very good soldier, indeed.”

"Ihm." He buries his head right onto your shoulder and breathes in. "Thank you."

“For what?” You find yourself kissing his hair while asking the question.

"For this evening and this. Thank you for trusting me."

“You are something else, Bucky,” you say while caressing his hair.

"Hmm?"

You kiss his hair and his ear, then move your lips to his neck. “You can thank me later. We are not done yet.”

"Changed your mind?" He smiles. "Want me on my knees after all?

“Maybe later.” You wink. “Now don’t act like you don’t know what I want because I know you want it, too.”

He freezes. "Wait, you're serious?"

“Of course I am serious. Just don’t finish inside, okay?”

He looks at you again all serious. "Are you sure? We don't have to, I can use my tongue."

“Don’t worry, it’s not my first time and yeah, I’m sure unless you don’t want to.”

Bucky looks at you with puppy eyes. "Uhm, it's my first time."

“Oh god.” Your eyes widen. “I… didn’t consider… that possibility. I’m sorry.”

Bucky starts laughing at your worried expression and kisses your cheek. "My first time with a bookworm doll."

You punch his shoulder. “You worried me!”

That makes him laugh even harder, and you can't help but smile. Because he's extra beautiful like this.

"Why? Do you have something against innocent boys, ma'am? Shame!"

“No, nothing against it. Absolutely would love to teach and corrupt but wouldn’t want that to be your first time.”

"You don't want to take advantage of me, huh? Such a good girl." He surprises you by suddenly lifting you and helping you wrap your legs around his torso.

“Would you like me to take advantage of you?” You kiss his jaw and cheeks.

"Fuck, yes. Yes."

“Then you have my permission to take advantage of me, too.”

He doesn't ask you again if you're sure. Instead, he lifts his right hand to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it as fast as he can. He's so impatient he even manages to rip a button. You just watch him work and smile, hoping the gentleman side of Bucky finally stops holding him back.

He groans at the sight of your hard nipples and quickly leans in to take one in his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper while he uses his tongue to play with your nipple. It feels so good you don't even notice when his hand drops under your skirt. Until you hear the ripping sound.

“What the fuck?” You can’t believe he's just ripped your nylon stockings. They are so hard to find and so expensive!

"Whha?" He doesn't even take his mouth off your nipple as he speaks.

“Do you know how expensive those stockings are?” Your surprise is so clear in your voice. “You owe me a pair of nylon stockings, Sargeant.”

"They were in the way, baby."

“Getting impatient?” You mock a little.

He pushes his hips a little more. "Can't you feel?"

“You still owe me a pair.”

"What about these?" His hands are now on her panties. "How many do I need to buy you so I can rip these off?"

“Just one pair, but if you wanna rip that one, too, this cycle might never end.”

He sighs, contemplating, but he finally decides not to, only pushing your underwear aside. "How do you want it?"

“What do you mean?”

Bucky takes another step until your back barely brushes against the wall. "How do you like this? The sex."

“Don’t try to act all kind and push aside what you actually want to do. That’s how I want it.”

"Do you uhm… like it fast or slow? The pace I mean." He's slowly pushing inside you while he asks, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“That’s exactly what I meant. Do it however you want and we will see how I like it. Don’t be too gentle like this.”

"Talk to me, okay?" He's halfway inside you now, staying still for a few seconds as he leaves small kisses on your neck.

“Oh, I will, don’t worry, handsome. No one can stop me from complaining if I don’t like something.”

"Good girl." He tries different types of thrusts and angles at first, wanting to see what you respond to the most.

“Fuck. Why do you keep saying that?” She moves her hips to make him thrust faster.

"Because you're my good girl. Dirty too." He moans when he feels you. "God, you want it faster, baby?"

“Yes, yes, I do. Please. Move faster.”

And he does, his grip on your ass tightening as he starts thrusting just the way you want. "Fuck, you're soaked. You feel so good around me."

“You feel good, too.” You moan in between words. “And you are strong. Really strong,” you remark because he doesn’t look tired while holding you.

But he doesn't seem to acknowledge that. "I'm so fucking lucky, Jesus." He groans when he feels your lips sucking on his collarbone.

“You didn’t think your double date would end this way, huh?”

"Deep inside you? Not a chance." He smiles, speeding up.

“Maybe deep inside someone else.” You tease on purpose.

Bucky immediately stops thrusting. "What?"

“I was just joking about how we were meant to be on a date with other people.” You hate that you can’t shut your mouth sometimes.

"Oh," he nods, restarting to move. "Well, I can assure you, he wouldn't have done this tonight." He jokes back.

“Fuck me against the wall like this?”

"Fuck you at all. But especially like this. And the language?" He laughs. "Never."

“Oh, so honorable of him.” You keep joking. “Poor Cassie.”

His right-hand flies behind your head to protect it as his thrusts become way too quick. "Fuck. You feel like heaven, I swear."

“God, how do you do that?” You are surprised that he can carry you with one hand. “Are you sure you aren’t a super soldier yourself?”

Bucky shakes his head amused. "That will go straight to my ego."

“You're carrying me with one hand while protecting my head with the other, and you keep fucking me at the same time. I think it should go straight to your ego.”

He groans. "Lower one of your hands now."

“Lower it where exactly?” You don’t understand what he wants.

His hand moves from the back of her head for a few seconds just to bring her fingers to her clitoris. "Right here. Can you rub this for me?"

“Ohh.” You finally understand what he’s trying to do, so you listen and start rubbing yourself while his hand goes back to your head.

"Good, good girl. Look at you." He doesn't even realize how deep his thrusts are because his focus is on your fingers.

“Oh god… It feels so good.” You have never done something like this before. No public sex, no touching yourself during sex, no good girl whispers next to your ear. They all make you feel dizzy.

"Yeah? Just good?" His mouth finds your breasts this time, and you just know he's leaving a few marks there by the way he sucks on your skin.

“You wanna hear how good it makes me feel?”

"Ihmm."

“Oh, you are even dirtier than you are showing, aren’t you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He looks up immediately. "Say that again." He demands.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

"Fuck, you need to rub faster."

“You need to fuck me harder.” You say while listening to his order.

"Harder?" He repeats, shocked, not expecting that in the slightest. But he does as you demand in a heartbeat, biting his tongue because it feels so good.

You have a hard time holding back your reaction because it feels just perfect. You can feel your orgasm approaching.

“Shit, you need to cover my mouth,” you say as quickly as possible.

"Just use me. Bite my shoulder," he suggests quickly, keeping the pace exactly the same.

You wanna say no, because you don’t wanna hurt him but there’s no other choice left. You sink your teeth in somewhere between his neck and shoulder and try to muffle yourself. The orgasm hits you so hard that you are afraid someone is gonna hear you even like this.

"Fuck," he groans, the pain feeling amazing as you keep coming, your legs wrapping even more tightly around his ass.

“Please, don’t stop,” you manage to say and go back to biting him, very aware of the hickey you are giving him, but that doesn’t stop you because you don’t want to get caught like this.

"Can't stop." At this point you wonder how no one noticed you by now. The sound of your skin touching and your groans are not quite silent. But even if they did, you know you wouldn't stop. How could you?

"Keep rubbing, I want you to find pleasure again."

“Again?” You sound shocked because you've literally just come.

"Again." He tries to lift one of your legs a little more. "Please."

“I don’t think I can, but keep going, okay?” You already came twice in a short amount of time. How much more can you do?

"Well, I think you can." He smiles. "Gonna mark me up, baby?"

“I think I already did.” You can see your teeth marks on his neck. You are sure it will turn into purple really soon.

"I'm your property now?" The hand he has on the back of your head quickly grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist.

“Are you?” You like the sound of that and how he’s pulling your hair.

"I am." He's frantically thrusting in and out of you. "Rub faster."

“Fuck,” you mumble while rubbing yourself. You aren’t sure if it’s gonna do anything, but it feels good. “Can I keep you then? You know, kidnap you and hide you in my apartment so you don’t have to go back to the war. We can just do this every day.”

"Fuck, do it." He smiles. "I dare you."

“Should I tie you up so it looks more realistic?” And suddenly all that rubbing starts to feel different, more pleasurable.

"On your bed? Go ahead."

You laugh at how easily he’s convinced, but your laugh is interrupted by a moan.

"Gonna come for me, dolly?"

“I am not sure.” You struggle to speak. “It feels like it.”

He pulls your hair hard. "Please, please."

“You beg so beautifully, how can I say no?” It’s not like your body is saying no, either.

When you finish coming again, you watch with your eyes semi-closed as James takes himself out without dropping you even a little and comes right on your thighs and ripped stockings. You feel the warmth of his come while you both are trying to catch your breath.

"This was… wow."

“This is a hell of a first date.” You find yourself giggling. Did all that really happen? The soreness between your legs says yes.

Bucky slowly puts you down. "You think?" He snorts.

“Oh yeah, very memorable.” You notice that your stockings are completely ruined so you have no other choice but to take them off.

"Fuck, you're dripping." He doesn't look like he's sorry and he can't say he is, either. He's actually very proud.

“Yeah, I am aware.” You laugh while taking them off and using them like a washcloth to clean yourself up.

"You have no idea how lovely the sight is." He winks at you while zipping up his pants.

You bite your bottom lip while looking at him. “Likewise. You look satisfied, Sargeant. Did something happen while you were gone?” You pull your skirt down.

"I got touched by an angel."

You laugh. “So cheesy. You are lucky that you are a bookworm. A really good-looking one, who is also good at bed even though we didn’t even need one.”

"Next time. Maybe we'll break it." He sounds so confident, but not demanding at all at the same time.

“When are you going back?” You find yourself asking. If he’s promising you a second time, you are gonna take it.

"In one week."

You make a sad face without realizing then take a deep breath to help yourself focus on the positive side. “That’s a lot of sex.”

He immediately lifts your chin and presses a kiss on your forehead. "I was joking. We got two months."

“You are such a liar.” You punch him in his shoulder.

Which only makes him laugh. "You like it hard."

But your attention is on his neck, on the spot you bit so hard. The purple spot looks really old and mostly faded already.

"No comment?" He snorts. "We're gonna have a lot of fun for sure."

“I have a question.” Your eyes are still on that same spot. “Does Steve heal quickly?”

"Why? You plan on kicking his ass?"

“Just answer the question, please.”

"Yeah, he does." Bucky shrugs. "One of the perks of the serum."

“Even the small scars or purple spots?”

"Yes." Bucky doesn't even think about it. "Which is great. Why? You think your friend will want to know?"

You don’t comment about his question, instead, touch the spot you bit down so hard. “You are nearly completely healed. My mark has vanished.”

"What?" He asks, confused.

“I bit down on your neck so hard, it was dark red. Now it’s gone.”

"I don't get purple easily. Never did. I guess you have to suck a little more." He smiles leaning in to kiss you again.

“I fully bit you,” you say before he does.

"I noticed." He giggled.

Since he doesn’t take it that seriously you let it go. “Fine. I will prove it to you later.”

"Prove what?" He gives you another kiss.

“That you heal quickly.” You try to fix yourself while you kiss him back.

"Oh, I feel healed every time I look at you."

“You are so cheesy.” Yet you can’t help but laugh. “How do I look?”

"Good boy version or?" He pauses dramatically.

“Both.”

"Good boy version first: you look like an angel." He smiles cheekily.

You snort. “I’m asking if I look decent, Bucky.”

"Angel,” he repeats before dropping his hands to your ass and squeezing. "They won't know you've got fucked against the wall if that's what you're afraid of. But you look strangely content and happy."

“That’s because I had a good date.” You scrunch your nose cheekily.

"Me too. The best date ever."

“Should we try to find our best friends?”

"Oh, sure." Bucky leans in to get the teddy bear before handing it to you.

"Ready for more war stories?"

“No, I’m not.” You hug the bear. “I gotta wash this.”

Bucky snorts. "Poor bear. Got traumatized."

“Traumatized and all dirty.” You don’t notice how close you are to Bucky until you feel him next to you. “Should we keep this a secret from our friends?”

"Do you want to?"

“I meant the having sex in a dark alley part. I don’t think my friend needs to know that.” She definitely shouldn’t know all this.

"We should totally keep that part to ourselves." He smiles.

“I could say that you kissed me or something. I don’t know. Is that too forward for the first date?”

"There's no such thing. You can say I kissed you."

“I was genuinely asking.” You smile. “I normally don’t even kiss on the first date.”

Bucky giggles, his hand squeezing your hip. "I am a lucky gal." You smile back at him until you notice a familiar face.

“Oh, is that Steve?” You point to the tall blonde guy.

"Yes, that's him. But where is your friend?"

“Right in front of him. I can see her dress.” It’s sticking on the side.

"Oh, yes. Gonna drive you home after that if that's alright with you." He sounds so casual like he already did that many times, but you notice something else.

“You have a car and you didn’t think of using it until now?”

"Oh." Redness takes over his cheeks. "I got… distracted."

"You are such an idiot." You start to giggle while walking toward your friends.

"Your idiot now. You got stuck with me for at least two months." He laughs.

"Just for two months?" You test his intentions.

"I can't assume you'd want to wait for me, can I?"

"I will tell your best friend to bring you back home in one piece. He's the hero after all. That should be easy, right?"

Bucky looks at her with a soft expression before kissing her hair. "Guess you really got stuck with me."

"Oh shit, Steve saw you kissing my hair." It’s going to be hard to keep this thing between you two.

"Does it bother you?"

“No, no, no.” You quickly try to explain. “It’s just I’m worried that they might think the worst of me. I mean… questioning our closeness.”

"I dare them." She is surprised by how serious and determined he is as he speaks.

“I would kiss you right now if I could.”

"I won't stop you." He giggles like a kid.

“Our friends are,” you whisper and look at your best friend, who is coming toward you. Cassie is holding Steve’s arm proudly.

"Oh, hello," Steve says. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there." Bucky shrugs. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes!" Cass immediately giggles, joining the conversation. "He has the best, best stories. What about-" She cuts herself off when she notices your appearance. "What happened to your stockings?"

“Oh.” You blush a little, thinking about how they got ruined. “I tripped and ruined them. They looked so horrible I had to take them off completely.”

"Yes, they got really dirty," Bucky confirms with the biggest grin Steve has seen in ages.

"Oh, really?" He lifts his eyebrow. "What a shame."

“Yeah. Sergeant Barnes promised me a new pair. What a gentleman he is.”

"A gentleman indeed." Steve shakes his head, well aware of what you two have done.

You bite your lip and give Bucky a look, hoping at least Cassie has no idea. You are sure the three of you can keep a secret. For now…

You may wanna read the next part: Trust In What Tomorrow Brings

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hyuckmov · 10 months

Text

himbo haechan pt.2

first part here wc: 12.9k (!!!) genre: fluff, smut, a little angst if u squint warnings: shower sex, unprotected sex, masturbating, just the tip (!), handjobs, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, fingering, softdom/sub dynamics (haechan doing both), being ignored during sex (!!!), aftercare, creampie a/n: thank u for loving himbo haech and thank you for being patient with me :) this fic took me so long because i originally wasn't going to have a plot, but piecing together scenes didn't feel like it was a sincere effort for how much i loved himbo haech so i tried my best to do more <3 this MIGHT be the tamest thing i've written, if you followed me for filth i promise i will make it up to you in another fic LOL let me know what u think, i hope this is hot, and i really hope you like this !!!

haechan thinks he'll never forget the first time he meets you.

for him, time slowed and there was no other explanation. his heartbeat rushed loud in his ears, a warm glow spread all throughout his body to the tips of his fingers. you had walked into the living room of the house party, angrily mouthing off someone who had spilled his drink on your sleeve, your voice traveling over to him over the undercurrent of the music blasting from the speakers, and he loved it. the sting of your tone, the way your chest rose and fell, the flush in your cheeks.

he wanted to stand by you as close as he could and watch each shade of emotion flicker in your eyes, he wanted to hear the ring of your voice through your chest, he wanted every bit of your attention directed at him. for once in his life, he didn't just want to touch — he wanted to hold.

"renjun…" he whispered, voice reverent and hushed like he was in a church. "i'm in love."

"um…renjun left an hour ago…?" jaemin shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, leaning over haechan and waving his hand in front of his face. "i've been talking to you for the past 10 minutes about next week's hockey game…"

absentmindedly, haechan grabs jaemin's wrist and pulls his hand away from his face, eyes still focused on the way you storm towards the kitchen. "okay renjun."

he sees you walk out, a fresh drink in one hand, the other arm hooked around some guy who he's now forced to acknowledge. but he's nothing compared to haechan, and haechan knows if he tries, if he could just walk over to you, talk to you, get to know you…

"haechan, no." and now mark has swooped into his vision, what was he doing here? grabbing him by the shoulders, mark speaks loudly and slowly to haechan, as if he was scolding a very small toddler. "she has a boyfriend."

who? "um…" his brain skids through potential responses, but he can't make sense of anything mark is saying. "sorry to hear that…" he mumbles.

"this is not the time to be snarky."

where were you now? eyes searching for you over mark's shoulders, he tries to keep up with the conversation. "if you say so, mark."

"jaemin, what's wrong with him? is he drunk?"

"i'm fine, mark–" impassioned, he grabs mark by the forearms, catching him off guard. haechan stumbles to his feet, patting his pockets for his phone, so he can save your number when he gets it, eyes sweeping the room again and finally spotting you as you step into a corridor leading off from the living room. even though his legs just aren't moving, his heart thunders in his chest in a way it hadn't for a long time, a thrum he couldn't keep up with.

his stomach twists when he realises there’s only one explanation for how he feels towards you, as if he was on a rollercoaster about to tip over — a messy tangle of nerves and excitement all at once.

"mark, i think i've found the one."

"i can't believe i really get to hold you like this…" he murmured, in awe.

haechan said something along these lines practically every time you cuddled in the evenings, and the words never faded in their sweetness. lost in his own thoughts, he stroked your hair with slightly shaky hands, and placed a gentle kiss to your temple. "i keep thinking i'm going to blink, and then the next second you'll be yelling at me again…"

you feel a twinge of guilt, and you're just about to apologize when —

"…but also, i kind of miss that too…"

there it was.

"do you want me to pretend to get mad at you?" you suggest, smiling a little as you climb on top of him. there's something reverent in the way he tilts his head up, never breaking eye contact as his hands instinctively come up to grip your waist and steady you. "or you could make me mad on purpose?"

"wouldn't be the first time…" he mumbles, the familiar cloudy look making its way into his irises, his gaze now unfocused and dazed as his eyes flick up and down your body.

"really?"

he nods. "never actually deleted our project, didn't actually submit a draft for the final assignment, didn't really lose your underwear…"

a laugh rises up in your throat, half part incredulous and the other hopelessly endeared.

"if you want me to be rough with you, next time, just ask me," you promise him, patting him on the chest lightly.

"i mean…i keep thinking i want you to get mad at me, so we can fuck like we used to…" he scrunches his nose in thought, lowering his gaze. “but i just… there’s just…”

"but…?"

"but also i really like making love to you," he whispers. "i love it so much, and i feel like, because we're at the start of our relationship it means more.” holding your hands in his now, he gives them a light squeeze. “and i don’t want to ruin that, you know?”

your breath hitches in your throat, and all of a sudden you don’t know what to say.

"does that make sense?" he asks, softly. "did i say something wrong?"

“haechan….” you’re convinced your heart has melted in your chest, tears threatening to fall from your lashes from how raw and intimate he could be with his words. love was so easy to him, and he showed you time and time again that he wouldn’t change. “i love you so-”

“- so should we try shower sex?”

you're speechless.

"from your lack of response, i'm guessing no… but-!" eagerly, he picks up his laptop from the side table, and holds it up so you can see the screen, covering his face all except for the puppy-eyes he's giving you. "look! having shower sex twice a week can reduce the risk of heart diseases by 50%!"

"haechan…"

"we have to do it!" he's so excited he drops his laptop on the bed to hold your hands in his, rubbing your fingers gently as he bounces with excitement. "so we don't get heart disease!"

"i don't think…"

"it also increases mindfulness because it engages all 5 of your senses…" he continues, words coming out in a rehearsed rush, and you can tell he's been researching this topic for a while. "didn't you tell me i should try being more mindful?"

"i kind of meant it more like mindful of your surroundings…" you frown a little. "you still bump into people almost every time we turn a corner on the street…"

"see, we just said the exact same thing," he breathes. "please?"

and although you think you should be desensitized to him already, it still catches you off guard when he sits up to lean in closer. the swell of his lips, the flush shining on the tip of his nose and dusting his cheeks whenever he got excited. it shouldn't affect you, the lights reflected in his eyes, the way they're misty for god knows what reason, and the knowledge that if you asked why, his answer would be that it's because he loves you, so so much.

"haechan…"

"i'll be really gentle…" he says, softly. rubbing hesitant circles on your bare waist with his thumb, he dips his head a little to hold your gaze. "i promise. i'll take care of you."

the words go straight to your gut, a sharp sting ringing high in your nose bridge as you feel a slight prickle of tears in your eyes. he's still looking at you with those eyes you fell for, gentle and patient, the same voice that always soothed and comforted you, with an undertone of fierce devotion that you craved.

melting into his arms, you tuck your head into the curve of his neck. your voice is shaky when you speak. "i'm about to cry," you grumble. "and we're just talking about shower sex."

his laugh vibrates against your chest — the sound is warm, and it feels like home. "i'll take care of you," he repeats in a whisper, lips pressed against your hair.

it really is every bit as sweet as he promised, when you find yourself pressed against the shower wall, strong arms lifting you up as he kisses you fiercely.

"is this okay?" he murmurs, rutting against your core in rough pulses. "this way you don't have to focus on not slipping…"

"yeah…" you gasp as he pushes you against the wall again, adjusting his grip on your thighs. the muscles in his arms tense, and the veins leading down to his fingertips are prominent under his skin. it's so unbelievably hot, the way his chest heaves with need, the soft whine in his breath as the tip of his cock catches against your entrance.

"i can't wait," he blurts out, forehead pressing against yours as he rubs his cock against your wetness again, the blunt tip nudging against your clit and making you cling onto him tighter. "do you want me to prep you some more or… or can i…"

you shake your head. "want you now," you tilt your head to kiss him and he surges towards you eagerly, suckling on your bottom lip hard, desperation heavy in the way he licks into your mouth.

"i'm sorry, i love you, i'm sorry, you're so good to me…" he murmurs, pushing into you with a stretch that makes you tense. his hand soothes down your back, and he shifts you against the wall again. "fuck, i'm sorry baby, just a bit more…" your walls are tight and warm around him, sucking him in as he tries not to buck his hips into you, trying to be as gentle as he promised, mumbling apologies into your skin.

the steam of the shower coiling around your skin and the feeling of being filled up by your boyfriend was almost too much to bear. thighs clamping around him, your mouth falls open as you grip onto his neck for support, fingers curling around the hair at the nape of his neck. and now he's whimpering, his hips jerking forward and suddenly you're taking all of him, filled to the brim by his thick cock.

murmuring another apology, he licks shyly at your neck and presses a kiss to your sweet spot, marking your skin. his nose bumping against the curve of your neck making your heartbeat race, a sweetness you can't quite explain.

"haechan, please move-"

"i…" he swallows, lifting his head to face you. his pupils are blown out, his voice dropping an octave as his fingers tentatively stroke the side of your thigh. "fuck, baby, you have to relax."

"i can't if you don't move-"

"i'm gonna cum if you keep squeezing around me like this," he admits, a small whimper escaping from the back of his throat when you only clench around him harder from his words. "please…" he freckles kisses down your throat, hand rubbing soothingly up your lower back as he pins you to the wall with his hips. slowly, you begin to relax into your position, his touch comforting you and slowing your heart rate down.

"good girl," he praises, softly, with a kiss on your nose.

your heart soars.

he pushes forward, slowly setting a rhythm as he angles his hips deeper, closing his eyes as he melts into the feeling. his tip presses against a spot which makes you whimper, each vein and ridge of his length dragging against your walls and pushing you closer to the edge. your clit aches at the feeling of being stretched out, and you reluctantly take one hand off his shoulders to rub yourself with careful fingers. his hips stutter as you tighten around him again with your own movements, and it only spurs him on to chase both your highs faster.

you start sliding down the wall, smooth tiles warm against your back from the water, but he's too far gone to care – shoving you carelessly higher as he thrusts harshly into you, eyes fluttering open to see the way your tits bounce from his movements, water droplets running down your curves and almost bringing tears to his eyes.

"i wanna touch," his sounds rising in pitch, scratchy moans broken up by jumbled words and curses. "more, want more…" he jerks away one of his hands holding you up to palm at your chest, but you start to slip and he's forced to hold you up again. he's so frustrated he's half groaning, half begging. "please cum, want you to cum on me…"

you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat. "are you begging?"

"YES-" he moans, loudly, the sound echoing through the bathroom, booming against the backdrop of running water.

you laugh again, the hand slick at your clit sliding over to his mouth, tips of your fingers brushing his soft lips, and then he's cumming, warm and hot inside you, hips relentless as he all but fucks you into the wall, hands cushioning your hips yet gripping you in a way that would leave bruises of their own. the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you making you cum as well, thighs wrapping around his waist like a vice, body hypersensitive, feeling every single rivulet of water running down your skin.

it's a while before you both drift back to the present moment, as he seems frozen in his position, chest heaving and eyes unfocused.

as he lets you slide down to stand on your own two feet, his arms still holding you slumped against him, he groans low in his chest.

"next time, we're doing this in the tub."

part of being with haechan is getting to know his friends, which is why you're currently sitting in between haechan's legs, in a circle with them around a monopoly board as renjun complains about for what feels like the thousandth time.

"this is so unfair," renjun grumbles, as he shoves a few paper bills in haechan's direction, crumpling them in the process.

"the rent is $200. you only gave me $10."

"i don't HAVE $200–"

"then drink." haechan pushes the bottle towards him. "one shot for every $50 you owe me," he reminds him, smiling triumphantly.

it was something jaemin and haechan had thought up together. a drinking game infused with monopoly, where no players would ever go bankrupt, as long as they kept drinking for the money they owed.

as well as a shot whenever you passed go, whenever you bought a property, and a dozen other random rules designed to make everyone pass out before the night ended.

"haechan always wins," renjun jabs a finger at him accusatorily. "because he always gets y/n's help when the game starts —"

"how is it my fault for having a smart girlfriend?"

"if anything," jaemin chimes in, more for the fun of it than the actual argument. "you should pass her around each round, so we all get one chance at winning."

haechan narrows his eyes, brows furrowed in suspicion. "is that a double entrée?"

"you mean double entendre," you mutter.

"yeah, what she said."

"you two need to relax," jaemin waves a hand in the air, dismissively. "no one wants to fuck your girlfriend."

"why not?"

"you're impossible."

"but –" renjun hiccups, finishing the last of the soju. "it's also unfair that the more haechan drinks, the more rational he becomes. why do we still play drinking games with him? if we played monopoly sober—"

haechan boos him vehemently, and jaemin joins in happily, switching sides in a heartbeat.

"- haechan wouldn't stand a chance. he'd still be asking me what direction you went in on the board–"

"that was my first time," he mumbles, self-consciously. you pat him on the shoulder, soothingly, and he takes the opportunity of renjun now yelling at jaemin, to study your face, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

"are you okay? do you want some water?"

your pause before answering is all he needs. truthfully, you tapped out after the third time haechan passed go, letting him take the reins as the excessive alcohol miraculously cleared his head. the more you drank, the more you craved skin-on-skin contact with him, getting spacey and quiet. haechan loved it, feeling you pliant and a little needy in his arms, but it worried him just as much when you couldn't bicker back and forth with him.

helping you to your feet, he hooks his arm in yours and shuffles towards the kitchen, not even bothering to wave to jaemin and renjun, who were at that point heatedly dividing their assets over the game board.

haechan pours a cup of water for you, his hands moving sure and steady under the fluorescent lights as he holds it up to your lips. you reach out to hold it yourself, but he stops you with a hum, tilting it up to your lips.

"i don't want you to drop it," he says, fondly. "take a sip?"

feeling shy under his gaze, you drink carefully, dribbling some onto your chin when he lifts the cup too early.

"messy baby," he teases, softly, his thumb brushing your lips as he wipes your chin carefully.

now you're sure the feeling in your stomach is not nausea from the alcohol, but the need to have your boyfriend pressed up against you right that second. a whine rises from the back of your throat – a habit you'd picked up from him, and you bury your face in his chest, making him laugh. the sound is deeper and warmer than you'd ever heard it, buzzing against your ear and making your chest fill with butterflies. you've never seen him like this. something authoritative in the way he guides you towards the kitchen counter, coaxing you to take another sip of water as he looks at you lovingly.

"you should go to bed soon." sliding his phone out from his back pocket, he flashes his lockscreen at you – a photo of the two of you, taken on jaemin's film camera.

distracted, you blink up at him. "why?"

"you have that essay due tomorrow?" mindlessly drawing circles on your waist, he looks deep into your eyes, hoping you're really listening. "you told me you were almost done, but i know you always manage to find some way to make it more complicated…and your proofreading always takes hours…"

it's a little hot, how clear-headed and coherent he was being, in the dead of night after rounds and rounds of drinks. fuck that, it was making you feel dizzy, the way he slid his palm onto your forehead to check your temperature when you don't respond.

"baby? are you with me?"

"renjun was right…this is so unfair," you mumble. "did you secretly stay sober or something?"

"i'm hammered, actually." smiling, he takes his own sip of water from the cup. "can't you tell?" there's something tender in that moment, as the tip of his nose brushes against yours, as he pulls you closer and you can smell his fabric softener on the oversized shirt he's wearing. the faint perfume he wears fills your senses, and he smells so good, and his arms are so firm around you…

"haechan," you're a little breathless. "i need you."

"what?"

your hands fumble with his shirt, sliding underneath it to touch the bare skin of his waist, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"fuck." he lowers his head, eyes closing as he takes a shuddering breath. "not right now, baby."

"i know, i mean when they leave –"

"i mean not today. not while you're this drunk, i'm sorry –" at the look on your face, he presses a quick kiss to both your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose and finally your mouth. "i'm sorry," he repeats, softly. "it doesn't feel right."

"i thought you wanted –"

"trust me, i do…" he bites his lip, and now he takes a step away from you, trying not to let the feeling of you in his arms affect his judgement. "you have no idea how much i want to."

"so –"

"but not like this," he says, firmly. "i don't think we're ready for it right now. hey –" you're pulling away from him too, now trying to leave the kitchen. "i'm still going to help you take off your makeup and get undressed —"

"yeah?"

"and then we're going to go to bed." he pleads with you with his eyes. "i'll do everything with you in the morning, after you're done with your assignment, okay?"

a beat.

"y/n…" sternly, he tilts your chin up to look him in the eye, and it makes you shrink a little, but god it makes you want him more. "okay?"

sullen, you nod.

"use your words."

fuck. "okay," you breathe, meekly, even though every impulse in your body is making you want to pull his body into yours. somewhere in the haze of your mind, you still can't shake the way his broad shoulders look under the light as he guides you out of the kitchen, your hand held tightly in his.

the gentle morning light and the silence of your apartment is comforting, as you sip your drink and wait for the pain in your head to subside.

after haechan had rejected you, he had kicked out renjun and jaemin, bringing you to bed immediately. wiping your skin with makeup wipes, and kissing you to ward you off as your hands kept wandering to him was probably the most torture you had ever put him through. you almost felt bad when you realised you truly couldn't spend time with him today either, your mind clearing and focusing on the assignment that haechan rightly pointed out you still had to complete.

so when he slinks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you, you lean into his touch instinctively, curving your body into his.

it's also why his sudden gasp makes you jump.

"what–"

"angel…" he's starry-eyed, voice hushed and reverent as he gently brushes the underside of your boobs with his fingers. "are you not wearing anything under this shirt?"

it was as if the him from last night had completely evaporated. "um, yeah…"

"did i do something good?" his big hands shamelessly cup your breasts, squeezing them together as he sighs. "is this a reward?"

"i mean…you were really responsible last night…"

hopping up happily against the kitchen counter and sandwiching you between his legs, he kisses you on the mouth sweetly, barely able to contain his smile. "i love you," he whispers against your lips, hands roaming up your shirt and teasing over your nipples. "we're going to have so much fun today."

"about that…" you place your hands over his own through your shirt, halting his movements. "you can't fuck me today, i'm sorry."

he lets out a dramatic, betrayed gasp, heart-shaped lips parting and eyes glistening with hurt. "why would you say that?"

you blink. "because it's true…?"

"are you…are you finally sick of me…?" his hands drop from under your shirt, tracing a sad circle with his fingertip on his toned thighs. "of my cock?"

"haechan, it's 8 in the morning."

"is it your vibrator? has it replaced me?"

"this has nothing to do with you —"

"YOU'RE FUCKING RENJUN?"

you wind your fingers into his hair and tug, harshly.

it's not your favorite trick, you admit, because the reaction was always 50/50. he would get either even more distracted, or focus up and listen to you — even if for the purpose of discerning when you would be down to fuck next.

today he lets out a quiet moan, head falling to your shoulder as his hands find your chest again.

"first the shirt, now this —" he mumbles, gloomily. "you're evil."

"i'm busy." you push at his shoulders so he'll straighten up and face you, but his face is still resolutely nuzzled against your neck.

"you're always busy," he bites back, frustrated. "last week, and the week before that, and the week before that."

"yeah, because i go to college?" you remind him. "and you do too?"

"but can you really not spare 20 minutes?" he whines, lifting his head to look at you with hurt eyes.

there's a pause, as he takes a deep breath.

"i'm sorry —"

"no, it's okay," he mumbles. "i shouldn't be pressuring you." biting his lip, he leans in again, resting his weight on yours.

"how long will you be gone today?" he asks, quietly.

"i'll be staying at home," you comfort him.

"i can keep you company," he says, quickly.

"haechan –"

"i won't even distract you," he continues, his words a sharp contrast from how his pouty lips brushed your skin, casually starting to pepper kisses under your jaw. his voice dips low when he adds, "i can be good."

"right." your focus has been ripped to shreds as his movements grow more needy, his touches on your chest making you arch into him for more. when his thumb circles your nipple, teeth biting down gently on the sweet spot on your neck, you can't help letting out a whimper, slumping against him just slightly as your knees start to feel weak.

he laughs at that, finally straightening and pulling away from you.

"yeah," he says, proudly. "there's no way you're sick of me and my cock."

a few hours later, all his bravado had completely melted away, the signature whine coming back to his voice.

"not done? still?"

"you're stressing me out."

behind you, the boy lets out a wounded sound. "but i even got you those resources from the library…"

"those were really helpful," you concede. you didn't know he had it in him, but apparently all the sessions you'd spent together in the library really paid off. "i just have a bit more to write."

the first hour, he'd been content with lying on the bed and watching you work at your desk. the second hour, he moved the whole desk closer to the bed, – almost breaking a lamp in the process –, so he could hold your hand and play with your fingers when you were scrolling through research articles.

he dozed off when you had to type – a hand splayed firmly on your thigh, and when he woke up, eagerly pulling you towards the bed and hands already teasing under your waistband, you had quickly asked him if he could go to the library to get you a book that could help.

which led you to where you sat now, between his spread legs in front of the coffee table, his hands holding your boobs as you struggled through your last few paragraphs.

"i'll wait," he says, softly, arms now falling to your waist as he pulls you in for a hug. you lean back on his chest, but you're surprised when he starts to stand, untangling himself from you and gently placing a pillow behind your back for support.

you feel a little pathetic when you ask, "where are you going…?"

"i don't want to distract you, baby." he squats down and places a kiss on your cheek, his other hand caressing your face. "i'll wait for you in our room, okay?"

"okay…" you say, watching him shuffle to the bedroom, feeling that the room lost a bit of its energy.

without haechan, you can focus a lot better, and you almost guiltily speed past the rest of your project, feeling bad for neglecting him. you don't even bother to check your writing again as you're submitting it, all your thoughts now concentrated on your boyfriend, alone in his room, waiting patiently for you to spend time with him.

placing your laptop on the table, you make your way down the hallway, thinking about maybe being extra sweet to haechan as a thank you for being so supportive today, when your footsteps falter and you stop just outside your bedroom.

because seeping out of the door are sounds of crying, choked sobs and whimpers of your name muffled but unmistakable.

was he that upset? the forlorn expression on his face resurfaces his mind, the way his voice went quiet, how he begged that he could be good for you. maybe it wouldn't have hurt to indulge him a little in the morning — judging from the time now, you still probably would have made your deadline.

"haechan?" you knock, hesitantly, but there's no reply, only a low, pained sound of…frustration? sadness? it worries you, so you push open the door gently, eyes immediately darting to the bed where he lays on the sheets.

and you freeze.

because unlike the weepy, sad, haechan you had imagined, you're faced with something completely different – haechan, shirtless, leaning against the headboard, his legs twitching on the bed as he strokes his cock fast, hips bucking up into his fist as he throws his head back and moans loudly, cum splattered over his bare torso telling you he was overstimulating himself, again.

for how well you know him, you really should have seen this coming.

"i'm sorry, baby," he whimpers, hand still moving slowly despite being caught, and you can see how red he is all over — flushed cheeks and ears, the tip of his cock peeking out from his hand. "i wanted to be good for you, but i just- couldn't- wait…"

crossing over to the bed, you sit by his side and look him in the eyes, his hand speeding up as he pants, looking back at you.

"you like me that much? that you could cum just from thinking about me?"

"yeah," he moans, his other hand now teasing his own nipple, pinching it and rolling it with his fingers. "c-can cum just from, looking at you, even if you're not d-doing anything…"

"then you don't need me now, right?"

"no –!" his clean hand darts out to grab onto your wrist, his other halting and squeezing the base of his cock, trying not to cum. "please, i need you so bad, want you to help me…"

you sigh, pulling away from him. "i don't know, i'm not really in the mood right now," you lie.

"please," he begs, trying to shuffle closer to you, but you back away. "i need to be inside you right now…"

"but i'm still sore from last time. it hurts." you try to act like none of this is getting to you, but it's way too difficult, especially when haechan finally manages to kiss your neck, shuddering against you as his other hand gives a careful stroke.

"what about just the tip?" he pleads, voice small.

you roll your eyes. "as if you could be satisfied with just the tip –"

"i'll be good…" he whines, softly. "just the tip, okay? just really need to feel you right now…it'll just be a bit of a stretch…"

"you won't bottom out?"

"no," he shifts uncomfortably, his hand squeezing tighter around the base as the thought of being in you, even just the tip, brings him closer to cumming than he would like. "i'll fuck you with just the tip, i promise."

you barely give him the okay before he's tugging impatiently at the waistband of your barely-there shorts and panties, groaning loudly when his fingers drag through your folds.

"you're killing me," he pants, shaky fingers rubbing your clit. "i'm gonna make you cum first, okay?"

"just-" you try to keep your voice level, but when he slips a finger into your hole, your body crumples against his. "just make me cum on your cock –"

"baby, i want to…" his lips are soft against yours, as he consoles you with short kisses. "but i might cum way too fast if i fuck you right now."

"with just the tip," you remind him, biting back a moan when he slips in a second finger and starts making scissoring motions.

"yeah, you want to be stretched out, hm?" he smiles when he feels you clench tighter around his fingers. "you don't mind if i don't fill you up?"

internally, you start to curse yourself, because fuck you do want him to fill you up. "i don't mind…" you say, weakly, focusing instead on the way he was circling your clit as he crooks his fingers against your walls.

"so warm and tight," he groans. "you're close, right?"

"yes–"

his movements on your clit speed up and your hips buck into his hand, grinding against his fingers. "fuck, that's so hot." his lips wrap around your nipple through your shirt, and you moan as he sucks wetly, lips brushing your chest as he speaks. "you look so pretty riding my fingers, baby."

you tumble headfirst into your orgasm, body shuddering against his when he applies a sinful pressure against your clit, the way he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes too much to bear. he pulls his fingers out from between your legs, immediately sticking them in his mouth and sighing at the taste, his other hand caressing your hip soothingly.

"lay down for me," he coaxes, touch gentle as he maneuvers your legs around his waist. running the tip of his cock through your soaked cunt, he lets out a shaky moan, tones rising dizzyingly higher as he presses against your entrance.

"haechan…" you plead, as he nudges your clit with his cock, making your hips jolt.

he reaches out to squeeze your hand. "i'm right here," he murmurs, kissing your fingertips lightly as he brushes your hole with the pink head of his cock. his words make your chest flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the ache between your legs. "i'm here," he repeats, softly, as he slowly slips the bulbous tip of his cock into you, and you can feel yourself clench tight around him, sucking him in further despite his efforts to pull out.

"can you cum like this?" his tone is still soft as he reaches to rub your clit, applying light pressure, fingers slipping from how wet you were. "because, i think i can cum like this, feels so sensitive…" he wags his hips a few times, feeling the head of his cock move inside you, and he moans weakly. "is this what you wanted, baby?"

your legs clamp tight around his waist, trying not to move your own hips, focusing on his shallow thrusts and the slight pain of the stretch. in truth, you wanted him to push deeper into you, craving both the way his thick cock always made you feel full, and the feeling of him pressing you into the bed under his weight. you just had to hold out until he started begging for more.

"feels so good, haechan," you praise, and he flushes, rubbing your clit even faster as he moves against you.

"you don't-" he pants. "are you sure you don't want more? you're okay with this?" his voice sounds almost hopeful.

you nod again, tugging him towards you for a kiss, the slight shift in his position making his cock slide deeper into you. he moans low against your lips, breaking away quickly and pulling out entirely. "fuck, sorry–"

but then he's shoving himself back into you roughly, going past the tip and sinking deep into your cunt as he lets out a satisfied groan, and you can feel his hips flush against yours as he covers you with his body. kissing you harshly, his tongue strokes the roof of your mouth as he moans again, hips now thrusting fast into yours, wet sounds filling the room as he pushes deep into you each time.

"haechan!"

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he gasps, although his hips are relentless against yours, hands pushing your thighs up so he can reach deeper into you, "i couldn't, you're so fucking wet and tight and warm –" you can feel him throb inside you as he fucks you, riled up by his own thoughts. "wanted to feel you all over me…"

his angles his hips again, searching for your soft spot, holding your body tight against his. when he feels you tighten around him, back arching and nipples brushing against his in a way that makes electricity run down his spine, he bucks into you, your sounds in his ear telling him you were reaching your high.

after being teased with his tip, you much appreciated the feeling of him being sheathed deep inside you, his cock nudging your sweet spot and making you clench harder around him each time. when his fingers find your clit again, it only takes a few seconds before you're cumming hard around him, feeling slick on your thighs with the force of your orgasm. seeing your cum form rings of white on his cock makes him whimper, and your lips brushing against his skin is all it takes for him to cum too, soaking your walls and making you hiss at the sensitivity.

you lie there for a moment, basking in the feeling of him lying against you, feeling too tired and filthy to move. stroking his back tenderly, you notice his breathing doesn't even out as it usually does, and when you feel hot tears on your shoulder you jolt, alarmed.

"haechan, what's wrong?"

"did i hurt you?" he sniffles, lifting his weight off of you so he could check on your body. "i'm sorry, i know i promised just the tip, you said you were sore…"

your heart flutters in your chest as he pulls out, wiping between your legs gently with his shirt even as tears run down his cheeks. "i d-didn't mean to hurt you…" he breathes. he closes your legs carefully, before running his hands over your thighs. "are you okay? please say you're okay…"

"haechan, i'm fine, really," you sit up to reach him, but he quickly stops you, laying a hand on your shoulder.

"you should rest-"

"haechan i was just…" you place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers in a reassuring manner. "i was just teasing. i wasn't actually sore."

a sniffle. "really?"

"yes, of course –" you squeeze his hand. "thank you for taking care of me."

it takes a little more reassurance and a lot of kissing to get him to smile, as he prepares a hot bath for you, skidding off to the kitchen to make something for dinner. you eat dinner while cuddling with him in front of the television, your legs in his lap as he pours wine for the both of you, the glasses he bought to 'look smarter when i'm with you' slipping down his nose as he focuses his gaze on your lips for a little too long, watching your tongue dart out as you taste the wine.

it's times like these – with his arms around your waist and his eyes never leaving yours as you tell him the most trivial thing about your day, — where you cannot imagine ever living a life before you were loved by him, and the very thought of a universe where the two of you couldn't speak to each other was enough to make your breath catch in your throat, and make your chest feel tight.

"you okay?" he takes the wine glass from your hand, brushing his lips against yours softly. only haechan would think that kissing you would be a way to get you to focus.

"i'm thinking too much," you admit, leaning into him and pressing your cheek against his.

"about…?" a kiss on your nose.

when you looked at him again, your worries did seem to fall away. it didn't ever seem possible that he would fall out of love with you, or even think about replacing you, what with the way he was holding you so carefully, eyes doing that deep dive into your own that always left you feeling naked and vulnerable.

"i hate it when i can't read your mind," he murmurs, a little sadly. "i wish i had some way of knowing the right thing to do, all the time, whenever it comes to you."

"i think you do," you say, softly, meaning every syllable of it.

"okay…." he tilts his head to the side, thinking hard, lips jutting out into a sweet pout. "i think the right thing to do now…because you're overthinking things…"

you encourage him with a hum. "maybe we can make some tea –"

" — i think i should fuck you stupid."

a pause.

"haechan…"

"yeah i know, my idea is better."

and scooping you up into his arms, he carries you, laughing, all the way to the bedroom, and you can admit that after that things do start to get a little blurry, your mind filled with nothing but him, and him, and him.

but haechan makes you feel so loved, that you almost forget the whole world is in love with him too.

it's equal parts of annoyance and jealousy that stings at your chest when you see haechan surrounded at the back of the lecture hall, a group of girls forming a circle around him as he sits on the table, showing them something on his phone and kicking his feet restlessly like a little kid. was he giving them his number?

"it's been like this every time i've picked him up from this lecture this past two weeks," you mutter to renjun.

"ooh, i wonder how many of them he's slept with…" he muses at your side, his tone way too cheery. he had followed you as you made your way to pick haechan up from class, wanting to ask him something about the party happening that evening. "i think i recognise a few of them…"

"renjun, i hope you know that i don't trust you. at all."

"but i'm his best friend-"

"you told me to pull on his hair to shut him up and he moaned-"

"and look where you are now," he folds his arms triumphantly, a smug smile on his face. "happily celebrating your 2nd month with him."

"to think that all i asked for was advice on how to shut him up," you mumble, but you still feel a warm glow in the tips of your fingers anyway. you always do, when you're reminded of how far you've come with haechan.

a loud chorus of cooing and giggling comes from the corner of the hall, and you're sharply brought back to the present moment.

"renjun…" you hesitate, wondering if it's exactly right to be asking this. "has haechan really…um…"

"fucked a lot of girls?" renjun finishes your question. "how else do you think he gets so good at it?"

your skin feels hot. "oh."

renjun looks at you knowingly. "don't compare yourself to them, you know he doesn't do that."

"doesn't he…?" you wonder out loud. the girls surrounding haechan were in a league of their own, pretty and confident in all the ways you weren't. you had never quite been with someone like haechan before, someone so well-known on campus, and in turn knew everyone's names and faces. you wanted to believe your differences were something sweet, an opposites attract situation where you always brought the balance he needed and could feel safe in, but a part of you would always wonder about whether he would ever get tired of it.

"he hasn't talked about any other girl, past or present, since he's met you," renjun reassures, softly. "he really thinks you're the one."

you think about haechan now, and you try to imagine how it would be like with someone else — his world revolving around them, the look of adoration in his eyes. it gives you a bitter taste in your mouth with how easy it is to imagine. "has he really never thought that about anyone else before?"

renjun takes a moment to think. "if he has, he hasn't told us."

and if you were honest with yourself, you don't know if that's enough to ease your mind.

"well, i was thinking i would get this…"

a loud chorus of nos erupts all around him, and he furrows his brow, a pout forming on his lips.

"why not?"

"it's a bracelet that's meant to lock in your love," karina warns.

"so?"

"it's possessive and claiming," karina advises, and the girls around her nod in agreement. "it's like a message saying – 'you're going to be with me forever-'"

"but i am going to be with her forever…" he protests, and a wave of awws coo all around him. forlorn, he looks back down at the photo of the cartier love bracelet he has saved in an album of gifts he was thinking of buying you. he hadn't even gotten to ask the girls about which color would match your skin tone before they had collectively agreed the bracelet wasn't a good idea.

"haechan, it's 7 thousand dollars…"

"she's worth it," he mumbles, the answer coming to him like it was common sense. "i'll get a job…i can always earn it back…"

"why don't you get her something she's mentioned?" giselle suggests. "like perfume she likes, or a book, or…"

"i don't want to just get her…a book," he huffs. "i want to get her something she can wear all the time, and everytime she looks at it she'll think of me."

"really?" she presses. "or do you just want her to show everyone she's yours?"

"i mean, yeah-" he runs his hand through his hair, shaking it roughly to clear his head. "i mean, maybe? i don't know…"

another round of cooing starts up, as the girls lean in a little closer, patting him on the back or placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"i guess i've been feeling like i want her attention…maybe…" he kicks his feet in the air frustratedly.

"you should talk to her," winter suggests. "aren't you the one who's always talking about open communication?"

"i love communication," he mopes. "but when i'm with her i get scared…i get so scared of losing her i don't know what to say…"

some of the girls clutch at their hearts, others pulling him into hugs.

"thank you guys…" he says, earnestly. "i'll think about your advice…"

"ready to go?"

he jolts at your voice, back straightening and head whipping around to face you.

"hi!" he blurts out, a little flustered and giddy. "yeah, i'm ready…" he grabs a bunch of papers from beside him and shoves them into his bag haphazardly, slinging one strap over his shoulder as he plucks your laptop from your hands, carrying it for you like he always does.

"say goodbye to everyone, haechan." he thinks he catches something in your tone – you're trying to keep it light, but something sounds off.

"byebye girls-" he mumbles, obediently, hopping off the table and standing next to you. when the chorus of goodbyes echoes back, he thinks you walk just a little bit faster, making it harder for him to loop his free arm around your shoulder…

it worries him.

"you're coming to the party later right?"

you push open the door with a bit too much force, and he shouldn't be distracted, shouldn't be deterred from his mission to find you the perfect gift and figure out why you were upset, but his thoughts flood with the image of you pushing him around too — and it's like he can feel your touch, the way he imagines it, heavy and warm against his chest.

it's like he's underwater, as you reply a curt "yes" to his question, because he wants you to shove him against a wall and push him, hard, until he's breathless. you're walking, back to your apartment he presumes, eyes fixed on the road ahead and the way you're blatantly ignoring him also makes his heart hammer fast. he wonders what things he can get away with as you ignore him, wonders if you'll ever let him touch you while you're on your phone, or-

"- get ready at my place?"

what?

you've stopped walking. your hands are crossed over your chest.

"so? do you want to come?"

cum?

"yes please," he breathes. "i mean, if you want me to, but i also want you to cum…"

"come where?"

cum where? holy fuck.

"on my face" he answers, eagerly. "we haven't done that in ages —"

his face falls when it registers that the groan you let out is out of frustration, and not the sound he usually hears ringing in his ears when he curls his fingers just right.

"haechan, focus." you grip him by the shoulders, choosing to ignore the fact that giving him commands was always a surefire way to get him to lose focus. "do you want to come home with me as i get ready for the party? or do you want to go help your friends set up?"

"with you," he says, quickly.

"the party starts in 30 minutes, i don't think we'll have time to do…" you wave your hand haphazardly. "whatever you're thinking of."

"sit on my face?"

"yeah, that."

whining, he links his arm into yours as you cross the street together. "is this becoming a theme in our relationship? you telling me we don't have time and us just fucking anyway?"

"uh…"

"is it like…your kink? because it's really annoying," he fishes out the keycard to your apartment complex, clumsily tapping it against the sensor and failing to unlock the door in his frustration, shoving against it far too hard and making the glass shake. "ah, fuck–"

"i'll do it," you brush past him, taking the keycard from his hand. "calm down, please, haechan."

"it's not just about fucking," his voice is rough. "okay, well, this thing with you ignoring me, it's growing on me i'll admit. i can see us doing something with that in the future –" he's talking way too loudly about this in the lift lobby, urgency in his tone making his voice ring in the space. "but i also need to feel like you want me around, you know?"

"of course i want you around." you blink, surprised. your voice softens when you cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at your face. "are you serious? is that what you really think?"

"i dunno…" the question 'do you just want to show everyone she's yours?' echoes around in his head, and he winces at the thought of it, possessive and needy. he tries to backtrack, mumbling out, "i don't know why i said that."

you bite your lip. something was off with him. you were both worried about things you couldn't articulate quite yet, and you knew everything would work out if you just talked about it and came up with ways to reassure each other.

and usually he was the first one to sit you down and get you talking about what was on your mind (like the time you were upset he kept staying up gaming), or communicate his own thoughts no matter how jumbled (like the time he was convinced your ex was cursing your relationship with 'bad vibes').

but today he's quiet all of a sudden, wide-eyes staring up at yours hesitantly, and it hurts.

"okay," you say, softly, letting go of his face.

"what?"

"okay," you repeat, stepping into the elevator. "when you're ready to talk about it, you can let me know." holding open the elevator doors with one hand, you're even more confused when haechan takes a step back, hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he looks up at you.

"i'll go help set up the party…" he watches your brow furrow, and hastens to add, "if that's okay?"

and even though all your instincts are telling you to coddle him, to beg him to tell you what's wrong and to kiss the pout off his face, you nod and step back into the lift.

"yeah, i'll see you later."

it's pathetic how much you miss him once the lift doors close.

when you arrive at the party, haechan is nowhere to be seen, something renjun is very angry about. you end on the balcony with jaemin, half part ensuring he doesn't do anything impulsive, and the other part…

"so you're jealous because haechan knows many beautiful, confident, and smart women who he could easily replace you with?"

jaemin was just coherent enough to give sound advice, and just tipsy enough to be very blunt about it.

"so you think it's a valid concern?" you press.

"you know what, when he gets here…" jaemin pauses, swishing the contents around in his cup contemplatively. "ask him to take you upstairs."

"to do what?"

"fuck, obviously," he looks at you, disgusted. "is this your first day dating him?"

"why would i do that?"

"just trust me on this." he takes another sip. "do you think he'll say yes?"

"of course," you roll your eyes. "is this your first day knowing him? we were just fighting about it-" you break off, realizing you said it was a fight.

"you guys had a fight?" now jaemin sits up, interested.

"not really, i mean…" was it a fight? "something slipped out about me not spending enough time with him."

"i can see that," jaemin muses, brown hair falling over his eyes as he tilts his head this way and that. "he's always liked attention."

"but he usually loves to talk things out…today he just walked away." your voice is small, missing him again as you thought about him.

jaemin smiles, knowingly. "he's just scared."

"really?"

"yeah, i remember when he first met you –" he stops abruptly. "oh, he's here."

your head snaps up as you look through the glass doors of the balcony, and sure enough, haechan had shuffled into the living room, eyes scanning the room, before disappearing behind a crowd of people.

"what did you say to him?" jaemin marvels. "he looks so defeated."

"i didn't say anything," you mumble, guilt once again crashing through you. "i'm gonna go now, okay?"

not listening out for a reply, you slide open the doors hastily, doing a quick survey of the living room to see if he was there. your heart stops when you see him standing in a corridor off the living room, leaning against the wall in the leather jacket he knew you liked. his eyes meet yours, hesitance written all over his features, but also a kind of tenderness and warmth that was so familiar.

you make your way to him, watching as he straightens, hands reaching out for you before you've even reached the corridor, and the first thing he does is envelop you in a hug. his arms wrap around you and squeeze you tight against his chest as he rests his chin on your head, cradling you in his touch as he sways slightly.

he doesn't say a word as he gently breaks the embrace to kiss you, holding your face tenderly in his hands, palms sliding around to the back of your neck as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. his tongue slides against yours, and his fingertips tremble just a bit against your skin.

even when you break apart, he still doesn't speak just yet, eyes staring closely at yours, and you held the eye contact, feeling like he was reaching his hands into your heart as he pulls you a little closer.

"i'm sorry," he begins. "i shouldn't have walked off. i wanted to talk to you but i was afraid i would say something wrong."

"it's okay–"

"wait." he exhales. "i rehearsed this on the way here, could you forgive me a bit later?"

you feel yourself smile as you pull him into another hug, which he returns.

"now i'm just thinking about how good you smell," he mumbles into your hair, a little begrudgingly.

"it's okay if it's not rehearsed," you tell him, softly.

"but i don't want you to misunderstand," he insists. "i think recently i've been feeling like you don't really have time for me…or that i have to earn your attention…"

"haechan–"

"and it's hot sometimes," he emphasises. "but other times…"

"i'll get better at balancing things," you promise. "i miss you too, you know. when i'm always stuck at the library." he's looking at you with that starry-eyed expression again, and you wish you had just told him all of this sooner.

"is that what was bothering you?" he asks, gently.

you could just end the whole thing now, brush past the sick flutter inside your chest and tell him there was nothing else. but the thought of stepping out into the corridor and losing him to the crowd was too much to bear.

jaemin's advice flits into your head, and you grasp at it like a lifeline.

"haechan, if i asked you to go upstairs with me now, what would you say?"

"to do what?" he asks, curiosity making his eyes widen.

"you know…" feeling a little stupid, why hadn't you pressed for more information from jaemin?, you looped your fingers around his belt loops and tugged him a little closer. "so i can pay attention to you?"

"um…are you really distracted right now…?"

"to fuck, haechan."

his jaw drops and he freezes, melodramatically, for a split second.

"haechan?"

spluttering back to life, he grips onto your arms. "is everything okay?" a hand comes up and brushes your forehead, feeling for your temperature. "are you sick? do you want me to take you home?"

"haechan," exasperated, you roll your eyes and shove him a little so he backs away from you. he's still peering at you with disbelief, eyes scanning your frame, and you just know he's trying to see if your face is flushed, or if you're drunk. "stop looking at me like that," you mumble. "why are you so surprised? as if you've never fucked anyone upstairs at a party before –"

"i mean, yeah," he chokes. "but that's…that's just for fun."

"so we can't have fun?"

"no!" he screws his face up in concentration. "that's not what i mean."

"so…you don't want to take me upstairs?"

he shakes his head, firmly.

"...but you were fine with taking girls upstairs in the past?"

he exhales frustratedly, rubbing his temples, words swallowed by his pouty lips as he tries to explain. "you're… you're different to me."

"what-"

"i want everything to be perfect," he says, softly. "i can't do that in some random guy's bedroom. i want to take my time with you, and i want you to know i love you." he takes a deep breath, and his voice drops an octave when he next opens his mouth.

"i can't do that upstairs, and i've never done it with anyone else before." looking up at you through his lashes, there's a small smile on his face as his hands reach out to hold yours. "that's what you're worried about, right?"

"when did you get so eloquent?" you ask, quietly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks and light up your body with warmth.

doe eyes look at you, fascinated. "what does eloquent mean?" and then, eagerness rising in his voice, "does it mean hot? do you want me to take us home now?"

you push forward and kiss him on the lips, hands squeezing his waist and drawing a whimper from the back of his throat. working your way down to his throat, you suckle on the mole that lies just under his jaw, working your way down and drawing another choked sound from him as he realises what you're doing. he scrabbles at his shirt desperately, unbuttoning the top buttons with clumsy hands just as you finish marking his throat.

"here," he whispers, tapping at the mole on his chest, and you smile, kissing it gently. "and here –" he unbuttons his shirt a bit more, tugging at the sleeve so you can see another mole under his ribcage. "one more –"

"baby, are you going to take off all your clothes in the middle of this corridor?"

"if you kiss all of them, i will." he says, determined, hands now going to his belt buckle.

"let's just go home." when he starts to splutter in protest, hands now pulling the belt off his belt loops, you hastily take his hands in yours to stop him. "so i can see them better, okay? it's too dark here."

flushed, he nods quickly, bouncing on his toes as he does up his belt again.

"just so you can see better," he echoes, shyly.

you wake up when haechan gets back into bed.

he's washed his face and brushed his teeth, you can smell mint on his breath and freshly applied perfume when he presses a light kiss to your cheek, watching him out of your barely-open eyes. it's endlessly endearing that he cares about how he tastes and smells to you, even after months of being together.

"baby," he whispers, the familiar excitement in his tone. hands roaming your skin, he drags down the collar of your shirt with a fingertip, pressing a kiss low on your collarbone, the other rubbing indulgently over your bare stomach. "baby, are you up?"

it had been about a week since the party, and haechan and you had promised to make time for each other in the mornings, waking up a little earlier every day. sometimes you lay and talked about the day ahead, sometimes you would both agree to sleep in. and other times…

his hand slides into yours, as he presses a few more sloppy kisses to your neck, flicking his tongue against your jaw. he was extra touchy whenever he just woke, seeking your warmth under his palms and tangling his legs in yours. "baby…i need you."

lying still, you shut your eyes firmly, slowing down your breaths as if you were asleep. it's a moment before haechan gives up, placing one last kiss on your shoulder before you feel him sigh against your skin. opening your eyes just slightly, you see him lying on his back — staring at the ceiling with a pout on his face, one hand rubbing absentmindedly on your hip.

a week ago it would have been too soon, but now's the perfect time to try it as you slide your hand over to his shorts, feeling the silky smooth skin of his upper thighs as you lightly drag the fabric up.

his breath hitches. "y/n?"

keeping your eyes shut and your head turned towards the sheets, you ghost your hand over the front of his shorts, the fabric stretched around his length. tracing over the outline of his cock, you squeeze him lightly, drawing an achy moan.

"baby…" his voice is hesitant. "what are you doing?"

you resist the urge to respond, his voice and his heavy breathing the only sounds in the room, amplified in the cold morning. you hear him take another shaky breath when you slide your hand under his waistband, skin hot to touch, and grip the base of his hard cock, feeling it twitch slightly under your touch. his legs slide restlessly against the sheets, hips shifting, trying to get you to move your hand.

"y/n?" he tries again, before letting out a hiss as your fingers move up to his dripping tip, rubbing at his slit gently. "fuck, okay," he pants, cutting himself off with a shaky moan as you pump his thick length with your fist, fingers barely forming a complete ring. he was leaking so much precum, more than you've ever felt before, cock throbbing and twitching heavily against your palm, making you press your thighs tightly together, trying to focus. his hips buck up into your hand sporadically as he loses control of his movements, and you indulge him by keeping a steady grip, letting him fuck your fist.

you hear a familiar choke, and you open your eyes wider by just a sliver, to see tears running down his cheeks, the tip of his nose red. his mouth hangs open, lips wet with saliva and tears, drooling slightly from the corners of his mouth. he's been moving his head this way and that on his pillow, his hair mussed up and falling over his eyes, a complete wreck from you fulfilling his fantasy.

slowly, you open your eyes as you release him, bringing your slick covered hand up to his face and wiping his tears and drool away as best you could. his head snaps in your direction, panting heavily and eyes half-lidded with lust, searching for yours.

"please don't stop," he begs. "please, i wanna cum–"

you close your eyes, hand falling to the sheets next to you as you pretend to settle in again, pulling the thin blanket over you. the only sound in the room is haechan's small, achy voice, whimpering "please, please, please" over and over again, punctuated by sniffles.

and then, you feel your covers being lifted, heavy hands landing on your waist.

"let's see if you can ignore me through this, angel." haechan's voice is dark, as he tugs down your shorts and panties with an urgency and desperation you know well. you feel the sting of cold air as your thighs, wet with slick, are held open by his arms, a groan rumbling low from his throat as he takes in the sight of your wet core. "look at me," he demands, making his tongue lie flat and wide as he licks up the arousal leaking onto your thighs and the outside of your core.

with your eyes closed, each press of his tongue on your skin is magnified by the thousands. you've never felt so sensitive, and you swear you could cum just from the way he kitten licks at your clit, breathing heavily against your sopping heat. but you couldn't look.

"stubborn baby," he mouths against your folds, tongue dipping into your hole and letting out a satisfied hum at the taste. "you look so pretty, pressed up to my face like this," he praises, one hand releasing your thigh and sliding a finger into you. "you're so tight..." he slides his finger in deeper, pressing against your spongy walls. smiling, he presses his tongue onto your clit, applying a pressure that made you clench even harder around him. "always so tight for me, i don't fuck you enough, hm? squeezing around my tip –" he strokes your walls with the tip of his finger, feeling you pulse. "just like that," he mumbles.

haechan rarely talked so much while he was eating you out, but now he just couldn't seem to stop, loving the way his voice filled the room, covering your little choked whimpers and moans that you tried to bite back.

"could play with you for hours," he groans, adding another finger. "you look so cute stretched out over my fingers." he curls his fingers towards the front of your walls, brushing past a spot that makes your hips jerk up, and a moan slip past your lips. "you like that?"

but then he's withdrawing his fingers entirely, smearing your arousal messily around your folds before circling up to your clit, fingers slipping as he rubs the sensitive nub. "you're dripping," he breathes, dipping back to your entrance, laughing cruelly when he feels your hole clench around nothing. "when you wake up…" he says, sarcastically, and the tone makes your stomach twist. where did he learn all this? "you can beg me to fill you up. are you having a nice dream, baby?"

you feel him sink down to the bed again, his hair tickling your inner thighs as his mouth attaches to your core, messily frenching your folds. "so swollen," he mumbles, now circling your clit and flicking it lightly with the tip of his tongue, a stinging pressure. "i wish i knew what you needed, sweetheart," his voice is sad, and you just know that if you opened your eyes you would see his own, blinking back at yours innocently. "do you need me here?" he presses your clit the way he knew you craved, mimicking a vibrating motion with his wrist. "or here?" three fingers shove deep into your cunt, and your back arches. "both? or…" you feel him rise, hands guiding your knees to your chest, and you finally, finally open your eyes.

the sunrise is beautiful against his golden skin, stinging at your eyes as you blink back tears fogging your vision. his face is tear-streaked, hair still a mess, your eyes tracing the light illuminating the moles on his neck, his chest, his torso, his thighs. he lines himself up to your entrance, kissing the side of your knee lovingly.

"good morning, baby," he smiles, eyes crinkling. "i'm going to fuck you now."

"haechan-" your voice is hoarse from lack of use. "do you want to try it from the back?"

there's a pause.

"fuck yes," he groans, his hands moving you effortlessly, helping you get on all fours. you arch your back, pressing your face against the sheets as you wiggle your hips in the air, hearing a moan rise from his throat as he fists his length urgently.

"hurry up," you whine.

"hurry up…" he mocks, giggling as he runs his hands down your spine. "you're so spoiled, princess." his hands grasp at your hips, and you feel something heavy push between your legs, his tip pushing into you, the initial stretch making you tense.

"fuck…ah–" he bottoms out, feeling your walls pulse around him, holding still so you can adjust. "you're so tight like this, fuck." when you let out another whimper, he starts to pull out, body stiffening. "are you okay? can i –"

"please move," you whimper, hips jolting as you start fucking yourself on his length, need surging through your body. his hips snap against yours, wet sounds filling the room as skin meets skin. his hand comes around to touch your clit, rubbing it harshly, and you cum instantly, stars blotting your vision as your knees go weak.

"just a bit more, baby," he whimpers, speeding up to chase his high. "you want me to fill you up? fuck you so full of my cum you can't ignore it?" pulling you up, he grasps at your breasts, kneading the soft mounds in his hands and pinching at a hard nipple. the moan you let out pushes him over the edge as he cums, hard, warmth shooting into you and coating your walls as you milk him dry, sensitivity making you clench around him again.

"i love you," he whispers, kissing you sweetly on the nape of your neck before pulling out, wincing at the feeling. you lie back on the sheets, winded, as he gets a towel from the bedside cabinet and wipes your thighs dry, purposefully pushing some of the cum leaking out of your entrance back in with a gentle finger, your thighs shaking at the feeling. you make grabby hands at him and he smiles, putting down the towel before all but jumping into your arms, kissing you again on the neck and nuzzling against your shoulder.

"so?" he raises his eyebrows.

"so what?"

"it's hot, right?" he gushes, eyes sparkling. "the ignoring thing? fuck, when i kept calling for you and you closed your eyes…" he sighs. "you're my dream girl," he says, sincerely. "do you know that?"

"i'm your dream girl because i ignore you?"

"we should only do this once in a while…" he's lost in his own world, brows furrowing as he chews on his cheek in thought. "i miss hearing your pretty sounds…"

"or maybe you could ignore me," you suggest, sleepiness taking over your body again as you curl up closer to him.

"you really are my dream girl," he marvels, planting a light kiss on your forehead as you drift off, safe in his arms.

"we have a problem."

"the problem we have," you correct him, as he locks the bathroom door behind you. "is we should stop coming to these parties."

"he keeps looking at you," haechan huffs, his eyes trained on your body. "and i get it, because i look at you and i want you now but –" frustrated, he tugs a little at the hem of your dress, which was currently riding high on your thighs as you sat on the bathroom sink. "but you're mine."

"be honest, do you wish you bought me that $7000 bracelet now?" you tease.

at haechan's encouragement, you had started to befriend karina and her friends, finding their confidence and enthusiasm infectious and endearingly reminiscent of your boyfriend. they had told you that he spent weeks meeting them after lectures, asking for advice on the littlest things – like how to be there for you on your period, how to help you pick out an outfit, and how to choose gifts.

"very much so," he groans, and you pull him towards you, giving him a kiss. it's when he's kissing down your neck, your breaths becoming shallow, hands pawing absentmindedly at his chest, when he suddenly freezes, an idea forming in his mind.

"do you think i can spell my name on your neck in hickeys?" tracing the letters with his fingertips, he furrows his brow, mumbling to himself. "maybe just the initials? or one letter. or a symbol…"

"you're so stupid-" you cut yourself off, slotting your lips with his again. when you break apart, there's a softness in his eyes, his tone low and hesitant.

"you like it…" he runs his tongue over his lower lip, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "right?"

"haechan…" you wrap your arms around him, feeling him relax into your hold. "i love you," you say, softly, in his ear. you feel him smile against your neck, murmuring back a soft i love you too, the fact that he never let it go unanswered making you feel giddy and lovestruck all over again.

"i know what to do," he beams, pushing you gently against the wall and letting his body cage you in — and when he starts sucking a mark onto your skin, you have a vague idea of what it's going to be.

when you rejoin the party, the music is still blasting loud as if you've never left, the energy feeds into haechan's enthusiasm as he taps, or rather, hits the shoulder of the first person he sees coming out of the bathroom, who happens to be jaemin.

"JAEMIN."

"shut the fuck- oh." jaemin turns, raising his eyebrows when he sees the two of you. "going home?"

"just bear with it," you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up as haechan puffs his chest out proudly, clearing his throat to speak. "he's doing a thing."

"she's mine," he crows, proudly. tracing one of the marks on your neck, he beams up at jaemin with starry eyes. "i did this to her."

"cool." the boy flashes him a thumbs up, which haechan returns enthusiastically. voice dropping low, jaemin leans in. "is he going to repeat this to everyone you bump into on the way out?"

you see haechan waving at renjun, signaling that you were about to be tugged over. "i think so."

jaemin nods slowly, lips stretching into a smile. "you're a lucky girl, y/n."

you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. you take in the glow of your skin, the hickeys scattered across your neck and collarbones, your styled hair completely messed up around your face. you take in the arms around your waist, the man next to you peeking at you from the corner of his eye as if he couldn't believe you were there pressed against him, his own hair tousled and wild.

and you feel yourself smile.

bonus:

"mark, i think i've found the one."

"and i told you, she's with someone–"

"leave it." jaemin murmurs. "he's haechan. she'll probably leave whoever she's with because of him."

"haechan," but mark's voice is insistent on pinning him to reality as he puts both hands on haechan's cheeks, forcing his head to turn so he's looking him in the eyes. "if you're not serious about it…"

"but i am." haechan is a little breathless as he sways on the spot, eyes finally focused on mark's. "i really want to talk to her…"

"that's not-"

"but i don't want to mess up." swallowing, haechan runs his hand through his hair. "what if i say the wrong thing, what if she thinks i'm stupid." his eyes search the crowd for you again, before settling back on mark's round ones. "mark…" his voice is soft, and just a little bit scared.

"what if she doesn't like me?"

mark's hands fall away as he takes in the little bit of wild sincerity in haechan's eyes, and the hesitance he hadn't quite seen before.

it takes a lot of encouragement, to finally persuade haechan to meander his way over into the corridor he's sure you haven't stepped out of. even then, his steps are unsure and faltering, panicked eyes finding mark and jaemin's in the crowd seeking reassurance, and mark thinks when he finally meets you he isn't going to make the best first impression at all.

haechan was someone who dove into things, who felt emotions as hard as he possibly could, running headfirst into everything in life without knowledge or fear of consequence.

maybe there was some credit to his the one theory, mark thinks, because you were the one thing haechan couldn't even start to walk towards for fear of losing in the crowd.

mark had a good feeling about this — something told him that it would all work out eventually.

taglist: @luafvr @liliansun @hotmessexpress35 @ery-noice @tddyhyck @xenkimmie @ofjunemoment @neochan @acidwon @babyjenono @kittydollzz @smwhrinthehaze

#haechan smut #fic: himbo haechan #donghyuck smut #nct dream smut #haechan fluff #haechan angst #haechan x reader #haechan au #nct smut #nct fluff

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netegf · 7 months

Text

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot.

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath.

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were.

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another.

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding.

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway.

Some things don't change.

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses.

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs.

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too.

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister.

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend.

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you.

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere.

Much to Topper's devastation.

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise.

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply.

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you.

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow.

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again.

"You know he would do anything for you, right?"

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you.

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point."

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat.

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink.

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face.

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well.

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him.

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights.

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly.

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud.

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly.

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically.

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray.

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow.

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming.

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted.

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display.

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath.

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it.

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there.

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him.

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking.

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint.

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night.

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates.

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs.

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway.

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?"

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again.

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently.

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you.

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after.

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else.

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?"

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house.

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt.

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway.

"I love these."

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world.

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much.

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check.

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat.

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you.

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes.

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day.

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing.

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators.

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night.

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included.

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all.

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine.

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger.

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head.

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date.

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything."

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall.

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl.

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together.

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about.

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am."

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company.

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers.

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you.

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself.

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off.

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!".

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin.

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date.

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing.

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote.

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them.

"Maybe later." You reply quietly.

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else.

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees.

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized.

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like."

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that."

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?"

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point.

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off.

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement.

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy.

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs.

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask."

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that."

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?"

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity.

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart.

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long."

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder.

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party."

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue."

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground.

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness.

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks x reader #rafe x reader #i love writing completely ridiculous and unhinged side characters #topper too i always make him so weird LMAO #this is a lil rough around the edges but !! whatevrrr

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dilemmaontwolegs · 8 months

Note

Hey! So I had this Hurt comfort fic idea with Charles where she is engaged to him. Have you seen the video about the crowd in Montreal surrounding him? So something like them arriving and he's signing and clicking pics through the crowd holding her hand and the crowd and paps goes a bit haywire and she is separated and then visibly very hurt and injured because of that. And Charles is angry and protective, with the "Idc about myself but if anyone touches/hurts you I lose it" or something similar. Add drama and spice as you feel

Thank you Babe ❤️

A Step Too Far || CL16

Warnings: fluff, angst, implied smut WC: 1.9k

Charles could remember the first time he met your father. Obviously it wasn’t the first first time but it was the first time as your boyfriend, and that made it more important than any of the times they met in the paddock. Toto had gripped his hand tightly as they shook, pulling the younger driver closer to whisper in his ear.

“That’s my daughter, Charles, you put her above all else. It’s my job to protect her, and I’m trusting you here.”

“I understand, sir. I’ll keep her safe.”

“What did he say?” you asked as you left for your date.

“Nothing, ma chérie,” Charles assured you with a smile and a kiss to your cheek.

For three years he had kept that secret promise religiously, even as his popularity grew beyond his wildest expectations. He couldn’t walk down the street without being recognised, crowds gathering and people asking for photos or signatures. It wasn’t exactly new for you having grown up the way you did, but Charles’ fans were far more excitable and passionate than the ones who met your father.

Monza 2023

Everywhere you looked it was a sea of red supporters, the tifosi out in force to celebrate the third and fourth places Ferrari had taken in the race. You could see the equal parts of pride and disappointment on Charles’ face as he watched Carlos take the third step on the podium.

After heading back to his driver room, he collapsed into a chair with a groan and hung his head in his hands. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, wrinkling your nose at the sweat that dampened his dark hair. “That was a hell of a fight, baby.”

His grunt told you he thought otherwise but he placed his hand over yours and gave it a soft squeeze. “I almost had it, amour.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his neck until his shoulders bunched up and he wriggled with a laugh at his ticklish spot.

“Okay, okay, no more moping,” he said as he stood up and turned to face you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You held up your hand that had a sparkly new ring resting upon it. “Or I wouldn’t have said yes.”

“I’m very glad you did.” He smiled as he took your hand and kissed the engagement ring. “I need to shower. There’s room for one more…”

Charles kept you tucked close to his side as he made his way through the lines of fans to where his car was pulling up. You were running late once again, after being distracted while you were meant to be getting dressed to go out for dinner. He left your side for only a moment to open your door but that moment was all it took as the metal barriers separating the crowd came crashing down and they surged forward.

The sight and the sound gave you a fright and you stepped back instinctively. “Charles!” He turned at your panicked tone and watched with horror as your heeled foot missed the curb, twisting painfully as you fell. For a second he lost sight of you in the sea of red and he was spurred into action.

“Back up! Get out of my way!” he shouted to the crowd as he pushed his way to you. Rage filled him as he found you crumpled beside his car, arms wrapped protectively around your head while the bodies finally started to give you room. Tears blurred your vision as pain radiated from your ankle and suddenly you were weightless as a familiar pair of arms picked you up. “Amour, are you hurt?”

You could hardly hear him as the crowd demanded his attention, screaming as they waved hats and posters in his direction. The look he sent them should have been warning enough but they were too high on his presence to notice.

“Amour?”

“My ankle,” you admitted with a wince as it was jostled.

He released a torrent of expletives under his breath as he carried you to the driver’s seat and climbed in with you on his lap, your legs hanging over onto the passenger seat. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he apologised as he kissed your temple and pulled out of the hotel.

“It’s not your fault, Charles, I should have been paying more attention.”

“You got hurt because of me, that’s the only reason they were there. Shit.” His eyes darted to the centre screen as it announced an incoming call from Toto and he hit the accept button on the steering wheel.

“You haven’t lost your watch again, have you?” Toto greeted, his voice thick with amusement.

“We are almost there,” he replied as he turned onto the street where the restaurant reservation was booked. “We just ran into some trouble with some fans.”

The silence was deafening until it was broken by the scratch of a chair being pushed back on a wooden floor followed by the click of your father’s footsteps. “Trouble?”

You watched the door to the restaurant open and your father ignored the concierge as he stepped to the curb Charles was pulling up to. “This should be fun.” Charles grimaced at your words and ended the call as Toto tucked his phone away and opened the passenger door.

Toto stared at the empty seat before dragging his eyes across the space to find you on your fiancé’s lap. “Hi papa.”

“Don’t hi me,” he tutted as he walked around and moved the valet along with a wave of his hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you assured him as you accepted his hand out of the sports car. “You two are as dramatic as each other.”

The flare of pain was sudden and impossible to hide when your shoe touched the pavement, the joint weakly giving underneath you. If not for Charles behind you it would have been much worse but he took your weight and kept you upright.

“What the fuck have you done to my daughter, Leclerc?” You found yourself in a tug of war, but you were the rope. Your father tried to pull you out of his arms but your yelp of pain froze the very air. He relinquished his fight and raised his hands before pointing a damning finger at Charles. “Hospital, now.”

“But I’m hungry,” you whined as he instantly moved to follow the order, stepping back towards the Ferrari. “Can’t we go after dinner, please?”

You turned your pleading eyes to your father and watched his resolve weaken.

“No,” Charles interrupted before Toto could agree and you turned to him with a look of betrayal. “Don’t look at me like that, amour. I can’t bear to see you in pain, especially when it’s my fault.”

“At least you take ownership,” Toto muttered. “Susie and I will bring you dinner. Go.”

There was no room to argue, not that Charles would. He respected your father too much for that.

“You need to make a statement,” Toto said tiredly as he sat in the hospital chair opposite Charles. You were on the bed separating them, enjoying the lack of pain while the drugs did their job and waiting for the moonboot to be fitted. “Something like this cannot be allowed to happen again.”

“He didn’t exactly give them permission, papa.”

Charles cut you a look out the corner of his eye before nodding to Toto. “I’ll make sure of it, sir. It might be time to hire some security.”

Your father barely hid his scoff as he muttered, “Better late than never.” Toto sat up straighter and rubbed his tired eyes. “These are things you will need to think about even more in the future, especially when you have children of your own - you’ll realise you can’t wait until something bad happens before making changes. You need to start thinking about the future now, son.”

Charles’ stare turned out the window as he took the advice seriously. You could see the contemplation set in hard lines across his face. The look turned sad when the nurse arrived with the moonboot you would need to wear for at least two weeks and he started to withdraw into himself as he pulled his phone out. Only a few moments later you saw your phone light up with a notification that he had posted to his Instagram.

“Good man,” Toto said as he read the statement that in no uncertain terms warned his fans there would be consequences if they couldn’t respect the boundaries set.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” they both answered adamantly.

“You are all set to go, darling,” the nurse said with a soft smile. “Rest up, and if there are any concerns just come right back.”

After thanking her you hobbled along, sandwiched between your father and fiancé, to the underground car park where the car was waiting.

“I’ll come back to your hotel, make sure you get inside safely,” your father said as he opened your door and kissed your cheek.

“His fans have probably all run away by now.”

“I think you’re underestimating the tifosi. I’d rather not take the risk.”

Toto was right, because if anything there were even more fans lining the entrance to the hotel than before. Only this time there was also more security.

You were quickly ushered through to the quieter reception area where Toto shared a look that said ‘I told you so’ before bidding a goodnight and heading his own way back. The elevator ride to the penthouse suite was silent and it wasn’t the comfortable silence you were used to. It grew heavier with each level and you were itching to get out of the confined space by the time the doors opened.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered as Charles pulled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I broke my promise,” he said as his shoulders sagged further, like he was moments from imploding on himself. “I swore to your father I would protect you.”

“Charles, I love you, but you can’t protect me from the world - no matter what my father thinks.” You crawled over the duvet and onto his lap so you could cup his face. “I don’t blame you and it is me who is going to be marrying you, not him.”

His brows pinched together. “I hadn’t even thought about children.”

“What?”

“After the wedding, having children - what that would be like in this environment. I hadn’t thought about it. I obviously knew it’s what I wanted for us down the line but now…it’s a little scary to think what might happen to them.”

“Char, there’s no rush. We don’t know what our future will look like in five years, or ten.” You stroked his cheeks and dipped your head forward to kiss his pouting lips. “Just focus on the here and now, baby. Forget what happened out there. In here, it’s just you and me, and a king sized bed that’s far too neatly made.”

“It is pretty neat.”

“So why don’t we mess it up?”

His eyes flicked to your legs draped over his, lingering on the bulky boot. “Amour?”

Your fingers were already running down his chest, reaching for the waistband of his trousers he had worn to dinner. “You won’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. I trust you.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 rpf #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 x you #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction

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murdockparker · 24 days

Text

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say.

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed.

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by.

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise.

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?”

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?”

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion.

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.”

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more.

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct.

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.”

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room.

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it.

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process.

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze.

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.”

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal.

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display.

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter.

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door.

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon.

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask.

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say.

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish.

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly.

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered.

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck.

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water.

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face.

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out.

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward.

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed.

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above.

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said.

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—”

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother.

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—”

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?”

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain.

Rain.

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting.

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in.

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise.

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…”

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely.

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—”

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified.

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience.

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this.

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him.

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again.

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while.

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter.

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray.

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have.

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

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